Grooving to Life's Beat

Good Guy: Change of Mood

I stepped back into my apartment after an early dinner with my parents and Alfred, my dad's old lawyer friend. It had been the most tedious two hours of my life, filled with polite conversation and forced smiles. My dad, of course, was eager to convince me to work with Alfred, thinking it was the perfect way to keep me grounded here in New York. Little did he know that it was the only reason my mom had agreed to keep our little morning fiasco with Marshall a secret from him. All I had to do was nod and smile through Alfred's long-winded tales of court cases and legal jargon and swear to never speak to Marshall again.

Yeah, sure, like that's gonna happen. Fingers crossed, obviously.

As I closed the door behind me, I couldn't help but think about how many secrets this day had brought. First, my mom was keeping the morning's drama with Marshall from my dad—probably for the best, considering he'd likely have a heart attack if he knew I'd been found tangled up on the couch with a half-naked guy covered in tattoos. Then, there was the secret Proof and I were keeping from Angela—that Marshall had stayed over, and not to mention that kiss. And speaking of secrets, I couldn't even breathe a word about what Angela had told me about Kim.

So many secrets, and they all seemed to revolve around one person: Marshall. He was like a walking, talking bad influence, a chaos magnet, pulling everyone into his orbit of mystery and trouble. And here I was, smack in the middle of it all, trying to keep my head above water.

I flopped down on my couch, the same one that had seen way too much action today, and sighed deeply. How had my life turned into this? I used to be the good girl, the one who followed all the rules. And now, I was practically drowning in secrets, all thanks to a guy I couldn't seem to get out of my head.

Startled by my own thoughts, I stared up at the ceiling, wondering what else could possibly go wrong. Then again, with Marshall involved, I probably shouldn't ask that question. Trouble seemed to follow him like a shadow.

Deciding I needed to shake off the tension, I changed into something more comfortable—an oversized sweater and soft shorts. I grabbed my laptop and settled back onto the couch, hoping that maybe, just maybe, I could get some work done and distract myself from the whirlwind in my mind.

But as I opened my laptop and stared at the blank document in front of me, the words just wouldn't come. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting for inspiration to strike, but all I could think about was Marshall. Since this morning—since that kiss—I hadn't heard a peep from him. The silence was driving me insane. My mind kept spiraling, replaying every detail of our time together. Was he just acting like that because he was drunk? Did it mean anything, or was I just another girl on his list?

The more I thought about it, the more panic started to creep in. I could picture him now, laughing it off, already moving on to the next girl without a second thought. My stomach twisted at the thought, and I shook my head, trying to push the image away.

Good! Staying here alone, stuck in my own head, was driving me crazy.

A sudden knock on the door made my heart skip a beat, jolting me out of my thoughts. Who could it be? Marshall? The idea that it might be him sent a wave of excitement—and panic—through me. My mind raced with possibilities. Then, the realization hit me: Marshall didn't have my phone number, so if he wanted to see me, he'd have to come over in person. But why would he? Was he thinking about me too? Did he want to pick up where we left off?

As I got up from the couch, my heart pounded in my chest, each beat louder than the last. My mind played out scenarios in rapid succession, from him standing there with that smirk on his face to the awkward tension that would no doubt follow. What if it really was him? What would I say? What would he say?