COLE
Nice. Channel it into a sexy track.
I’m not selling sex.
COLE
You’re such a stubborn asshole, G.
When Blake returns to the table, I do my best to de-scowl and paste on a pleasant expression. Truth is we had a pretty good day. I even wrote something that wasn’t garbage, thanks to Blake. She inspired one line that spawned an entire verse. If she wants to have fun tonight, maybe I should stop getting in her way.
“Any update on the toaster situation?” I ask her.
She eyes me distrustfully.
“What?”
“Is this how the summer is going to play out?” She twirls her straw, making the ice cubes clack against her glass. “One second you’re cool, and then you’re snapping at me and insulting my boobs. Then you’re totally normal, talking about music and swapping virginity stories, and then boom—forbidding me from leaving the house. And now you’re pretending to care about my custody battle for Hot Boi? I wantoff this ride, Graham.”
I let out a rueful breath. “I’m sorry for insulting your boobs earlier.”
“And my taste in music.”
“Well, no. Your taste in music sucks.”
“Mollie May is catchy!”
“She’s surface level,” I shoot back.
“Right, and you’re an endless abyss of deep. Sooooo deep.” Blake presents me with the dramatic rolling of her eyes.
I toy with my condensation-drenched beer label, slowly peeling it off the bottle. “I mean, I’m trying to be. But it’s not working. I’ve had writer’s block for almost a year now.”
She falters. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something earlier? I didn’t realize you were blocked.”
“It’s fine. It happens.”
“It’s not ‘fine.’ Music is your whole life. And it’s how you make a living. Do you have any, like, strategies to combat writer’s block? Have you had it before?”
“Never like this,” I find myself admitting.
“That’s awful.”
The sympathy that flashes in her eyes prickles at me, mostly because I have a tough time separating sympathy from pity. I fuckinghatepity.
I rip a piece of the label, and the narrow strip curls into itself. “It’s fine,” I repeat, firmer this time, because I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “I’ll get over it. I have a plan.”
“Okay. What’s the plan?”
“No sex.”
Blake looks confused. “What?”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling sheepish. “I’m off sex for a while.”
“What’s a while?” she demands.
“Haven’t gotten laid in six months.”
