11. Interlude 4
Caffeine
Stupid Cohen. That curly-haired dork doesn’t know how lucky he is.
He doesn’t even realize how much he takes for granted.
Not only does Rain pour her love for him into every word she writes—Dutch and I knew she was in love with him long before our idiot friend ever did—but, increasingly, I’m realizing she might not be the only one who sees Cohen as a muse.
You see, my best friend and I have been sitting in the writing room beside the studio for hours.
Nothing unusual about that. Ever since this crazy ride started, ever since we taught ourselves the notes, the chords, the progressions, Cohen and I have been writing partners.
Not words. That’s not us. But the music, yeah, that’s ours.
And for me, the notes always flow better when he’s sitting beside me.
The melodies we craft only work when we do it together.
Most of the time it’s just Co and me. Although today, Dutch and Rain joined us just a few minutes ago.
She’s written a new song that she’s super excited about, and while she’s busy explaining to Cohen, my brother won’t stop watching me.
He thinks I don’t notice, but I do. I notice that when he’s not watching me, his eyes are always, always fixed on Rainy-girl.
He might suspect what I’m currently fighting, but I know without him ever needing to say it that he is totally and completely fucked over Rain Gamble.
What we have in common is that both of us will never say or do anything about our feelings.
Not when we’re both painfully aware of how happy our bandmates are.
Not when we both know that they exchanged ‘I love you’s after our recording session last week.
Not when I know that they had sex for the first time that night.
I’d shown up at the Bradys’ little house the next day, as usual, and sat there while Cohen told me about it.
Not the details, thank God, but enough that my brain and body were confused as hell.
For all we’re trying to be rockstars, we’re still just kids, which means that I’m a big fat virgin who doesn’t know who or what he wants.
Sometimes, when Rain laces her pinky finger through mine on one of our hard days, all I want is to pull her closer.
Other times, like while we were partying at Club Vix two weeks ago, when Co and I were both high as kites on MDMA, and I watched Cohen suck the spot just below her left ear and twist her hair in his fist, I wished I could push her out of the way and take her place.
We’re also just kids from The Neck, which means that even though Dutch and I dropped out of school after he aged out of the foster system and took me with him, Grams and the Bradys insist that Cohen and Rain get their diplomas.
So today’s writing session is squeezed in between the end of the school day and Dutch’s overnight shift at eleven.
It’s the first for our second album. We’re currently signed with Lou and Conquer Records for a three-album deal, so even though it’s only May and our first album doesn’t come out until the start of August, we’re already back at it.
And as if hearing about it once from Cohen wasn’t enough, it is clear as fucking day that the lyrics Rain has written, the ones she’s sharing with us right now, are about her and Cohen’s first time.
She doesn’t say that. But c’mon. Her body’s in a rush, the crash is coming, it’s a crush or something like that…it doesn’t take a genius to know what that’s about. Meanwhile, the only orgasms I’ve ever had have come courtesy of my right hand and some downright confusing fantasies.
End Interlude