As he flips on the equipment, I stand over the air vent trying to get my shirt to finish drying. His nice leather seats will probably be ruined by our wet bodies, but he doesn't seem to care. He seems preoccupied all of the sudden. I turn to get my phone out of my purse in the office so I can hear it just in case my mother calls or texts, but when I turn around the lights in the editing booth are off and the piano music is on. "Reed?" I say as I walk back into the doorway, but before I can speak again, he steps in front of me and presses my body into the wall beside the door. "Reed?" I whisper again, this time breathless with anticipation. "I'm sorry," he says softly as his arms slide around my waist and pull me closer. His nose is touching mine, and I am all too aware that my arms are still hanging lifelessly by my side. "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" starts playing, and hints of saxophone fill the small room. The irony of a song about smoke would normally make me laugh, but this isn't a laughing matter.
