Decades

It Could Be You. Or the Testosterone.

Stevie woke up late the next morning and felt her cheeks color at the thought of facing Lindsey, knowing he'd heard her last night. She was used to playing music and everything else loudly. She didn't even think about any subtle sounds she was making or that the buzzing of that damned vibrator would be loud enough to hear outside of her bedroom. Horrifying!

She'd just have to get up and pretend it never happened. Or maybe she should pretend it was her electric toothbrush. The one that was in her condo.

She heard noises coming from Lindsey's room as she came out. He was carrying some clothes on hangers down the stairs. She was curious about where he was going with those.

She wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of the coffee that Lindsey had gratefully started before she'd awakened. As she was standing there, he greeted her with a smile and a hearty good morning, much more chipper than she was for this hour. As she sank into her comfortable chair, he came through again, this time with his suitcase.

Her heart sank. Was he leaving? He did have a family and probably would leave to spend time with them at some point. She wasn't ready for them to go their separate ways, and they still had a lot of work to do since they were moving at a snail's pace. Lindsey had stressed how this was their legacy album, and he didn't want to release it unless it was perfect. It meant more than any piece of music they'd ever made. It was the beginning of them when all they had was each other, their dreams, and a belief in each other's talent.

Lindsey, sentimentally, expressed to Stevie before they began the project that those two kids who came to L.A. with big dreams were due some reverence; they owed them so much. She agreed this wasn't a pop album that was slated to be a commercial success for the masses. It was the beginning of them, when they were so full of hope and ambition, and dreams.

"Lindsey, are you going somewhere?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Moving downstairs to the bedroom down here. Just have a few more things to grab."

"Why are you moving?" she inquired.

"I just think I'll sleep better in the other bedroom." he answered.

The downstairs bedroom was the size of a broom closet and had a single bed, didn't have a bathroom or a large enough closet to be functional, even if he didn't have many clothes with him. She couldn't see how he'd possibly be more comfortable there, so she said as much.

He turned to face her, chuckling and rubbing his hand through his hair and down over his face. "Stevie, just trust me, I'll sleep better here."

She didn't see how and pushed the topic again. So, with a laugh, he asked if she wanted him to be honest. "I can be honest, or I can be a gentleman. Your choice."

Stevie told him that she never quite thought of him as a gentleman or completely honest, so she guessed she would go with honest this time.

"Okay," he sighed. "I need some distance if I'm going to continue to live here, under the same roof with you."

She looked insulted and cast her eyes downward. She wasn't that hard to live with, was she? She thought they'd been having fun together.

Lindsey sensed that she didn't understand what he was trying to say, so he was quick to explain, even if it was awkward for them both. "Stevie, I'm finding it difficult to sleep with you as my next-door neighbor. I'm trying to approach this project like old friends, completely professionally." he sighed, "Remember how we agreed to treat each other like siblings?"

She nodded that she was following what he was saying.

"Well, baby," ignoring the familiar pet name, "you're never going to feel like my sibling. I've always been wildly attracted to you, you know this. That's unlikely ever to change," he smiled wistfully.

"Here's the problem. As attracted as I am to you, hearing that constant buzzing and knowing you still have the sex drive of a 16-year-old boy is making it hard for me to..." he ran his hand over his face, feeling shy all at once, "not make an ass of myself by trying to get an invitation to "help" you out."

He explained to Stevie that it was better for his mental health not to hear what she was doing on the other side of that wall. His imagination was dangerous enough without sound effects.

"God, Lindsey. You've heard me before last night? Ugh, I'm humiliated," Stevie stammered, embarrassed and mortified.

"Stevie, I hear you at night and in the mornings and the other day in the middle of the afternoon when you said you wanted a quick power nap. I've never seen anything like it." She blushed from her ears to her chest. But looked up, giggling after a few seconds.

"If you must know, I'm on a new wellness kick that includes hormone replacement therapy. That could be part of what's going on with me, testosterone," and then she lowered her voice and mumbled, "or it may be the company I'm keeping these days." She slowly brought her eyes up from the floor with a mischievous giggle, covering her face and shaking her head like a girl who'd embarrassed herself in front of her crush.

Her laugh was something a person, especially Lindsey, could be infected with. She was adorable and funny. She reminded him that he, of all people, understood that she had a "healthy" sex drive. The gadgets were a gift from her friend, and she didn't realize how handy they actually were. She went on to explain that one even hooked to an app on the iPhone, but that was more high-tech than she'd been interested in.

Lindsey commented that he'd been fooling himself into thinking he had a strong sex drive, that was until he couldn't top hers. "I mean, woman, how do you get anything done?" he laughed out loud.

He thought to himself that no matter how horny he was, he wasn't masturbating three times a day, as he suspected she must have been doing. He immediately kicked himself for all the years he'd missed out on her. When they lived together, he had never in his life been more sexually fulfilled. Those memories hadn't helped him to get over her.

He'd spent over a decade trying to get close to her and being angry when the feelings weren't reciprocated. He had always wanted her full-time, not just angry hate fucks in dressing rooms and drunken hookups in random hotels. But, he'd always taken what he could get where Stevie Nicks was concerned.

"Stevie, I'm doing you a favor, moving downstairs. I don't know if I can stay on the right side of your bedroom door, knowing what you're doing over there." he shook his head and glanced up quickly, trying to read her reaction to what he was saying.

"Well, I mean, I realize it's a bad idea. But, there have been some nights that I think I would have appreciated your 'help,' thank you very much," she joked, dramatically batting her eyelashes. "But, I will respect your professionalism, Mr. Buckingham," she added with a teasing formal tone.

They smiled at each other. He was trying hard not to allow their budding friendship to become something complicated that would lead to more music dealing with "lust, longing, and loneliness," as Lindsey had once described the underlying themes of his autobiographical songwriting.

Lindsey wanted to be a good man. He really wanted to be good to the women in his life. He'd had a wife for over two decades, but still, when he thought of the women in his life, he included Stevie with an equal amount of importance, though he had learned over the years that this information was best kept to himself. He'd spent those last two decades consistently disappointing one of the two women, or if he was honest with himself, both of them.

Before coming here, he'd vowed to himself, to Stevie, and to Kristen that this was professional. "Siblings," he'd ridiculously said, though no one actually believed that. Stevie's teasing about enjoying his "help" was probably just that, teasing. She'd always flirted with him when they were on good terms, even when nothing was happening with them.

Though, who was he kidding? There was always something happening with them.