You said my laptop had a virus. Said you’d help me get rid of it.

You swung by, all nonchalant—jacket half-off, that crooked smirk on your face.

But let’s be honest, Elena.

You weren’t there to fix my computer.

You wanted to see me.

You wanted to touch something, didn’t you?

Anything.

The air between us was thick. One brush of your fingers on the trackpad and I forgot what we were even talking about.

You stood behind me.

Too close.

Breath hot on my neck.

And still... you didn’t pull me in.

Did I want you to?

Would I have made out with you, right there on my couch?

I guess we’ll never know.

But sometimes…