Chapter 7
I wasn’t looking for a muse. Then a football player showed up.
Addy
I ignore my phone when it beeps with a message. Mom is home with the kids now. If there’s an emergency, she can handle it. This is my time.
Too bad my time is becoming my frustration. I can’t figure out the lyrics to this song. Probably because it’s impossible to write a break-up song when you’re crushing on someone.
Hold on. I am not crushing on anyone. Gage is not my crush. He’s just my friend. I have firmly friend-zoned him. And he should understand zones since he’s a football player.
I strum my guitar and sing the lyrics I’ve been working on.
You said you’d stay, but you walked away
Left me standing in the same old place
I gave you everything I had to give
Guess love’s not enough to make you live
I scowl. These lyrics are not working. Generic. Unsurprising. Dare I say it? Boring .
Back to the basics. Emotion. The lyrics aren’t emotional enough. But how to make them more emotional? I tap my pencil on the desk as I try to come up with words that don’t sound cliché.
Ugh! I’m beyond frustrated. Sometimes a song appears to me nearly complete. And sometimes writing a song is more difficult than getting Mila to take a bath.
There’s a knock on the door and I check the time.
“I have another hour!”
The door opens and Gage peeks inside. He smiles and my pulse races. How would it feel to have him smile at me every day? Every morning in bed when I wake up and every night before I fall asleep.
Whoa, Addy. I need to slow down. Gage and I are just friends. Because I don’t have time for more.
“What are you doing here?”
He holds up a tray of coffees from Pirate’s Pastries. “I thought you might need a little caffeine.”
“You can’t bring drinks into the library.”
“The librarian said it was okay. She also told me her favorite treat is a Blackbeard’s Revenge cookie for next time.”
I roll my eyes. Of course, Gage charmed the librarian. The strict librarian who insists everyone follow the rules. Which is hilarious on Smuggler’s Hideaway, where no one follows rules.
High school kids are constantly daring each other to break her rules. There’s even a YouTube channel dedicated to videos of kids attempting to get away with shenanigans in the library.
He offers me a coffee. “Thanks. How did you find me? ”
“I tried messaging.” He motions to my phone. “When you didn’t answer, I asked the owner of Pirate’s Pastries and she told me. Did you know they have an otter in the bakery?”
“Not any old otter. He’s Viking. He’s the town mascot.”
He settles into the chair in the corner with his coffee. “A town mascot?”
“Yep. All three towns on the island have one. Viking is the mascot for Smuggler’s Rest. Rogue, the marshmallow-loving raccoon, is the mascot for Rogue’s Landing. And Plank, the foul-mouthed parrot, is the mascot for Pirate’s Perch.”
He chuckles. “This island is weird.”
“I think you mean quirky.”
“Exactly. Quirky.”
I enjoy a few sips of my coffee – maybe a caffeine hit will help me figure out what’s wrong with these lyrics – before asking, “Why did you message?”
“No reason. Just wanted to hang out. It’s my day off and I thought it would be fun to chill with a local girl.”
“Day off? I thought all of your days were off until training camp starts.”
“Nah. I need to be fit and at my goal weight at the start of training camp.” He hands me a bag. “Which is why I didn’t buy one of everything at the bakery. But I got you your favorite.”
I open the bag and inhale the scent of sugar and chocolate and cinnamon. My stomach growls in appreciation. “How did you know Siren’s Snaps are my favorite?”
“The owner of the bakery told me. ”
“Parker is a big mouth,” I mutter but it doesn’t stop me from shoving the cookie into my mouth. I moan in appreciation. Parker is the best baker in the world. I’m beyond happy she didn’t abandon Smuggler’s Hideaway when she fell in love with a tech billionaire.
“Thanks for the cookie.”
He chuckles. “You said thanks but it sounded like goodbye.”
Good. It was supposed to. I motion to the table covered in my notes. “I need to get back to my song.”
He leans back in his chair. “Excellent. I’ve always wanted to watch a songwriter at work.”
“I didn’t say you can stay.”
He pushes his bottom lip forward in a pout. “Please, can I stay?”
“It’s boring.”
He snorts. “Nothing you do is boring. You’re fascinating.”
