Page 89 of One More Made Up Love Song
My eyes dart to his for a split second, and they are practicallydancing.He is enjoying himself way too much.
“Shut up,” I tease. “You were insufferable. But I wanted to be good at my job, and I figured that meant I needed to understand your catalog. So I listened. It’s not a big deal.”
“You listened…enough to learnallthe lyrics. That’s dedication.”
“I take my work responsibilities very seriously.”
“Right. But I’m notinMidnight Rush anymore, so…”
I breathe out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. It started as research, but then I ended up liking the music, and it was basically all I listened to for three solid months. Is that what you want me to admit?”
He chuckles. “Exactly that.”
“You’re horrible.”
“I think what you mean to say is that I'm the lead singer of your favorite band,” he says with a smirk.
He and Carina pass the phone back and forth for the next couple of hours, taking us on a musical journey from the wildly popular to the completely obscure.
We laugh, we joke, and I mostly forget to be tense around Freddie. To wonder if he’s thinking about the kisses we’ve shared as much as I am. I just have fun. It feels really good. And serves as a reminder of why I like him so much.
But then Freddie turns on another Midnight Rush song, this one from the last album they released before the band split up. He’s singing lead vocals, as always, and both his voice and the lyrics are more mature than the band’s earlier stuff.
I grip the steering wheel as the opening verse plays over the speakers. For once, Freddie isn’t singing along, and when I glance over at him, he’s studying me closely.
At the lineYou’ve given me the kiss I can’t forget, You’ll always be the one I won’t regret, I force my gaze back to the road.
Did he pick this song on purpose? Is that why he’s watching me so closely?
It could just be a coincidence, but it’s been almost an hour since any Midnight Rush music has played. Why this one?
“You wrote this one, didn’t you?” Carina asks from the back seat, and Freddie clears his throat.
“Yeah, I did,” he says.
Carina leans up, tugging her seatbelt forward so her face is hovering in between us. “About who? Was there someone special who reallydidgive you the kiss you couldn’t forget?”
Oh,I am going to murder my little sister. What is she doing? Is shetryingto make me miserable?
“Absolutelynotsomeone special,” Freddie says through a chuckle. “I mostly write about ideas more than specific people or situations.”
Carina meets my gaze through the rearview mirror, and I scowl at her, hoping she senses how much I really,reallywant her to change the subject.
She wrinkles her forehead like she has no clue what I’m talking about and lifts her shoulders into a shrug.
“That doesn’t feel nearly as romantic as you writing a song for someone specific,” Carina says. “Have you ever done it that way? Written a song about an actual person?”
I can’t keep myself from looking over at Freddie one more time. He meets my gaze, his expression pointed and intentional.
“Yeah,” he finally says as I force my eyes back to the road. “I have, actually. But not until recently.”
Oh. Oh, man. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Recently could mean anytime in the last year. Or the lastthreeyears. It doesn’t have to meannow.And he only saidsomeoneand someone could beanyone.
But the way he just looked at me. Itfeltlike he was telling me something, like he was willing me to read between the lines.
I’mdeepinto existential pondering about what life will be like if Freddie reallyhaswritten a song about me when my phone buzzes with a text. With the music turned off, Siri decides to read the message out loud.
