I Turn To You | Eminem

Seven

Marshall pulled up to the bar, its neon sign flickering faintly in the early evening light. The place was different from where they last met, a bit further out and more laid-back.

The drive from Detroit had been long, but it gave him time to clear his head, to push away the noise and focus on what he was gonna say to Christina. Not that he had any clear idea, but he'd figure it out. He always did.

He stepped out of his car, glancing at the other vehicles in the lot, then at the entrance. The air was cool, the late autumn wind cutting through his hoodie, making him pull the hood tighter over his head.

With a deep breath, he walked toward the door, his sneakers squeaking against the pavement with each step. The high-pitched sound grated on his nerves, and he wished he'd worn different shoes.

Inside, the bar was dimly lit, cosy. A couple of booths lined the walls, and a row of stools stood empty at the bar. The place was quiet, with only a few scattered customers and soft music playing overhead. Marshall spotted Christina sitting at a small table near the back, her face partially hidden behind the menu she was pretending to read.

He approached, his nerves creeping back. When she looked up and saw him, she smiled, and it was like a knot inside him loosened a little. He tried to think of something smooth to say, maybe even reach out for a handshake, but before he could lift his hand, she was gestured him to slide into the booth.

There was no hug, just like last time, and no handshake too. It was kinda weird, but he played it off, sinking into the seat across from her.

"Hey," he said, keeping his voice casual.

"Hey," Christina replied, setting the menu down. Her eyes lingered on him for a second longer than normal, then she looked away. "How was the drive?"

"Not bad," Marshall shrugged. "Traffic was light. How you been?"

"Good," she said, with a slight nod. "Work's been crazy, but you know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," he said, nodding. "Same shit, different day."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, and Marshall's mind raced to think of something to fill it. He glanced around the bar, then back at Christina. She was watching him, an unreadable expression on her face.

"So," he started, leaning back a bit, "what's been going on with you? Anything new?"

Christina shrugged. "Not much. Had some shows in Vegas, and New York. You?"

"Been in the studio a lot," Marshall said. "Working on new stuff. Dre's been on my ass about it."

She laughed softly. "He's always on your ass about something."

Marshall chuckled. "Yeah, you're right. Guess some things never change."

They ordered drinks, and as the conversation continued, the initial awkwardness started to fade. They talked about mutual friends, shared stories, and caught up on everything that had happened since they last saw each other. Marshall found himself relaxing, almost forgetting the tension he'd felt just walking in. Christina had this way of making him feel at ease, even when his mind was running a mile a minute.

Marshall leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his Diet Coke, eyes on Christina as she laughed at something he said. He wasn't even sure what was so funny about he'd said, but he'd take the win.

They'd been sitting there for a while, talking about everything and nothing — music, movies, stupid jokes. It felt... easy, more than last time. Less like he was walking on eggshells.

He looked at her again. The way the low light played off her hair, the curve of her smile — it was hard not to notice. She caught him looking and tilted her head, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

"What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," he said quickly, looking away, feeling the heat rise to his face. He fumbled with his drink, trying to play it cool. "Just, uh, thinking. Did I ever tell you about the time me and D12 almost got kicked off stage?"

As he launched into the story, gesturing with his hands, Christina leaned in, resting her chin on her hand and watching him closely with a smile.

"So we're at this massive gig, right? Place is packed, crowd's hyped. We're backstage, and outta nowhere, Kuniva and Porter start beefing over the dumbest shit — like whose sneakers are fresher or some bullshit like that."

"Over... shoes?" she said, incredulous.

"Yeah, they're straight-up fools," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm talkin' full-on yelling and shoving, nearly knocking over the gear. Ridiculous. Security's eyeing us like we're about to start a riot. They were ready to kick us out before we even hit the stage."

"Damn, then what happened?" she asked, clearly intrigued.

"I'm busting my ass trying to calm 'em down, telling them we're not a bunch of retards. Finally got 'em to chill and we made it through the show. Barely scraped by, but man, it was a mess."

The blonde singer laughed, shaking her head. "That's wild. Did this kind of thing happen often?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Marshall said with a chuckle, taking a sip of his drink. "Definitely crazy.

"You know," Christina said, her voice dropping just a bit, enough for him to notice. "You have a way of talking with your hands that's... kind of distracting."

Marshall blinked, his words stumbling to a stop. "Distracting? How?"

Christina shrugged with an innocent look, her hand brushing against his arm and lingering there.

"I don't know," she said. "Just makes me wonder what else you're good at, I guess."

Marshall felt his face heat up, caught off guard by her comment. It was subtle, but the suggestion behind it was unmistakable.

He swallowed, trying to keep his cool, but his pulse quickened.

"Guess you'll just have to find out," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Christina held his gaze for a moment. "Maybe I will," she finally replied, so casually, as if she hadn't just flipped the whole conversation on its head.

Marshall's mind raced as he took another sip, trying to steady himself. Flirting usually came easily, but now it felt like he was out of practice.

"You know," he started. "You keep talkin' like that, and we might have to make these Chicago trips a regular thing."

He felt a flash of satisfaction, thinking he'd nailed it.

Christina's laugh was light but knowing. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea," she said.

The clock ticked steadily, and Marshall glanced at it; nearly 9 PM. The night was slipping away, and they'd have to wrap things up soon. He didn't want to, though.

He watched her lean back, her eyes steady on him as she took a sip of her drink. The moment stretched, filled with a comfortable silence, before she finally broke it.

"So, it wasn't Royce then."

"Huh?" Marshall asked, blinking in confusion.

"You know," Christina said with a teasing lilt, "about that 'like'. I'm pretty sure you and him were both checking out my page and talking about me."

He froze as he recalled her Instagram post. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The truth of her words hit him, and he found himself at a loss.

Christina laughed softly, as if she could read his thoughts. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You were trying to blame Royce. But it's clear there was some interest from your end too."

Marshall just shrugged, not sure how to counter her point.

"Guilty as charged," he finally said.