Grooving to Life's Beat

Not Yet

The ride home was silent. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that fills the car like fog. Heavy and unwelcome. Every passing streetlight flickered across the windshield like a reminder of everything I'd lost tonight.

"I'm so sorry, Em," Logan said gently as we pulled into the alley behind my apartment. "You want me to walk you in?"

"No, please! I just need to be alone!" My voice came out flat, like it had to fight its way past the ache in my chest. He nodded, hesitant, but didn't press.

I stepped out into the cool night. The silence out here was deeper, pressed down by the weight of shadows and the faint rustle of wind through overgrown bushes. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I made my way down the cracked path to the back gate, the old chain-link fence rattling faintly in the breeze.

That's when I saw him. The guy with the coffee disaster.

Leaning against the wall beside the back entrance, surrounded by three other guys, a cigarette lazily burning between his fingers.

He hadn't seen me yet, deep in conversation, hoodie up, head tilted just slightly as smoke curled into the night. But the second I stepped under the security light, he looked up.

Those eyes. Blue. Piercing. Like a blade slicing through my exhaustion.

"Well, well," he said, voice lazy and low. "Look who decided to show up again."

His smirk was immediate, cocky and crooked. A slow grin that made my blood spike, though I couldn't tell if it was heat or fury.

"Better stay clear, boys," he added, flicking ash onto the concrete. "She's got a habit of crashing into people like she owns the block."

I stopped dead in my tracks, fists tightening. I'd had enough. Of the night. Of the heartbreak. Of men like him.

"Maybe if you stopped standing in the middle of every damn path in New York, people wouldn't keep bumping into you," I snapped.

He straightened, just slightly, that lazy lean sharpening. "Oof," he said with mock pain. "She bites." He chuckled, stepping away from the wall. His friends fell silent behind him, fading into the background like shadows.

"You always this mouthy or is it just me?" He asked

"You always this arrogant or is it just when you have nothing good to say? I said.

He tilted his head, eyes dragging down the length of me in a slow, unhurried scan that made my skin crawl and tingle all at once. "You're not bad at it," he said casually.

"Not bad at what?"

"Pushing people away."

I faltered for half a second.

"Don't worry," he added, pulling his hood back. "It's kinda hot."

I blinked. "What?" His smile deepened at my confusion.

"Yo, Marshall! Ain't you gonna introduce us to your new girl?" One of his friends called out, his voice cutting through the strained moment.

I answered before he could. "I'm not his anything."

Marshall's smirk didn't waver. "Not yet," he said under his breath, just loud enough for me to catch.

I froze. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're all wound up," he said, flicking his cigarette into the dirt. "Might wanna do something about that."

I narrowed my eyes. "You think you know me? Because I spilled coffee on you and ran into you twice?"

He didn't even flinch. "Nah. I know the type. Girls who walk around like they've got it all figured out; 'til someone sees right through 'em." His voice dropped, just slightly, and he stepped closer. We were only inches apart now, tension pulling tight between us like a drawn wire. I could smell the smoke on his hoodie, the faint cologne clinging to his skin, and it made my head spin.

I should have walked away. I meant to. But his words hit a nerve I didn't know I'd left exposed.

"You don't know anything about me."

He tilted his head, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not yet."

That was it. That one look, that one line. It was too much. I spun around, my pulse hammering in my ears, and started toward my door.

"Night, Emma Spencer," he called after me, voice low and smug, like he already knew he'd be living rent-free in my head.

I didn't turn back but it struck me. How the hell does he know my name?