Page 27 of Sorry, We're Closed

I roll my eyes at him as I pull my phone up and we squeeze our heads into the screen. My painted nails appear as I press the camera, two beaming faces with toothy grins squishing into the most recent photos gallery.

“Come on you, we need to fill the van and get going.” Marcus struts away, spinning the front door keys around his finger.

“You go ahead, I'll be down in a second.”

Marcus rolls his eyes as he starts jogging down the stairs, his voice echoing up the stairs as he yells, “I already told you that acapella isnotan option; I'm not those Pitch Perfect girls!”

I open my phone once again, and a smile is already growing over my face for what I’m about to do. I press his name, the memories flooding my head with everything that happened in the studio and my body grows hot, my trousers grow tight – which is difficult with this leather. I attach the photo of myself and Marcus and send it his way.

Avory:Hey Sawyer, we're performing tonight and we're looking pretty damn good!

This is a weird friendship.

The moon is glowing silver this evening, that same silver reflecting all over the living room. Marcus is parking the van around the back of the building as I begin to wake all the light bulbs up and create the warm shine around our home.

I haven't been able to check my phone all evening since the show was waiting for its performers and the drinks were waiting to be drunk, and my mind only wishes to see something from him, anything.

I've never felt this for anyone before, that want, that craving for something, anything from one particular person. I’m too used to no feelings or memories attached, and this feeling for some guy I have only just met is intense, an intensity I have never felt.

In all honesty, I can't remember the name of the last person I messed around with, yet all I want is to say “Sawyer Sombre” over and over just to feel how pretty it is in my mouth.

For someone who should only be a friend at this point, no, an acquaintance, it is feeling all too natural between us. Well, except for Sawyer leaving so abruptly.

The studio, the space that is just ours, is so quickly opened back up to the world to see and feel and be a part of, and it sparks worry in me. What if I have already jumped off the deep end for that sweet barista while his toes are still testing the temperature?

It isn't my place to dig at him, but I feel I should know if we are on the same page, let alone in the same book. A chat bubble icon sits on my screen, and I have never clicked faster.

Sawyer:You guys look incredible! Good luck tonight <3!

I never thought I would be the man who overthinks a fucking heart. I need to see him again soon and try to figure out what's going on.

Avory:It was amazing! Would've been better if you were in the audience :)

The idea of looking from my guitar to the audience and seeing Sawyer's face causes a toothy grin to plaster itself over my face alongside a chuckle at the thought of what Sawyer has reduced me to.

“What are you giggling at?” Marcus begins kicking off his boots, a bassy groan escaping as he pulls his feet free.

“Nothing. Feel good to get those off?”

Marcus waddles his way over to me, hissing through his teeth and cursing with each step. “We'll talk about that some other time.”

He signals down to my phone as his grin grows wider. “But thank you once again my boy, for a phenomenal performance! All of those people dancing on the floor, you throwing your guitar pick out to the audience, you were born for this life!”

Marcus plants a wet kiss on my forehead as he grasps both sides of my head and continues the harmony of hisses into his bedroom. How could I even begin to describe all of this to Marcus?

My train of thought is interrupted by my screen lighting up once again. That damn chat bubble.

Sawyer:If I can ever get out, then I'd love to <3

That heart. Ugh. Wait, “if he can ever get out?” That's something I need to find out more about.

Avory:Are you free tomorrow?

Sawyer:Working :(

Does he do anything other than? I'll find a way around this, watch me.

Thirteen

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