Page 58 of Grip Me Tight
And it’s because of the woman sleeping inside. She’s my muse. The best songs I’ve ever written have been because of her, the longing, the ache, the desire. And whatever is happening here is next level. The words are pieces of me, the music is part of my genetic code and I realize something. The music I hear is Sterling.
She is my heart.
It makes no sense, but I’m connected to her in a way that is so visceral I can’t explain it any more than I can explain how my heart beats. It just does. That is its function.
I drain my cup and read the song again. I’ve made notes and details for an entire new album while hazy gold rays lightened the sky from navy to blue. I pull my computer to me, flashing it up. I need to send it to Noah. He’s always been my sounding board, despite not understanding my inspiration.
Another thirty minutes passes while I type out the morning’s work and hit send. I check my phone, noting the time. I should make Sterling breakfast. I gaze out at the lake, noting a couple of early morning kayaks and a fishing boat a little further down the lake. I wonder what we should do today. She mentioned not having a lot of clothes, as we left straight from Chicago and she’d only been planning on staying there for the shows and then a couple of days after. I hate the thought of going back into town. It’s not like she needs clothes around me. We can hang out here, go swimming, maybe have a barbeque for lunch.
None of it needs to be diarized. It can just be for us.
I rub my stomach. Definitely hungry. I gather up my stuff and head inside. Sterling likes tea, so I fill the kettle and set it on one of the two burners, before opening the fridge. Laird has it stocked with some basics, so there’s eggs and sausage, some good cheese and fruit. I’m rinsing strawberries when Sterling climbs down the ladder, wearing one of my shirts and a pair of panties that makes me want to place a hand on her ass and tell her to get back in bed. Her hair is a wild tangle, and she tries to smooth it back when she sees me watching her.
I walk over to her and I tilt her chin up. “Morning, Gorgeous.” I touch my mouth to hers, the softness of her lips only reminding me how they feel wrapped around my cock. I step back telling myself I should probably feed her before I fall on her like a beast again. Not that she seemed to mind.
“Anything you want to do today?” I ask, pouring her tea and dipping the bag to steep. Look at me, I’m a fucking domesticated god.
She rubs her eyes and shakes her head, lifting her phone. “I scheduled a bunch of posts to go out today. Just let me get a morning picture of you down by the lake.”
Something in her tone jangles, but I let it go. I pass her a mug and we head outside. The grass is dewy, and the sand is damp as we walk down the beach path. I hear a splash and a large bird, its wings spread wide, glides out from the shore. Sterling’s phone is up, following the slow, graceful flap of the wings. “That’s a heron,” she whispers, laying her mug on a flat rock to step towards the lake. “I’ll get some pictures of the lake. It’s so beautiful and peaceful.”
A fish jumps, the water rippling out in a circle effect, and I wish we weren’t here taking pictures or trying to make up a story. I wish we were here, just enjoying the beautiful view like a normal couple.
And isn’t that the most fucked up thing I could think of? It’s not like I want to deliberately piss off my best friend and lord knows I don’t need to try and be part of a ‘normal’ couple. In my line of work, those are few and far between. Wanting a relationship is Noah’s thing, not mine. Although, if one were possible, I’d want it to be with Sterling. It’s not possible though, for a myriad of reasons. The potential time-limit on my sanity for one. Sterling needs better. She needs someone to be there for her.
Someone whocanbe there for her in all the ways that count. I think about the feeling of lightness I had when I woke up this morning. What if I can be that someone?
Sterling is slowly turning in a circle, head up, checking out the lighting. I’ve seen her do it a dozen times since yesterday. I wait, rolling my shoulders, until she tells me where to stand. I stare out at the lake, trying to look like I have no idea she’s snapping a photo and then I look over my shoulder, beyond the phone, at her. She’s watching me, a wistful smile on her face.
“Did you get what you need?” I ask.
“Yes, looks good.” She tilts her head down, her thumb swiping and pausing.
A funny feeling comes over me and I don’t know what to make of it. Sex with Sterling was – is – amazing. Just the sight of her in my shirt, her bare feet in the grass, her hair rippling down her back does something strange to my insides. I want to take her in my arms again and again. I want to eat ice cream with her and laugh and take pictures, for us, not for some PR solution.
What I want is crazy. Maybe it’s a sign my sanity is going faster than I think.
But I still can’t help wondering if it’s possible.
She picks up her mug and sits down on a nearby log, curling her toes into the sand. “Why did you get up so early this morning?”
I hesitate for a minute and her eyes swing to me. “I’m sorry.” She bites her lip and looks down the lake. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
Is she upset I wasn’t there when she woke up? I just didn’t want to disturb her, and I really do need to get some work done while I’m here. I can’t write when there are others around. Notes, maybe, but the stuff that poured out of me this morning? Not a chance. Also, what if she asks to see what I’m working on? It would be like opening my chest and handing her my heart, burdening her with how I feel. “Don’t be sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”
She glances back at me. “I wouldn’t have minded.”
“I was writing.” I walk over to the log and she moves down, making room for me. I sit, my leg pressing against hers. “This trip, the reason why I needed to be alone is because the label has been down my throat about new music for the tour.” I pick up a stick and make circles in the sand between my feet. “I haven’t been able to write lately, and I really needed to get in my head.” I feel a pang in my chest. I haven’t been able to write because instead of lyrics, my head is filled with angry words, snippets of arguments from my childhood, conversations I never actually had with my mother. But I don’t want to tell her any of that.
“I’m sorry.” She lets out a little huff of air. “I know you said not to be, but really, I didn’t mean to intrude on your time here.”
“Well, you didn’t exactly intrude. You’re kind of saving my butt here. And, as it turns out, having you here has been…, well, nice.”
She flinches. “Wow.”
“What, wow?”
Sterling tosses her hair and turns her head to look at me. “Nice?”
