"Cross My Heart!"

Chapter 2

Alright, I might post a few more chapters and then see what happens. Thanks to those who have read it so far. Please comment! :)

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~Ruby~

Josh ended up taking me to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant about ten minutes away from where I worked. I'd never head of it before, but for whatever reason, I trusted Josh and his food choices. Josh smiled at the waitress as he handed her our menus back, and she quickly turned away to try and hide the blush spreading on her cheeks.

"So...." Josh started, obviously racking his brain to try and think of something to say.

"So...." I mimicked, causing him to stick his tongue out at me (and flash his tongue ring in the process). I laughed in response, prompting looks from other patrons. He laughed along, collecting himself and restarting his statement. "Well aren't you sassy."

"Says the infamous Ramsassy," I quipped. "Oh my god, you ARE one of those crazy fan girls! I should have known!" He desperately searched the room, feigning horror. "Oh, cut it out. If I were a crazy fan girl, I wouldn't be here right now, and you wouldn't feel guilty for knocking over a shoe display." He paused, as if to think about it. "True," he conceded. I smirked. "That's what I thought." 

I leaned back in my chair, taking in my surroundings. It was a cute little place. There were deep purple walls with different quotes written on the wall with gold paint, small booths seemingly cut out of the wall, and there was quiet music echoing throughout the almost-empty restaurant. "Thank you again for bringing me here. You really, honestly didn't have to."

"Yes I did. And I wanted to. There's a difference."

"Regardless, I appreciate it." A few seconds passed before he tried one last time to start a sentence. "So. Music. Tell me more about yours." I bit my lip as I thought it over. "Well, what do you want to know? I mean, I already told you that I write songs, play piano and keytar, and sing. And it's alternative pop-rock." I hesitated. "... And it's shit compared to yours." I gave him an I'm-just-kidding-but-not-really-at-all smile, though I really hoped he only read into the first half of it. "Don't do that. I really do wanna know about your music, Rubes." He grimaced, realizing that he'd just given me a nickname. "Don't worry," I chuckled, "you can call me Rubes if you want." He let out a breath. "Oh good. I seriously thought I fucked that up." Fucked that up? How is Josh Ramsay calling you a nickname fucking up!?

"Anyway, Rubes, tell me about your music. How long have you been playing? How many songs have you written? I'm not some random person - I'm a musician. I kind of get it more than other people."

That's precisely the problem.

"I started playing piano at age four. Dad played it, I loved it. Took lessons for ten years before I realized that it was holding me back from writing songs." He gave me a questioning look. "My teacher, the only one who lived in town, didn't like me writing songs. I'd show lyrics to her and try to get her to help me play it, but she'd put it away after a minute and put Bach or Mozart in front of me as soon as possible. The whole sightreading-memorizing-thing didn't help my creativity. In fact," I paused, taking a breath, "once I quit, I wrote my first four songs in one month."

"But you said you wrote lyrics before then?"

"Oh yeah, I'd been writing lyrics since I was 12." I didn't mention how most of them dealt with sickness and depression. "Anyway, in these past eight years, I've written about.... well, maybe 150 songs? And that's not including lyrics on their own. I write those more than music." He nodded. "We should jam together at some point. Or write. Or something. If you're cool with that, of course."