“Fascinating? Me? I think you’re confused.”
“Fascination is in the eye of the beholder.”
I strum my guitar. “This isn’t the best time to observe me. My song isn’t working out. I’m frustrated.”
He leans forward. “Play me what you have.”
I hesitate. I wasn’t being modest. The lyrics are seriously not working. I don’t want Gage to be disappointed in my songwriting abilities. I want to impress him.
I push those thoughts away. Impressing a man is not on my agenda today or any other day.
“Come on. I won’t make fun of you. ”
“You better not. I might not be fast or as strong as you but I’m a smuggler. Revenge is my middle name.”
He feigns gulping in fear. “Understood.”
“You’re not going to leave, are you?”
“Not if you’re here.”
Those words cause my pulse to race again. Gage seriously wants to be with me. Boring me? Friends, I remind myself. We’re just friends.
“Laugh and you’ll spend the rest of the summer hairless with intestinal problems.”
He holds up his hands. “No laughing.”
I play the melody and start singing.
You said you’d stay, but you walked away
Left me standing in the same old place
I gave you everything I had to give
Guess love’s not enough to make you live
I stop after the verse. “Told you it’s not working.”
“I disagree. It’s good. Catchy.”
“No. It’s boring and generic.”
He drums his fingers on his thigh. “What now? How do you improve?”
“The words should be more emotional. Personal.”
Personal? Huh. A trickle of an idea taps at the back of my mind. I play the notes and hum while I let the idea ferment. I don’t push it. Trying to force the lyric out before it’s ready doesn’t work.
You said you’d stay but I didn’t ask you
No. Almost there but not quite .
You said you’d stay if I asked you to
Yes! That’s it! I scribble the lyric down.
Left me standing in the same old place
Not even close.
But I never needed the truth.
Excitement bubbles up inside me. Wrong but I’m getting close.
You said you’d stay if I asked you to
But I never learned to need the truth
I scribble those words down before returning to my guitar.
You said you’d stay if I asked you to
But I never learned how to need the truth
I kept my hands full, my head down low
Loved you quiet so I wouldn’t owe
I jump to my feet. “Eek! I did it!”
Gage wraps his arms around me and twirls me around. “My songwriter!”
He stops and I glance up at him. He’s smiling down at me. His gaze drops to my lips. My entire body tingles in anticipation of feeling his lips on mine.
“Keep it down in there,” Edith hollers through the door.
I clear my throat and tap Gage on his shoulder. “Down, please.”
He squeezes me before lowering me. I feel every hard muscle – and one very hard cock – as he sets me on my feet.
“Sorry about…” He motions toward his hard length.
“It’s fine.” I wave away his apology before I swoon. Men don’t usually apologize for getting excited at an inappropriate moment. I never realized how irresistible a man with manners and a dimple on his cheek could be.
“The song is awesome. Do you want to sell it or sing it yourself? What are your goals?”
I laugh. “My goals are on hold until the kids are grown up.”
He scowls. “I love how you’re caring for your siblings, but you shouldn’t put your life on hold.”
I shrug. “It’s not a big deal. The chance of becoming some famous singer-songwriter is pretty much zero anyway.”
He palms my neck. “Pretty much zero isn’t zero. You should chase your dreams.”
“And I will. As soon as the kids are grown up.”
He frowns. “The youngest is what, eight? You can’t stay in a holding pattern for ten more years.”
He doesn’t understand. “I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re living the life of your dreams.”
He squeezes my neck. “It wasn’t easy getting here. It took years of dedication. Years of getting up in the middle of the night to go for runs and workouts before school started.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you aren’t dedicated or don’t work hard.”
“I know.”
My phone rings. I groan. It’s Mom’s ringtone. She knows not to bother me when I’m at the library working on my music.
“Sorry.” I motion to the phone. “I need to answer.”
He steps back. “Of course. I’ll be seeing you soon, songbird. ”
I watch him stride away. His powerful legs in those worn-out jeans are a thing of beauty. I’m beginning to understand why women go crazy over professional athletes. Their tone, fit bodies are—
“Answer your phone!”
Oops. I forgot. I rush to my phone.