He turned to her and said, â€śIâ€™ve got a big fucking
problemâ€¦Iâ€™m crazy about you.â€ť
â€śIâ€™m crazy about you.â€ť
A smirk or a smile, he couldnâ€™t tell which, curled her face
for a moment.A smirk because she
thought he was gay, and that this was funny.A smile because they had just talked about similar events a few nights
prior and how she would react, hypothetically, in the same situation.A smile because she was touched.
She mumbled something about not knowing and paused long
enough for him to see an opportunity he didnâ€™t even expect.All the times he played out the scenario in
his head, he got rejected instantly, walked directly out the door, hit a sad
song on his iPod and drove away and started dealing with losing her completely
because he wasnâ€™t going to go back to being fucking friends.Fuck friends, he thought.Being friends was the pressure cooker for the
sexual and emotional frustration he had felt since curly dark hairs began to hijack
his body.She had been talking about
another guy recently.
Instead of going right for it, he asked, like an asshole
echoing some movie somewhere in his head, â€śCan I try something?â€ťThank God that kept her frozen.
He went in for the kiss, did the best he could, but she
didnâ€™t make much of an effort back.He
couldnâ€™t remember what happened at that point, knowing only that he went back
in and couldâ€™ve sworn he made the exact same moves- definitely at the end when
he pressed his forehead against hers.He
never did that before, he knew he meant it, but it felt scripted and empty
because it was obvious she wasnâ€™t into it.
He got rejected with some more mumbling and stammering,
picked up his books, walked out the door, hit â€śThe Wingsâ€ť by Gustavo Santaolalla on his iPod, and drove away.
He turned, briefly but doubtingly hoping for a dramatic hug
and a kiss and everything turning from the inevitable shit he had planned to a
beautiful, passionate ending in her bed.She started yammering about not wanting to risk their friendship,
something he had said to her after he asked her on a date the previous summer,
also with no confidence.
At that time, she said yes when he asked her out to dinner,
but the reply was so nervous and insincere that he had to call her the next day
and clarify, with painfully audible nerves strangling his voice, that he was
asking her out but that if â€śshe wasnâ€™t cool with that that he didnâ€™t want to
risk their friendship.â€ťShe said she
thought of him as a really good friend.
After he answered her yammering with â€śI absolutely had to,â€ť
she asked, â€śAre we cool?â€ť
He didnâ€™t say anything as she opened her arms for a hug, but
he did go for the cheek, realizing that it looked awkward even if he wasnâ€™t
going for the real thing again. They never saw each other again.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Timothy Vollmer. Published on e-Stories.org on 26.02.2009.