Page 10 of I Just Want to be Yours

I let out a groan and swallow my bite. “I don’t want to talk about it. If I admit anything out loud, I’m going to think about it. I’m going to start overanalyzing why he hasn’t said it. And I’m going to drive myself insane. So, let’s just drop it, okay? I’m happy.”

She looks like she’s trying to solve a complex puzzle as she dips her spoon into the caramel drizzle. “You could say it first, you know.”

I scoff and shove another bite of molten chocolate into my mouth. “I am definitely not saying it first.”

I may have grown a lot when it comes to not bottling up what I’m feeling, but the thought of makingthatconfession is still too terrifying. What if it makes me come on too strong? What if he gets freaked out? What if he doesn’t say it back?

I’d rather not find out.

7

jackson

We’ve beenin the studio for hours, and all I want to do is get home. Margot got off work over an hour ago, and I had to text her and tell her I have no idea what time I’ll be done.

Margot:

No worries. We’re making tacos. I’ll save you some.

Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I wait for the latest direction from Dave. Now that our days in the studio are numbered, he’s been on a rampage, making sure our next album is nothing short of perfect.

He’s stressed. He’s brought the band up from nothing, and he’s basically done it all himself for the past seven years. Now that things are going well for us, he might be thrilled, but he’s drowning.

We need a manager.

I give him credit for securing the two opening tours on his own, but if we’re ever going to headline ourselves, we need someone who knows what they’re doing. No one has mentioned it—not in front of me, anyway. I was hoping Iwouldn’t have to be the one to say something since I’m the newest member, but if this keeps up, I’ll have to talk to Dave.

He’s listening to what feels like our millionth attempt at the tenth track on the album, and when he rips the headphones off his ears and storms back in, I know we’ll have to do it again. This has become the new routine, and I find it a little hard to believe we suddenly suckthatmuch. Dave doesn’t usually talk about his personal life. Hell, he’s supposedly had the same girlfriend for years, but I’ve never met her. Part of me wants to just ask him what the hell is going on, because I don’t think our music is the only thing getting him riled up.

“Fucking trash,” he says with a shake of his head. “Marty, tighten your shit up or I’ll have Jackson record both guitar tracks.”

Rubbing my hand over my face, I try to suppress my groan. “Is that the only reason we haven’t finished this song yet? He sounds fine to me.” I casually lift my hand. “But honestly, I’ll record whatever you want if it means we can all go home.”

Marty glares at me as he gets his guitar ready again. “Shut up, puppy.” He gives Dave a nod. “Take it from the top.”

Even Dave looks disappointed by my response, but at this point, I’m too tired to care. “Take it from the top,” he echoes, and I don’t argue with him.

I just accept that it will be a long night and close my notebook in front of me. There’s no way I can write lyrics—let alone good ones—with Dave like this. I can usually try to get a few thoughts down in between takes, but nothing about our time in the studio today has me feeling creative.

Take after endless take, we work on getting the song exactly how Dave wants it. He can’t even give us the satisfaction of saying he likes it by the time we’re done. He just nods with a reluctant, “Good enough,” and all I want to do is shake him and ask him why the fuck he’s avoiding going home, but that wouldn’t help any of us. Instead, I tell him to have a goodnight and try to relax my grip on the steering wheel as I drive back to Margot.

When I finally get into Margot’s apartment, it’s almost midnight. I half expect her to be asleep, but she’s curled up on the couch, rewatchingTed Lasso. The only light in the whole apartment comes from the small bulb over the stove and the glow from the TV. Rae must be with Matt unless she already went to bed.

“Hey,” Margot says as she pushes herself up and gets to her feet. She sounds tired. As she walks toward the kitchen, she shakes her hair loose, and I wonder if shewasjust asleep. She’s wearing lace-trim pink pajama shorts with a matching tank, and after the day I’ve had, the sight of her loosens something inside me that’s been tightly coiled all day.

“Hey, I thought you’d be asleep.” I give her a peck on the cheek and open the fridge for my leftovers. I’m starving.

She smiles, but there’s a twinge of sadness behind it. “I’ll have plenty of time to go to bed early after you leave.”

Her comment is the heavy dose of reality I don’t want.

Four days.

Four more days with her until I’m gone.

“How are you feeling about that?” I ask without thinking. We’ve talked about this, but that was weeks ago. I feel like we’re in a good place now—a place I don’t want to mess up.

She steps in front of me and reaches for the plate of leftovers in the fridge. With a light shrug of her shoulder, she says, “It is what it is.”

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