You come over to pick something up. I’m home alone.
My heart starts beating quickly as you enter the apartment. I’ve never been alone with you, and my infatuation with you hasn’t abated. We met for the first time at a table of people, and our eyes lingered on each other for longer than normal. When that happened, I caressed my partner’s knee beside me, as if to ground me and remind myself of the rules.
I’ve always followed them.
“Hey,” you say, smiling.
“Hey yourself,” I say stupidly. “Here’s the game.” You take it and thank me, standing awkwardly.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask.
“Uh, sure,” you say, and sit on the couch.
It’s the middle of the afternoon so I settle on lemonade. I bring the drinks and sit near you on the couch, a little closer than two friends need to be. I’m freshly showered and I know I smell good, which is a part of the upcoming puzzle that I’m relying on.
“How’s your week been going?” I ask.
“Not the best, but okay,” you say.
“What’s not the best?”