get back into the pages of this manuscript, fully ready to finish reading it tonight, but between the minimal lighting and the repetition of the same three notes coming from Luke's guitar, I can't seem to focus. My head throbbing as I squeeze my eyes shut and lean back into the armchair, hoping to ease some of the tension between my eyes.

"Finally decided there are better things to do in the dark?" Luke hums when he notices me clip the pages back together, momentarily pausing his strumming.

"No, I have a headache," I say. "No thanks to you."

"Me? What did I do?"

"Aside from the fact that you've been playing the same three notes for the last hour and a half?" I ask.

"Four," he corrects with a sarcastic smile. "I'm so sorry that my writer's block is bothering you and your precious reading, 4A."

I roll my eyes and say, "No, you aren't."

"Yeah, you're right," he says. "But I got to at least pretend, right?"

"You can be so irritating sometimes, you know that?" I say, but before he can say anything, the sound of footsteps in the hall interrupts us. "Oh, thank God," I say, jumping up from my spot on the floor before sprinting for Luke's door. "Maggie!" I say excitedly as I pull the door open, only for my face to fall. "Charlie?"

"Em, baby!" His voice is smooth and sultry as he turns towards Luke's apartment. The air suddenly feeling toxic as I take in his sweatpants and hoodie, a rare siting from his usual suit and tie. "What are you doing?"

I swallow. "I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?"

"I came to check on you," he says, smiling as he steps towards me. "You always were afraid of the dark, baby."

"She doesn't look afraid to me," Luke says, his presence suddenly looming over me as he stops behind me in the doorway. My chest tightening as I step back into him, a shiver running over my skin as my back touches his chest for a brief second.

"Who's this supposed to be?" Charlie asks, completely ignoring Luke to focus on me.

"It's not important," I say. "It doesn't change the fact that it's the truth, and even if it weren't, it still doesn't explain why you're here. You aren't my boyfriend anymore, Charlie. We aren't together, and you don't need to be here right now."

"Baby." He frowns.

"Stop it," I say, putting my hand up. "Go home."

He narrows his eyes at me possessively. "Why aren't you in your apartment?"

"It's none of your business."

"Emery," he says, meeting my gaze.

"Go to hell," I mutter and turn back into Luke's apartment, brushing his chest as I walk towards the couch, irritated and annoyed. If I thought I'd be seeing my ex-boyfriend when I opened the door, I never would have moved from the floor.

"This isn't you, baby!" Charlie calls out, stepping forward again only for Luke to show his true size and block his way. For a moment, I'm eager to have Luke on my side until I remember exactly who he is in the light. The person I desperately wish to spend as little time with as possible. Though, in this very second, Charlie's at the top of that list.

"Tell that to your receptionist," I say as I settle on the couch cushion. Luke snickers as he shuts the door in Charlie's face, turning the lock for good measure before turning to face me. "Don't," I mutter as I sink down, hiding my face in the palm of my hands. "I really don't want to hear whatever it is you're about to say."

"Okay," he says and sits down next to me, picking his guitar back up. "But I was going to apologize that he's a dick."

My lips curl up as I turn my head, looking up from my sunken spot. "Him or you?" I ask before laughing, rendering the question rhetorical as I reach over and take the guitar from him, resting the smooth wood against my thigh. "Do you play any of your own songs?"

He lifts an eyebrow at me. "What else would I play?"

I shrug my shoulders as I brush my fingers over the nylon strings. "I don't know. I thought you were in a Led Zeppelin cover band. Are you not?"

"Ha," he says as he gets up, walking towards his fridge. "I'll have you know, I'm a very talented songwriter. The best in this apartment."

"Well, now," I say. "I don't know about that."

"Oh, you think you're better than me?" he asks, pulling his refrigerator door open.

I turn in my spot to peek at him as he holds the doors open, letting all the cold air out. "You know, you're probably going to want to close that if you want to keep your food from spoiling," I tell him before easing back onto the couch.

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Do you want a beer?"

"I'm good," I say and move my fingers over the strings, humming to the small melody of music produced by my fingers. "Thank you."

He hums in response and the room falls quiet as I study the walls of the apartment, mindlessly strumming the few combinations of notes I know to make a cohesive sound. Luke's apartment is cleaner than I thought it would be. Everything seems to have its place. And while the room isn't well lit, I can still notice the warm wood tones with the grey and blue color palette in his décor.

"Here," Luke says as he walks behind the couch, extending a glass of water to me as he settles on the couch again with a bottle of beer in his hand.

"Thanks," I say, taking the cold glass in my hand before taking a small sip. He takes it back from me when I lean forward, setting it on the coffee table next to his beer before taking the guitar back. He nods in my direction as he moves his fingers over the string, mimicking the melody I had played earlier. A low hum falls from Luke's lips, trying to work something out as I turn to look at him. "What's your favorite song to play?"

