Me: Please? And can I have my picture taken with you? OMG, I’m in Ridge Lawson’s bed!
I’m laughing, but Ridge isn’t finding me amusing.
Me: Ridge Lawson, will you sign my boobs?
He puts his laptop down beside him, leans over to his nightstand and picks up a marker, then turns back to me.
I don’t really want his autograph. Surely he knows I’m kidding.
He pulls the lid off the marker, swiftly lunges across the bed, and knocks me onto my back, bringing the marker to my forehead.
He’s trying to sign my face?
I lift my legs and create a barrier with my knees as I try to force his hands away.
Dammit, he’s strong.
He puts one of my hands under his knee and locks my arm to the bed. His other arm grabs my arm that’s pushing his face away, and he pushes that hand to the bed, too. I’m screaming and laughing and trying to turn my face away from him, but every time I move, the marker moves over my face while he tries to sign his name.
I’m unable to overpower him, so I eventually sigh and hold my head still so he’ll stop drawing all over my face.
He hops up, puts the lid back on the marker, and smirks at me.
I reach over to my laptop.
Me: You are no longer my prank master. This has officially turned into a three-way war. Excuse me while I go Google my revenge.
I fold up my laptop and walk quietly out of the room while he laughs at me. As I head through the living room toward my bedroom, Warren glances at me. Twice.
“Should have stayed in here and watched porn with me,” he says, taking in the marker all over my face.
I ignore his comment. “Ridge and I just finished discussing TV rules,” I lie. “I get Thursdays.”
“No, you don’t,” Warren says. “Tomorrow is Thursday. I watch Thursday-night porn on Thursday.”
“Not anymore you don’t. Guess you should have asked about my television habits when you were interviewing me.”
He groans. “Fine. You can have Thursdays, but only if you wear that dress you had on earlier.”
I laugh. “I’m burning that dress.”
Ridge
“Why’d you give Sydney the TV tonight?” Warren signs. He drops onto the couch next to me. “You know I love Thursday night. I’m off work on Fridays.”
“I never talked to Sydney about TV nights.”
He glances toward Sydney’s bedroom door with a scowl on his face. “What a little liar. How did you meet her, anyway?”
“Music-related. She’s writing lyrics for the band.”
Warren’s eyes bulge, and he straightens up on the couch, turning to look at me as if I’ve just betrayed him.
“Don’t you think this is something your manager should know about?”
I laugh and sign back to him. “Good point. Hey, Warren, Sydney is officially writing lyrics for us.”
He frowns. “And don’t you think your manager should have discussed a financial arrangement with her? What percentage are we giving her?”
“We’re not. She feels guilty taking a percentage while she’s not paying rent, so we’re good for now.”
He’s standing now, glaring down at me. “How do you know you can trust her? And what if something happens with a song she helped write? What if it makes the cut on the album and she suddenly decides she wants a percentage? And why the hell aren’t you writing the lyrics anymore?”