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“Nothing.” I wander into the room, approaching him slowly. He’s kicked back on the overstuffed white couch, that ever-present worn-out notebook in his lap, the lines he’s written on it looking more like angry slashes. Lots of scribbling and words that have been crossed out so hard the paper is dented. “I’m kind of bored.”
“We’ve only been here three days.”
“I know. And like I said, I’m already bored.” I sit on the edge of the coffee table, just to the left of him. “I haven’t left the house since the first night we got here.”
“You have a nice tan to show for it.” His gaze warms as it skims over me.
I glance down at my arms, then my legs. They’re golden from the sun, like the majority of my body is. “I can only lay out by the pool for so long.”
An aggravated exhale leaves him, and he leans his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “If you’re looking for me to entertain you, I’m the wrong guy. I need to focus and work on these songs.”
“How are they coming along?” I already know the answer.
“Fucking terrible.” He chucks the pen he was holding across the room, and it lands on the bare floor with a clatter, rolling underneath the love seat. “I think I have serious writer’s block.”
“You don’t have any songs finished? Not one?” I’ve overheard enough snippets of conversation between Roger and Tate to know that Roger has high expectations. He wants a list of songs for an album in like... less than two weeks. More like one.
“I have a couple of titles. No actual lyrics. Lyrics that are any good, that is.” He jumps to his feet and starts pacing the length of the room. “Honestly? I’m fucking frustrated. Nothing is coming to me—like, nothing. I think it’s the pressure. Knowing the expectations that they’ve put on me—I’m buckling. Drawing a complete blank.”
I watch him walk back and forth across the room, his gaze on the floor as he grips the back of his neck. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a white T-shirt that stretches across his broad chest, and despite the casual outfit and the disheveled hair, he is still mouthwateringly gorgeous.
“Maybe you need a change of scenery,” I suggest.
He stops in the middle of the room, throwing his arms out wide. “That’s exactly what this is. I’m in a whole new location with a fucking studio at my fingertips and all the fucking sunshine I could ever ask for, and I can’t even take advantage of it. I’m not getting shit done.”
“I haven’t seen you go to the studio at all,” I say, referring to the small studio that’s on the property, not too far from the pool.
“Because that place intimidates the hell out of me. I went out there a couple of days ago, in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep, and the moment I walked inside, I froze up. All sorts of old feelings came at me, one after the other.” He’s got both hands in his hair now, sliding down to grip at the back of his neck as he turns to face me. “I want a drink.”
Alarm fills me, and I stand, panicking, unsure of what to say. “You can’t drink.”
“I know. And I won’t.” He hesitates. “But I want one just the same.” He blinks, gazing at the floor. “‘Just the same.’ That’s a great song title too.”
Tate dashes over to the coffee table and picks up the discarded notebook, glancing around in search of his pen. I assume he remembers he threw it because he grabs his phone instead and taps some information into it before he shoves it into his pocket.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest. “We can, I don’t know—throw on a hat and some sunglasses so no one will recognize us, and we can just drive. Stop somewhere and grab some food. You need to get out of your head and out of this house.”
“I haven’t driven a car in a while,” he admits, looking sheepish. “What if I wreck it?”
“That’s what insurance is for. Come on, Tate. We need to get out of here and do something on our own. Escape this atmosphere for a bit, because instead of helping you, it feels like it’s stifling you.”
“It totally is,” he agrees.
“Or maybe you should go by yourself.” I was sort of hoping I could get out of here too. I feel like I’m climbing the walls, and I have almost six more weeks of this monotony.
I’m over it. There’s only so much scrolling online and lying out by the pool I can do. I want to explore. Check things out. I’d even go to Disneyland for the day if I could. I’ve been to Disney World in Orlando, but I’ve never checked out the California park.
“If I go by myself, I’ll end up even more in my head, and that’s not where I want to be.” He levels that intense blue gaze on me. “You need to come with me.”
“I’ll go with you.” I glance down at myself. “I should change.”
“Hurry up and go do it before I leave without you.” He’s grinning. That’s the first time I’ve seen him smile in days, so I take it as a good sign.
“Do we have a car?” I ask.
“There’s a couple in the garage that Roger provided. Remember?”
Oh, that’s right. We have everything we need at our fingertips, yet we’ve barely left the house, much to Roger’s annoyance, I’m sure.
