Grooving to Life's Beat

Theme of the Day: Who's Kim?

As I prepared to meet Angela for lunch, the events of the past day played in my mind like a film on repeat. My mother's furious voice echoed in my ears, her words sharp and cutting, but it was the kiss that lingered—Marshall's lips on mine, warm and full of an emotion I couldn't quite grasp. My heart fluttered at the memory, and I felt a pang of guilt that quickly followed. How could something so wrong feel so right?

I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair. The look on my mother's face when she saw us—half-dressed and tangled together on the couch—would haunt me for days. She had stormed out of my apartment in a flurry of righteous anger, promising to tell my father everything. And as much as I wanted to be defiant, a part of me dreaded the confrontation that would inevitably follow.

But it wasn't just my mother's reaction that had me tied up in knots. It was the kiss. That damn kiss. The sensation of his lips on mine, the warmth of his body, the way he held me like I was something precious. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel it all over again—the way our hearts beat in sync, the way his breath mingled with mine, the intensity of the connection we shared. It was as if time had stopped, and for those few moments, nothing else mattered.

And now, as I sat here alone, I couldn't stop thinking about it. About him. About the way he made me feel. Angela had warned me about getting involved with Marshall, and maybe she was right. But I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to him than what everyone saw on the surface. Proof seemed to think so, and I trusted his judgment.

On the other hand, the thought of Angela's disapproval made my stomach twist with anxiety. She'd see right through me, just like she always did. She'd know something was up the moment we met for lunch, and I wasn't ready to explain. I didn't want to hear her lecture me about how getting involved with Marshall was a mistake, how he'd only end up hurting me. And the worst part was, I couldn't deny the possibility that she might be right.

With a sigh, I stood up, grabbing my bag from the chair where I'd tossed it earlier. I was supposed to meet Angela in twenty minutes at the French Brasserie on 55th Street, a quaint little spot known for its cozy atmosphere and delicate pastries. The kind of place where you could sip a latte while catching up with a friend, but today, I knew it wouldn't be so pleasant. Angela would be furious, her disappointment looming over our meeting like a dark cloud.

I hurried down the stairs, and as I reached the bottom, I saw Proof entering the building, looking like he'd just finished up some errand. He was a solid, reliable presence, his expression as calm as ever, though a trace of exhaustion lingered in his eyes.

"Hey, Proof," I called out, forcing a smile. "Just getting back?"

He nodded, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, had some things to take care of. You heading out?"

"Yeah, meeting Angela for lunch." I paused, debating whether to bring up what was really on my mind. Better not!

"Cool," he said, his tone casual but his gaze sharper, as if he was trying to read between the lines. "So, how's everything going?"

"Fine," I said quickly, but the word felt hollow. I knew Proof could see right through me.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "You don't have to pretend... I can tell something's bothering you."

I hesitated, then decided to take a chance. "Do you... do you know that... uhm... Marshall spent the night at my place?"

Proof paused for a moment, his gaze searching mine. "Yeah, I knew. He mentioned it." My cheeks flushed instantly, and a flurry of questions began swirling inside my head. If Proof knows, does Angela? How am I going to tell her?