"Favorite?" He asks. "It's probably still the first one I ever wrote."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

He shrugs. "I guess because it's the song that made me realize exactly what I wanted to do. I grew up in a household that wasn't... it wasn't very creatively freeing, and it was the first thing that gave me that freedom," he explains and despite the distance between us, I suddenly feel suffocated by his closeness. "I'm assuming you have one of those too. What was the book that made you fall in love with books?"

"Does there only have to be one?" I ask, a small smile creeping onto my lips as I let my eyes wander. "Each book is a new experience. A new feeling. A new excitement."

"Like a relationship."

I nod, chewing my bottom lip. "I guess so."

Needing something—anything—to distract me, my eyes wander and land on the roll of bubble wrap in the corner of the room. Thankful for the distraction, I jump up from the couch and cross the room to grab it from beside the T.V. stand.

"Why do you have bubble wrap?" I ask to change the subject as I fall back into the couch, bringing my feet up onto the couch. I unroll a small sheet and dig my thumb into the bubble until it bursts with a satisfying pop.

"It was from when I was going to move."

I turn to eye him. "When was this?"

"So, do you just not drink or is today a special occasion?" he asks, completely ignoring my question. I want to roll my eyes at the brush off, but it doesn't surprise me in the slightest. And I don't blame him for not telling me either.

"Alcohol makes you do stupid things," I say, narrowing my eyes. "And I need to keep my wits about me."

He snickers and leans his head back. "People make people do stupid things, 4A," he says. "Alcohol just amplifies it," he says before smiling. "Glad to know that you think I'll make you do something stupid."

I roll my eyes. "Should I be preparing for unexpected company tonight?"

"No, you're in luck," he says, shaking his head. "My bandmates told me I'm not allowed to leave this apartment until I have at least one new song written."

"Oh, yeah?" I ask and rest my head on the back of the couch, keeping my eyes on him as he runs his fingers through his sandy blond hair. "How's that going?"

"Great," he says. "Can't you tell?"

My lips turn up as I continue to dig my fingers into the protective wrapping. Luke eventually reaching over to pop some of it himself. "You could write a song about bubble wrap."

"And why might I do that?" he asks.

"To immortalize our ever so pleasant night together." I tease and drum my hands along my thigh, turning until my knee presses into his leg. "Think about it," I say. "It could be really great."

"Could it?"

"Yes! Just hear me out," I say and hold my hand out to him. "Bubble wrap, bubble wrap," I sing, surprising myself with how easy it is to be silly in front of him. When just yesterday, I would have run in the opposite direction. "Oh bubble, bubble, bubble wrap!"

He laughs and takes my finger between his, swinging it side to side. "4A, that's the lollipop song."

"Is not!" I shake my head. "I made it up just now."

He smiles, making the gold specs in his hazel eyes sparkle.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I like you like this."

I lift my eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like this," he says and sets his guitar to the side, resting it against the side of the couch. "When you're not so worried about what everyone else is thinking about you. You're looser, you're more yourself. "

"I don't do that," I argue.

"Yes, you do," he says. "Take you with your ex."

"What does Charlie have to do with any of this?"

"He's a prime example," he explains. "You only said it was none of his business, because you didn't want to tell him you lost your keys–"

"I didn't lose them!"

He sighs and shifts. "Okay, forgot your keys. You didn't want him to know you forgot your keys, because you didn't want him to think you were falling apart without him."

"I­–"

"I know you're not falling apart, 4A," he says, cutting me off. "But you don't want him to think that even for a second that you might be."

I roll my eyes. "That's a completely normal thing."

"Sure," he agrees with me. "But don't you think you'd be a lot happier if you just let yourself relax? To let yourself breathe?"

I want what he's saying to be false, but I know it's not. I've always been in my head about other people and their perception of me, but it only got worse after Charlie cheated on me. The truth is I can't stop worrying about what people will think if I let myself relax. Even with Maggie and Zane, I can't seem to shut my brain off. And somehow, an hour with Luke has made it easy to just not care. He found a way to read me, and the thought alone is terrifying.

"Emery?"

"You're right," I say and sit up as I look at him. "And I hate that you're right."

"Don't enjoy being proven wrong, do you?"

"No," I say and lean into his arm. "I don't."

A smirk turns up on his face as he reaches out, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, and without thinking, I lean in until my lips are on his. His fingertips brush my cheek lightly before he moves his finger into my hair, resting his thumb along my jaw as he pulls me closer. My brain shutting off as I press closer to his chest, moving my hands to his neck as I swing my leg over to straddle his lap. Luke's hands moving down my spine until they're rested on my waist, pulling me toward him.

"Wait, wait," I say, pulling back and resting my hand on the center of his chest. "I-Is this okay?" I ask, suddenly overthinking every small thing.

"Yes," he says, pulling me back. "It's more than okay."

He leans up to catch my lips, but not before I catch the hint of a smile on his lips and I come to accept that I'm in way over my head.