“I thought Dylan wrote Blue Phoenix’s songs.”
“Lesser known fact: I wrote “Rising.”
“Really? Well, I listened to the track on repeat for weeks. The first song that ever spoke to me,” she says softly, rubbing the neck of the guitar. “Did writing the song help you?”
“No, but it sounds good, hey?” She doesn’t want me to meet Tuesday so she’s not delving into my mind either. I won’t share the pain that lies beneath the song.
The intensity and softness in her expression kills me. The song weakened and hit me further with what I deny—Ruby is the epitome of myself. She’s here and her eyes are acknowledging what I repeatedly see: we’re from the same place and we don’t want to be there. I can’t hold Ruby’s look; I’m sitting on the bed with this woman and the buried need to hold her resurfaces. Kiss her. Touch her. Inhale her, until she’s part of me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.
“Because you blow me away. You’re amazing.”
Ruby carefully places the guitar on the floor and shifts on the bed, tucking her long legs under her. “Can I be straight with you, Jem? Get this out in the open so we can lay the tension to rest?”
“Be straight as you like, you always are.” I prop myself on my elbows.
We half-smile at each other and the understanding floods physical desire again.
Ruby tips her head. “You know we’ve avoided each other for most of the tour, right?”
“No,” I catch her look. “Okay, yeah. A bit.”
“Because something weird’s between us, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, I can’t move past seeing you as the guy in the kitchen that night—he was fucking scary.” I look away. “I wanted to help you when I should’ve run and that’s part of this ‘something weird’,” she says. I look back and there’s small crease of concern between her brows.
“I’m sorry I scared you. Don’t worry; you won’t see him again. We’ll keep things professional.”
Ruby drags hair from her face and holds it as she studies me with pursed lips. “Not just that but all the parts of you I saw in that week. I felt a weird connection to you, which worries me. Especially when you say shit about how I’m looking better, as if you’re thinking of me.”
“Okay, I won’t say anything. I won’t come near you if you don’t want.”
She’s so fucking hypocritical. Ruby came here tonight; and we’re sitting on my bed together, talking about guitars and music and wrapping our world back around our shoulders. All that’s left is to reach out and admit this.
Ruby indicates herself and me. “URST.”
“Erst?”
“Unresolved sexual tension. It’s a thing on TV and movies. Two people attracted to each other but can’t or won’t do anything for whatever reason. This follows us too.”
I shrug. “Right. If you say.”
“Seriously, Jem? You’re saying there isn’t any?”
“Are you asking me if I want to fuck you?”
“No, I’m not asking; I don’t want sex with you. I’m saying there’s an attraction and that’s awkward, yeah?”
I guess Ruby doesn’t have an issue with the topic, but the word ‘sex’ should not come from that mouth, otherwise I’ll be forced to kiss the word away and show her what the hell she’s doing to me.
Deep breath, Jem.
“So what if there is; we don’t need to act on it. I get why you’re saying this but you should know by now that I won’t do anything that’ll cause problems. You’re an attractive chick, yeah, but I’m not screwing this up by hitting on you.”
“Okay,” she says doubtfully. “Because I don’t want anything messing up the other relationship we have… the musical one.”