Britta: Did you win?
Wes:
Wes: You know it. How was your workout?
Britta: Helen kicked my butt as always. You should hire her.
Wes: Give her my info.
Britta: I’m not supposed to have your info, remember? I swear, I’m going to get you fired.
I leaned against the headboard, the wood cool on my bare back, my thumbs hovering over the screen keyboard. “Just have her contact FitMi” was easy advice, especially since Britta didn’t know my role at the company, but maybe this was my chance to come clean. I scratched at the stubble on my jaw before typing a reply, but she added another message first.
Britta: Can I ask you a personal question?
Wes: Sure.
Britta: It’s really personal, so you don’t have to answer.
Wes: Hit me.
The dots bounced and then stopped, her message hanging. My comfortable bedroom was now too warm, and I stared at my phone with an intensity that would have been embarrassing if anyone else was in the room.
Wes: Everything ok?
When she finally responded after another two minutes, what she said threw me.
Britta: Have you ever wanted someone you knew you shouldn’t?
Her question was so spot-on, I worried she’d seen through me at the park. Maybe she’d known exactly why I pulled back.
Wes: What do you mean?
Britta: Have you ever wanted to be with someone, like, romantically, but it would be inappropriate? Like, someone off-limits.
My heart rate sped, and I both wanted and didn’t want her to be talking about me. The possibility taunted me like a spark in the distance. If I’d spent a moment longer weighing out potential consequences, I wouldn’t have answered so openly.
Wes: Yes. Have you?
Britta: This is probably too weird to talk about, too personal. I don’t know why I asked. I just talk to you about everything.
Wes: Are you interested in someone you shouldn’t be?
Britta: Yeah.
Wes: Just physically or more?
Britta: Both. All. I’m interested in everything.
Britta: It’s hard to describe. I absolutely can’t have him, and I can’t stop imagining what if.
What if. I swallowed, anxiety, arousal, and hope battling inside me. I wanted her to be talking about me. So many of my what-ifs were about kissing her, and bringing her home, and memorizing her body when I woke with our limbs tangled. My thumb hovered over the call icon, and I suddenly wanted to hear her voice more than anything. This felt like that moment in the park, but there was no one around to stop us, and the risk felt worth it.
A FitMi notification flashed across the screen, an automated note to check my client’s weekly summary, the simple white box an ice-water reminder why nothing had changed since the park. I pulled my thumb away from the screen. I had to be sure first.
Wes: Do you think he feels the same?
Britta: There are moments where I think maybe.
Britta: You know that feeling when you’re certain someone wants you? Like there’s this electricity? It’s like that, but then nothing happens.
I dropped my head back against the headboard, frustrated. Electricity . . . but then nothing happens. I should have kissed her. The moment was there, and I got in my own head.
Britta: Being together would break some serious rules.
Wes: Someone who really wants to be with you would be willing to move mountains, let alone break rules.
My body was on edge, muscles tensed and eyes trained on the screen. She’d cut through all my bullshit in a few texts like Britta always did. She knew exactly what was going on in my head. I’d typed, I’ll do whatever I have to to be with you, but before I hit send, her next reply popped up.
Britta: It could impact my job. It could get me fired.
She has electricity with someone else. I reread the response to be sure, because she wasn’t talking about me. It should have scared me that I’d wanted Britta in that moment more than I cared about my company, but it didn’t, and I’d been about to confess some shit to her that would have ruined everything.
Wes: Someone you work with?
Britta: Kind of.
I slumped against the bed, all that tension falling away at once, leaving this sinking disappointment in its place.
Wes: What do you think you should do?
Britta: There’s what I want to do and what I should do. But probably look out for my career, right? I mean, a guy isn’t a sure thing, and the place I work is really great . . .
Wes: That difference between “want” and “should” can be big. “Should” is probably the safer option, though.
The room felt too confined, and I walked toward my dresser, pulling on shorts.