One thing about Claire was that she’s a sucker for physical contact. If it’s simply her pinky wrapped around yours, or maybe something a bit more intense, she loves it.

She knew quite a bit on instruments like the drums and guitar. You sat on the same stool as her, betwixt her legs.

She had her arms around your waist as you plucked at the strings of her guitar on your lap; Claire had her chin glued to your shoulder, her fingers tracing the fabric of your shirt.

“You’re a natural.”