Aria

Just as I stepped out of the dance studio, the sun hit my face, my gaze shot to the car, and there he was.

Mark, Grant's friend.

Leaning against Grant’s car like he owned it, arms crossed, sunshades on like he was famous and someone might actually care enough to recognize him. The air around him practically reeked of judgment.

I didn’t slow down. I walked straight toward him, sweat still drying on my skin, heart still racing from the workout.

“Why are you here?” I asked ...