From the moment that he had first laid eyes on her, he'd wanted to protect her. She was at the same time beautiful and wily, and sweet and innocent. Her dark dark wavy hair complimented her smooth pale skin perfectly. She wore no make-up, yet her cheeks and lips were just the right shade of rosy. When she had suggested that they 'jam' together, he'd been in heaven. It was all he could ever dream of. A chance to make music with *her*. He was so unbelievably lucky.

It was happening now and he could barely concentrate. She, of course, had the perfect amount of concentration. She was self-aware to the point when she could tell what level of concentration would irritate him. She'd started on the guitar, showing him a few riffs she spontaneously pulled out of nowhere, to which he'd responded (also on the guitar) with a few alterations. What happened next had been amazing.

Her eyes had lit up in a way that was just too damn cute. She'd rushed to the piano and come up with something that had complimented what he'd been playing on the guitar. He hadn't even known that she could play the piano!

For the rest of the afternoon they had worked on the lyrics and harmonising. That's when he had done it. He'd been standing over the piano with her playing and both of them singing. They'd been improvising over the bridge section and they'd instinctively sang something which sounded so good to both their ears that they'd grinned at each other.

When she'd stopped playing that section, he'd been so compelled to kiss her that he had, in fact, kissed her. It had been wonderful. He had never known that a simple kiss could be so exciting. Even afterwards, the thought of her lips on his had aroused him ashamedly. He had slowly leaned in, feeling drawn by her charisma and their lips had met in one sweet electrifying moment.

As soon as he had realised what he'd done he felt as if he had made her dirty just by touching her, so he apologised. She suddenly looked a bit downcast, and the rest of the jam session was frightfully dull. He was sure he had upset her. She wasn't rude towards him, and the music was still sweet and perfect for them but something was missing. Earlier, he had felt as if they had connected really well but now she had withdrawn from him because of his impatience. Now he would never know the feeling of her lips on his ever again. The thought was almost unbearable.

He was just about to pour himself a very stiff drink, a few hours after she had left. He wanted to drown his sorrow and his shame, hoping to kill at least one of them, or maybe have them fight each other to the death. So he was just about to get the martini from the cupboard when the phone rang.

It was her. He couldn't immediately think of any reason she would have to call him. They'd finished the song and had made plans to record the next week. Any ideas could wait (unless she was extremely devoted to her music, which, he supposed, she was) but something made him believe that she wasn't calling about the music.

"I wanted to ask you something earlier but I didn't really know how. I suppose it's a bit sensitive."

She always spoke like that. Like she had carefully picked out every word to make sure it fit the circumstances. She also enounced everything just the right amount. He wondered what she could be talking about. She seemed hesitant about broaching the subject.

"It's about when we...earlier...when we kissed." She said the last word, as if she dreaded the impact it might have on him. It was more the word before that had grabbed him. He had considered it as him kissing her, but he suppose she had responded in kind. Suddenly lost in the memory, he was rushed back to the present when she said "Hello?"

"Ahem. Yes. Sorry about that." He sounded so foolish and felt so clumsy talking to her, like when he was a schoolboy.

"You apologise a lot." she remarked. Was she referring to his earlier apoplogy? Was that what she had been concerned about? There was a brief silence as he mulled over the ways to ask her about this. He didn't need to. "Why did you apologise earlier?" she asked. Just one question from her was all it took for him to pour out his emotions. Ok, so he didn't tell her about the dirty fantasies, but she seemed so interested to hear how he felt. He did feel so much better once he'd told her. The way she responded to his claims was very therapeutic. Not quite romantic, and he did feel afterwards that the conversation had lacked some input from her.

When he had finished she said how glad she was they they had talked and she left him all alone with his thoughts. Maybe she was concerned about trusting him. She hadn't seemed repelled by his admissions so maybe she was waiting for the right moment to discuss her feelings. Or maybe she didn't have any and didn't know how to tell him. Maybe she was just thinking of a way to let him down gently. His paranoia suddenly grew to enormous heights. He should go to bed but still felt a bit electrified from talking to her on the phone. Maybe he'd have a drink. He suddenly didn't feel like it in case she suddenly rang him again to find him drunk. The idea put him off drinking completely. He decided to sit in front of the tv and promptly fell asleep.