Love Song(27)

“Any update on the toaster situation?” I ask her.

She eyes me distrustfully.

“What?”

“Is this how the summer is going to play out?” She twirls her straw, making the ice cubes clack against her glass. “One second you’re cool, and then you’re snapping at me and insulting my boobs. Then you’re totally normal, talking about music and swapping virginity stories, and then boom—forbidding me from leaving the house. And now you’re pretending to care about my custody battle for Hot Boi? I want off this ride, Graham.”

I let out a rueful breath. “I’m sorry for insulting your boobs earlier.”

“And my taste in music.”

“Well, no. Your taste in music sucks.”

“Mollie May is catchy!”

“She’s surface level,” I shoot back.

“Right, and you’re an endless abyss of deep. Sooooo deep.” Blake presents me with the dramatic rolling of her eyes.

I toy with my condensation-drenched beer label, slowly peeling it off the bottle. “I mean, I’m trying to be. But it’s not working. I’ve had writer’s block for almost a year now.”

She falters. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something earlier? I didn’t realize you were blocked.”

“It’s fine. It happens.”

“It’s not ‘fine.’ Music is your whole life. And it’s how you make a living. Do you have any, like, strategies to combat writer’s block? Have you had it before?”

“Never like this,” I find myself admitting.

“That’s awful.”

The sympathy that flashes in her eyes prickles at me, mostly because I have a tough time separating sympathy from pity. I fucking hate pity.

I rip a piece of the label, and the narrow strip curls into itself. “It’s fine,” I repeat, firmer this time, because I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “I’ll get over it. I have a plan.”

“Okay. What’s the plan?”

“No sex.”

Blake looks confused. “What?”

I rub the back of my neck, feeling sheepish. “I’m off sex for a while.”

“What’s a while?” she demands.

“Haven’t gotten laid in six months.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true.” I tip back the bottle and gulp down a mouthful of beer.

“How are you still alive?”

I laugh mid-sip, coughing. “Funny.”

“No, seriously. I can’t believe you’re not having sex. This must be torture for you.”

“How often do you think I fuck, freckles?”

The moment the question pops out, I grit my teeth, reminding myself I’m not supposed to say shit like that around her. It’s bad enough that I allowed the virginity conversation earlier.

Allowed?

Fine. Initiated.

I regret that now, because the only thing it achieved was planting visions in my head of Blake having sex with Beau of all people. I certainly didn’t expect the hot rush of jealousy I felt at the knowledge that she’d given it up to him.

It’s so fucking wrong, but I wish I was her first.

“So you’re forsaking sex for music?” Blake muses, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

“Sort of.” I grudgingly continue. “I was talking to Cole, my old bandmate—”

“Cole Tanner? Oh my God, he’s so hot.”

I roll my eyes at her. “How is that relevant to anything?”

“It’s not. Just stating a fact.”

“Anyway, supposedly celibacy is a creative reset. Helps clear your head. You know, channel the frustration and pent-up…” I search for the right word.

“Semen?” she offers, and I huff out a laugh.

“Lust,” I correct. “Cole swears it’ll get me back in touch with my work.”

“So basically, you’ve been acting like a cranky asshole because you haven’t had sex?” She curiously seeks out my gaze. “Do you jerk off?”

Oh, hell. Why did I open this door?

“That’s none of your business.”

“No, tell me. Are you abstaining from orgasms in general or just sex with another person?”

“I jerk off,” I answer against my will. My vocal cords are working of their own volition without input from my brain.

Blake pops her straw back in her mouth, realizing her glass is empty when she sucks in nothing but air. “I’m gonna grab another,” she says. “Want me to get you another beer?”

I narrow my eyes on her. “With what ID?”

“Definitely not a fake one,” she says innocently.

I sigh as she darts off. This girl will be the death of me.

My phone buzzes, a much-needed distraction. Or not. Because it’s my sister asking how Blake’s doing. I swear this entire family network is obsessed with Blake Logan’s well-being.

She’s fine. We went out on the boat today.



GIGI

Are you being nice to her?



Sometimes.



GIGI

LMAO You’re such a dick.



This was supposed to be my writing summer, Stan.