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“I was just thinking … do you think we’ll be friends forever?”
“That’s such a weird question, Emmy. Why not? What could happen?”
I get up from the kitchen table and join him by the stove. I have an answer in mind as to what could happen, but I don’t want to say it. This evening is far too beautiful to spoil it with such serious talk.
“Nothing. Of course. As always, you’re right, Evan. Nothing will happen, and nothing will come between us. Can I taste the pasta now?”
He gives me a look. “Let me mix the tuna in. That’s what gives the dish its Mediterranean flavor,” he says.
As he mixes the pasta with a wooden spoon, a few drops of the tomato sauce land on his white T-shirt.
“Oh, no! My shirt! This is tomato sauce … I’m never gonna get this out now.” He shakes his head. “And it smells like tuna. Great job, Evan!” he says sarcastically to himself.
“Don’t worry, I’ll put it in the wash right away and it’ll be done by the time you have to go home. Take it off!”
Without hesitation, he takes off the T-shirt and is left in nothing but a pair of low-rise jeans. Very low-rise jeans that cling to his hips like a second skin. My eyes are drawn to the defined lines of his abs, the perfect trail of hair, and the v-shaped dip that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. I am completely captivated by the sight before me…
He hands me the cotton T-shirt. “Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong?”
His toned body is beyond beautiful. I can feel a rush running through me as my heart starts beating faster and faster.
My chest is heaving, and I start to breathe heavily as my pulse accelerates.
The ideas going through my mind are wild and, for a second, I forget that Evan is my best friend.
“No, I … I just … you have some tomato sauce on your … yeah … here, let me get it for you…” I reply weakly as I approach him.
“Ah, okay. Shall I get a towel, then, to wipe it off?” he asks.
But before he can get a towel, I run my fingers along his torso. I can feel the muscles underneath my fingertips, hard as a rock. I run my hand up to his heart, which is beating madly now, in tune with mine.
Is he feeling what I’m feeling?
Somehow, the idea of feeling Evan’s heartbeat through his very skin and the intimacy of the touch means the world to me.
It makes me weak and dizzy with desire.
I want him so much more than this.
“Umm … you have some … right here. Let me get it for you…” I mumble, still trying to find an excuse to touch him.
I wipe the sauce off his chest.
He watches closely as I lift my fingers to my lips and lick it off. He doesn’t blink. I wait as well, wanting him to make the next move.
It doesn’t come.
“Why don’t I … take my T-shirt to the bathroom, then? I’ll put it in the washing machine,” he says.
A moment later, he disappears from the kitchen, and I’m left standing here, alone, not understanding what just happened.
Why didn’t he make a move? Was my message not clear enough?
Feeling disconcerted and most of all, frustrated, I sit back down at the kitchen table.
After a few more minutes, Evan comes back. “Hey, I borrowed one of your gym T-shirts. It’s the biggest thing I could find that would fit me. Is that alright?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course. What’s mine is yours, you know that.” I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
