I stepped from the old building, forgetting how to breathe like an independent, adult woman.
Oh my God... he's...
Marsh's.
I sighed at the mental comment, ashamed for being so immature about someone I didn't even know.
Opening my car door, pride began to fill me as I remember how well the reaction is today toward our music. Though, maybe, it was probably an act that was customary.
"Still good." I speak aloud after setting my instrument against the seat. Repairs definitely in order.
.
.
.
The drive home...
I was slightly distracted by the memory. The gentle sensation of his fingertips... the stringy texture of his blonde hair...
My heart began to race yet again at the sound of his voice.
No. This isn't supposed to happen to me. Marsh likes him...I'm going to back the hell off.
That's what friends do.
It'll be fine, anyway. Not like I'd see him again in the future.
