Sparks?

I went to his place again last night.

After hanging out from 10:30pm-1:45am and some really good port from Napa Valley, I asked him to walk me back. We hung out at my place for a few minutes before he left. I showed him the view from my room, which at night, required my turning off the lights. We were both perched in the small alcove in front of my window, knees almost touching, looking out at Columbia, the GW Bridge, and the small patches of river that really only looked like sky in the darkness. We were still talking, and I glanced over at him, to see him looking back at me. Startled, I lowered my eyes and looked back out of the window. My roommates asked afterwards, “Did sparks fly?” Maybe in that moment, they had.

I’m hooked. How long has it been since I could talk to somebody for four hours straight and wish for more afterwards? I’m sitting here, anticipating his call, and I’ve been nervous for two hours already and fighting the urge to try calling him again. Maybe he won’t call tonight. Will I be crushed? Did he not have a good time last night?

I had touched him once that night. While telling him my “night of debauchery” story, I had grabbed him on the knee while demonstrating how I had grabbed my roommate’s shoulder while saying, “Eileen, I think we need to go home.” Sparks? Maybe. The sudden warmth beneath my palm, and my quick release of his knee to avoid ambiguity, how much of that body do I want to touch?

I need to find something else to do other than thinking about him.