Risk It All

Risk

The wine was starting to go to my head. Warming my cheeks against the frigid winter wind that whipped across my face as we walked up the street and perhaps stoking the fires of my courage, just a little bit. Turning the corner and taking shelter under the awning of a bustling restaurant we huddled together, listening to the muffled voices of other couples celebrating Valentine's Day inside the restaurant while we waited for our cab. Except we weren't a couple. We were friends. Good friends. Maybe best friends if that was still a thing.

Michael and I gravitated to each other when we started working together on various events for my design company. He was a geeky promotional expert, who had no idea how much of a heart throb he was. I was a struggling artist who was stuck in a cycle of hating men, but loving love.

We were two introverted peas in a pod.

To say the idea of hopping into bed with Michael had never crossed my mind would be an out and out lie. The guy had more superhero collectables than Stan Lee and a set of abs I could play like a xylophone. My inner dork didn't think he couldn't be any more perfect. But I was a professional, and how was anyone ever supposed to take me seriously in the business world if I slept with every beautiful man who wandered into my office?

At least that's what I told myself, repeatedly whenever he would post another shirtless gym selfie or prattle on for hours about the latest Marvel movie.

God damn.

It didn't help that outside of it being taboo, there was always the classic "a guy like him would never fall for a woman like me" rhetoric that played on a loop in my mind. I was curvy but not in the Kardashian way. Soft, would be a better description. Short and soft, with ample assets. Not exactly model material compared his adonis like physique. Of course I knew none of that shit mattered to him, along with our close working relationship over the past nine months we'd spent endless nights drinking strawberry wine, talking and playing 90's era video games. It didn't take him long to open up to me and I, to him. For two anti-social people, it was probably the closest friendship either of us had ever had.

The problem was, that shit mattered to me and so I had never even considered making a move on him. And he'd never crossed that line either. No matter how much I secretly wanted him too.

"Let's get nachos. No, let's get loaded nachos! Said the girl who isn't going to regret them at the gym tomorrow," pulling me from my thoughts Michael let out a rumbling chuckle and I couldn't help but join in. He had a contagious laugh and our mutually sarcastic humour helped to dull the constant awkwardness that seemed to roll off us in waves.

"Yeah well, you're the one who suggested we hike three blocks on snowy sidewalks straight uphill to catch a cab," to punctuate my point I kicked a heeled foot in the air. "I didn't wear these boots because they're walking shoes!"

Glancing down at my knee high black leather boots with their impractical five inch heels he smirked, "What kind of shoes are they then Sasha?"

Narrowing my eyes and playfully arching my eyebrow, the only flirtatious move I knew I replied, "They're fuck me shoes."

His blue eyes went wide and he scoffed, "Excuse me, they're what?"

I drew several squiggles in the snow with the toe of my boot eyes down, the momentary wine-induced confidence gone, "They are fuck me shoes."

Daring to glance back up, I found his face waiting with a dangerous smile. I immediately regretted opening my mouth.

"So shoes you only wear to ..." he trailed off.

"Mmhmm." I mumbled and desperately hoped we would get back to superhero talk.

For a hair too long, he held my gaze. Neither of us were touchy feely but standing no more than an inch from him, looking up into his eyes both of us seemingly frozen, I had this overwhelming urge to reach up and pull him into a kiss.