Page 114 of Rock Me All Night
Someone to call, to hold,
to love, no way, that word—
She smiles and I drift away—
My cheeks flush. I stammer something incomprehensible and change the station.
"You know, most girls feel flattered when someone writes a song about them," he says.
I press my back against the seat. "You've never said that it's about me."
His fingers curl around the wheel. "It is."
"Oh."
"You're cute when you're nervous."
I turn my attention to the window, but there's nothing to see. Only overpasses, exit signs, rows of condos. "Why did you write a song about me?"
"Something came over me, an itch, and the song was the only way to scratch it."
I take a deep breath. "That isn't an answer."
"Yes, it is." He turns to me for a moment then his eyes are back on the road. "It's just not the answer you want."
I want him to look at me and tell me his feelings, to explain what it means—the itch he can't scratch.
The song sounds like it's about falling in love.
Is he falling in love with me?
The radio station goes to commercial. It's for some fast-food restaurant, some supposedly cheap and delicious breakfast item. The hum of the road, the wind leaking through the not-quite-airtight windows, fills the car.
Miles is supposed to be my secret weapon in getting through this awful weekend. If he's going to be defensive and make up bullshit about why he wrote a song about me… I can't deal with that.
I guess it's up to me to turn the mood.
"Is this your car?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Then why do you always ride the death bike?"
"I like having something powerful between my legs."
"Besides your cock?"
He chuckles. "You're not supposed to spell out the joke."
"Yeah, but I like thinking about your cock." I take a deep breath. It doesn't help sooth me. What is he doing writing songs about falling in love with me then insisting I'm ruining our relationship by making it serious?
I tap my fingers against the windowsill. It's frustrating, the way he's so unclear about his intentions.
"I can't explain it. If I could, I wouldn't have to write the song." His voice gets low. "I felt something. I wrote the song. The end."
"Thanks. You really cleared things up."
"You're cranky today."
