What I Should Have Done ✓

Chapter 7

One Saturday night, we were sitting on the couch in John's room doing homework—he was struggling through an econ problem set, I was doing social psych readings. Several weeks had passed since the first party and I had been vigilant, meeting him for study group at the library once a week and attending a few more soccer pregames and parties, but never sitting too close to him. He had toned down his flirting significantly, too, probably upon the sound advice of Greg and the others. Tonight, we were studying in his room because the main library was closed due to some electrical issue and neither of us liked the harsh neon lights in the science library. It was the first time I was alone with him in private, but we were only studying.

My eyes were shut, my forefingers and middle fingers massaging my temples as I silently revised the determinants of social group cohesion when he suddenly closed his textbook with a loud thud, then took mine from underneath me and slammed it shut as well.

"Hey!" I protested.

"You weren't even reading anymore." His voice was teasing.

"Was, too."

"Enough. It's Saturday night, let's do something fun."

"You want to go out?" I asked skeptically.

"No, I was thinking we could stay in and watch a movie. What do you think?" As he waited for my answer, he already reached for his laptop.

I arched my eyebrows. Surely he had better things to do on a Saturday night than watch a movie with me, alone, even if there was no soccer party tonight so they could be fit for the away game tomorrow. He had to be getting plenty of invitations to parties. Plus, not studying during one-on-one time together was foreign territory.

"Um... sure. What did you have in mind?"

Damn, I'm easily persuaded.

"I don't know if I've told you this, but my guilty pleasure is the occasional rom-com and I found Four Weddings and a Funeral to stream."

"Rom-coms," I repeated in disbelief.

"Oh, come on, don't judge me. You know you want to. Two words: Hugh Grant."

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it, when, really, I did want to watch a movie with him and I did like Hugh Grant. "Okay, fine. But I'll need a cup of herbal tea."

The grin that spread across his face as he rose and crossed the room was adorable. "Lucky for you, I bought a box of Sleepytime after you mentioned it at the pregame the other week."

The door fell shut and ceramic clatter sounded from the kitchenette in the common area. He bought tea for me? Did he plan this movie night? Shit, why is my stomach fluttering?

A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming cup for me and we got comfortable on the couch with his laptop on the coffee table.

For the first part of the movie, I was halfway fine. If by 'halfway fine' you mean my mind running 50 miles an hour and my palms sweating. I tried to focus on the movie, but acute awareness of the fact that there was only a hand's width of space between us made that task more difficult. John draping a soft white blanket across both of us did not help the matter either.

Hugh Grant as Charles, the charming best man, ran into Andie MacDowell's Carrie, at his friends' wedding, and they spent the night together, resulting in her asking him to propose to her. It was very romantic and all—but John's elbow was draped across the back of the couch, a mere five inches from my face. No need to freak out, he's just getting comfortable.

Greg would not have been a fan of this level of comfort. I got it. He was looking out for his friend, and for me. While he was the one who had spoken up, I could tell from the glances he and Linh exchanged that she also kept an eye on the situation. Though calling it a 'situation' was blowing it out of proportion. We had become friends and were getting to know each other, that was all.

Some shuffling occurred, on whose side I wasn't sure anymore, until we were somehow sitting even closer, to the point where our knees were touching. Whoa. The palpitations within my chest were not ignorable anymore.

Then came the scene where Charles confesses to Carrie on a beautiful day by the riverside that he thought he loved her. Charles's too-wide blue and green floral print shirt and awkward shorts were hideous and he was talking himself into so much trouble, gabbling on instead of coming straight out to ask her. It is a talent to make others squirm in embarrassment on one's behalf.

"That was very romantic," Carrie said, and my breath hitched in my throat.

"Well, I thought it over a lot, you know. I wanted to get it just right," replied Charles.

A chuckle escaped my mouth at his completely unwarranted nonchalance.

John shot a quick glance at me with a crooked smile. "That would be me."

"Yeah, right," I snorted. As if John Jay, resident soccer heartthrob and flirt extraordinaire, would be this nervous asking a woman out.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" His eyes were still on me, making me blush. Um, hello? If he's self-conscious around women, a bear doesn't crap in the woods.

"You have no reason to be." I arched my eyebrows without returning his gaze. 'Or did you use to get this nervous around your girlfriend?' I wanted to add, but held my tongue.

I tried to concentrate back on the movie that was still playing, but in the corner of my eye, he shrugged one shoulder. Straightening my back, I turned toward him.

"John, are you kidding me? There's no way you would be verbally fidgeting like this."

He shrugged one shoulder again—how could even this small gesture be so appealing when coming from him?

"You're probably right. Instead of stammering, I might tickle her until she succumbed to my charms."

Upon this, he pounced on me and the tips of his fingers were everywhere, searing my skin even where it was covered by my t-shirt. My chest heaved and my diaphragm spasmed, resulting in uncontrollable screeching giggles. My waist, my stomach, the crook of my neck, every spot he touched was ablaze like he touched a lighter to it. I was wheezing from laughter and screeching for him to stop.

The flames lapped at me and continued to smolder my skin even after he withdrew his fingers, but not without squeezing me one last time. An intense buzz whirred through my entire body, making my head so light I feared it would float to the ceiling. To steady myself, I leaned into John and released the last ebbs of laughter into his shoulder. Rather than letting go of me, he put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him even closer.

Fuck. This was not supposed to be happening. He had a girlfriend, I wasn't looking for a relationship, let alone a hook up. My body was not supposed to tingle all over for him. His body was not supposed to be this close to mine.

Fuck fuck fuck. Up until now, I hadn't let my little crush on John—there, I said it—come between our friendship. Was I going to start now? Or wasn't it him who was starting something? Shit, what does all of this mean?

Miraculously, my pounding heart quickly drowned out all thoughts and allowed me to melt into him. John rearranged the blanket with his free hand so it would cover us again. My head slipped down and leaned against his chest where I could hear his own heart thumping at a fierce pace. Squeezing my eyes shut, I prepared for him to realize what he was doing and pull away.

But he didn't.

On the contrary, his fingertips began tracing invisible lines along my upper arm. Involuntarily, I sank into his touch and breathed in the scent of his Old Spice body wash. When his fingertips brushed over my elbow, my bones tingled and my stomach was turned inside out as if being thrown in the washing machine.

My respiration came in short, shallow breaths. I moved as little as possible so as not to ruin the moment, but I would hyperventilate if I didn't start using my lungs again. In a sudden rush of bravery, I took a deep breath and draped my arm across his stomach. He breathed in audibly, but didn't move away even an inch. One quick glance at him was all I could afford. His eyes were fixed on the screen, but he couldn't have possibly still been watching. God knows I wasn't and we had missed several minutes through the tickle attack anyway. Between a cute on-screen Hugh Grant and a smoking off-screen John Jay, I would always choose the latter.

Hold up—always?