We were both restless.
I wanted to move and then I didn’t. I wanted to go out somewhere, but where would I
go? I wanted to jump on my bed for absolutely no reason at all, other than because I
could.
He had IMed me earlier. “Was I obnoxiously staring at your boobs today?”
I replied, “You stare at me so often, I really don’t pay attention anymore.”
I thought about that first day I saw him, when I wore a green coat, my red hair
streaming down. He was standing in the front of the store with my coworker and
another guy. I didn’t realize then he was going to become a part of my life at least
four days a week. I just saw him as the cute guy who followed me with his eyes as I
sauntered through the store. I didn’t know then he would follow me with his eyes
every time we worked together thereafter.
Our conversation dipped and darted for three hours before he finally threw out an
offering. “If you’re not working till later tomorrow, why don’t you come over? I’m
just playing video games.”
It was 12:15 A.M. when he made the suggestion. In normal-speak, it’s booty call
hour. But our friendship had never gone into the more than friends range, not since
the night he kissed me in a basement while all our coworkers stood around upstairs.
We both acknowledged the attraction between us, though it was more subtle than most.
I wanted to go somewhere, do something, be someone. He did too.
I said yes. Why not? I used to drive over to D’s house at all hours of the night
just to have something to do.
It was when I pulled up that I realized maybe it wasn’t just something to do. I saw
him changing his shirt through his window when he realized I was in front of his
house. I saw the nervous grin on his face when he came out to meet me and his
attempt to be suave, a look he never could muster. He walked me into his house,
through a basement ripe for a horror scene. And welcomed me into the fluorescent
light of his room.
I was suddenly reminded of college, of all those nights where I would pick out a
movie and we would pretend to watch it, knowing that wasn’t the case.
I picked out a movie, wondering if we would watch it.
We sat on the couch, and he seemed unsure of himself. As though he questioned how to
kiss me. Or touch me. There was never the same sort of absolute chemistry I had had
with others, where the build up was so great, a touch alone would send me into
throes of sighs. I could see the wheels turning in his head, as he tried to bridge
the gap from friend and coworker to more. I laughed at him, telling him that he
should stop thinking so much. Same as he had told me the last time.
Last time, we had had the excuse of built up sexual tension and alcohol. This time,
we had neither. Just plain boredom and the current of attraction that kept linking
us to one another.
I fidgeted. And so did he. He got up and stretched out, then sat back down again.
His knee brushed against my knee, and I turned my body toward him. His hand
scratched at mine, as I stretched out languorously. He asked if I was okay, the
nerves palpable on his face. I said I was fine, just that I can’t sit still.
He stood up again. I thought to myself, “Maybe we will just watch the movie after
all.” And it was then, just as I had this thought, that he crushed his lips to mine.
I felt his tongue darting between my teeth, his hands protectively supporting me,
his beard scratching at my face. And I let go.
Jess Gill
is here.
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