Yours Musically

38. Sneak Peek

Chapter Thirty Eight – Sneak Peek

Lately, I'd started to feel like I'd lost all sense of human behaviour.

You know when you're expecting a person to act a certain way after a certain situation, but they end up acting completely opposite? And you start to question your own sanity.

After the conversation in the parking lot, I don't know how I was expecting Matt to be, but it definitely wasn't so...normal. Like nothing had even happened. Like I hadn't literally thrown myself at him, almost kissed him the night before, and then told him we were nothing more than not enemies the next day.

Naturally, I'd been hesitant about going to his house for training. And just as expected, he'd shown up in my room again. Even before I could've started to come up with some lame and awkward excuse, he'd dragged me downstairs by my arm, across the street to his house, and straight up to his music room.

He'd pointed me towards a chair, and I'd sat down. And before I could've even opened my mouth to say something to make myself feel worse, he'd picked up his guitar and started training me like everything was just like it used to be before the trip.

I'd still walked on eggshells for a while, but after a point, it started feeling pointless. Like there was nothing to be careful about in the first place. And before I knew it, we'd fallen back into our routine.

Over the week, we had collectively agreed that his bed was way more comfortable than his music room chairs.

So, I kicked my shoes off and jumped on the soft mattress, cradling Cheeto in my arms. He was more playful than usual, trying to bite my finger every few seconds.

"Nope. Not happening." Shaking his head firmly, Matt trod over to the bed, snatched him from me, took him to the door, and set him down outside the room, giving his back a tiny push. "Go away."

Just as Cheeto was about to run back in, he shut the door and made his way back to me.

I gasped. "Why?"

He rolled up the sleeve of his gray sweater, revealing a trail of scratches on his forearm. "Those kittens are in the worst phase at the moment. You don't want them around you."

"Oh my God!" I ran my fingers over the scratches. "I was wondering why you had full sleeves on. You're usually—" I cut myself off from saying flaunting your muscular arms.

"Usually what?" he asked, settling on the bed with his guitar. While I had taken up almost half his bed with my legs sprawled forward, he was sitting on the edge with his feet on the ground.

"Usually wearing short sleeves." I shrugged.

He set the guitar on his right knee and brought his right arm around it to hit the strings while his left hand positioned over the frets. One thing I'd realized while training was that I loved watching him play. It was so satisfying.

"Before we begin, I'm gonna get myself a coffee. Do you want one?" he asked.

"You mean your perfectly brewed coffee?"

His brows pulled together.

"Never mind." I scoffed. "I'm good."

"Fine. I'll get one for myself."

"Right. Make it perfect."

"What is this about?"

"Nothing." I shrugged.

Eyeing me skeptically, he started to leave the room but remembered something and stopped at the door, raising a brow at me. "Do you want a soda?"

"That, I'll have."