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I take my time in the gym shower, let the hot water wash my nerves down the drain. I'm definitely on edge about this whole boob touching thing. I mean, it's Matt. My best friend. The guy I've been madly in love with for years. I think he knows that I like him. Why wouldn't he? He seems to know everything else about me.
I just don't want things to change. I don't want our friendship to be forever altered by this one huge event. I don't want this to make things awkward now. I'm not sure I could handle that.
On the other hand, maybe this will push things towards a romantic relationship.
Which is, ultimately, what I want.
It's just hard to be in love with your best friend, you know. I want more, but I'm also comfortable with what we have. I want to kiss him and touch him and feel his body against mine, but I also like playing basketball and listening to him go on about his weird Pokémon obsession. We keep doing this dance where we flirt and play and tease, but never actually cross that line. We watch movies together in our sweats, shove popcorn into our mouths and never acknowledge that there's no space between our bodies on the couch.
I don't want to lose that part of our relationship. The part where we don't have to impress each other all the time. The part where we know each other, trust each other, stay on the same page.
I dry myself off, slide into my jeans, shake the stress and tension and worry from my head.
I dig through my gym bag, my heart thumping loudly as I search for my bra. Do I even put it on? I mean, it's just going to come off.
I push the swirling thoughts from my head and put on the simple cotton bra. I don't want to seem too forward. Or desperate.
No, I want to appear suave and cool, detached.
My stomach feels like it's knotted with those spiky brown balls that fall off some of the trees around here. It feels heavy and weird. Uncomfortable one moment, but then there's butterflies fluttering around it the next.
And don't even get me started on the ache between my legs. It's new, foreign and it sizzles every time I picture myself half-naked in front of Matt. His hands roaming over my bare skin. His eyes raking over my body.
Ugh.
What's wrong with me? He's my best friend.
Wait, I can't do this...can I?
I comb my fingers through my damp hair, remind myself to tell Mom to schedule a hair appointment. We're both natural brunettes, but I've been multiple shades of blonde over the last two years.
Nervously, I throw on an oversized sweater and grab my bag before stopping in front of the door. I grip the cool metal handle, give myself a moment, try to even my breathing, calm the rapid thuds in my chest.
Well, here goes nothing.
"Jesus, Jen," Matt groans as I walk into the lobby. "What took you so long?"
He's leaning against the wall, his brown hair falling in waves across his forehead. His cheeks are no longer flushed red, but there's a glow to his skin. Anticipation? Excitement? Nervousness?
I can't tell.
He looks devastatingly handsome as always, even though there's this faint sweaty smell to him. He smells like Matt. Like childhood. Like late night basketball games. Family picnics in the mountains. Early morning hikes. Vacations to Florida. The last day of school. Summer barbeques. Winter snowstorms.
Matt.
My Matt.
"Suck it up, man," I slap his shoulder. "I wait for you all the time."
I start walking towards the exit, him jogging behind me to catch up. "You know I have a dry scalp and I have to use that medicated shampoo that takes forever to wash out."
"It must be so exhausting looking that hot all the time," I tease as I slap his shoulder playfully.
Matt doesn't try to hide the smile on his face as he beams down at me. "You have no idea."
We push open the glass doors, see an early spring snow has blanketed the parking lot in a thin layer of white. The blue sky is hidden behind pale grey clouds, mist and fog. Tiny snowflakes dance and flit and twirl around us as we make our way down the sidewalk.
