text: “Ideally, you would spit game back but I don’t want to pressure you” read the text that followed dozens of previous racy, flirty ones. She didn’t want to. She thought that was okay. They were just friends, co-workers. She's on the night shift and suddenly, she hears commotion behind her. She turns around to see him standing at the front counter, staring at her. He thought it was sweet to visit her. He greeted their mutual co-workers yet his eyes remained on her. The cashier turned to her with a slight smirk, “What’s up with the way he’s looking at you? You need to explain that”. She brushes it off and she waves goodbye. He stays and at every turn of her head, she saw his eyes on her. He leaves, without notice, without a goodbye, without acknowledgment. She is relieved. She heads to the back room for her break. Her phone dings. “I couldn’t stop looking at you, I’m glad I got to see you. Do you want to meet up after you get off?” Conflicted, she asks if she could let him know after work to see how tired she is. Off the clock, she prepares her text explaining she was too exhausted to meet up but she opened the conversation to “I’m in the parking lot across the street.” She feels obligated to go now. She didn’t want to. They had been there before, once, when he first admitted to having feelings for her. She had said she didn’t feel the same, she needed time, she wasn’t ready. She thought that was okay. She pulls up in the parking lot next to his mom’s car that he drove everywhere. All the stores were closed. It was nearly empty. They talked about their days, work, and then - a moment of silence. She knew what he was going to do. She looked away, around, pointing out things in the parking lot, changing the subject, distracting. The two laughed at the man who drove up just to piss on a cinderblock. They smiled at the cat that wandered past her car. They placed bets when the openers for the stores would arrive. It was nearing 3am. 5 seconds of silence. That’s all it took. He approached her and wrapped his arms around her. At first, she didn’t reciprocate. She didn’t want to. She gave in anyway. What could be so harmful about a hug? He backs up and tilts her chins upward and stares at her. She knows. She turns her head. He turns it back. He leans in to kiss her. Instinctively, she moves her head. The kiss lands on her cheek. He tilts her head back in place and kisses her. She kisses back the first two times. He keeps going. She puts her head down. He tilts it back and keeps going. She stops kissing back. He keeps going. She says, “no, we can’t.” He keeps going. She pulls away. He pushes her against the car. He keeps going. His arms around her, he won’t let go. He lifts her shirt to touch her skin. He keeps going. She can feel his fingers brush the clasp of her bra. She can feel his heartbeat. She can feel everything. He pulls her body against his, too close. She can feel her chest tighten. She’s trapped. He jokes around how easy it was to steal a kiss. She doesn’t laugh. They sit against her car on the ground. He wraps her in a blanket he brought and readjusts himself so his head lies on her thighs. They talk for hours. She tries to explain how they shouldn’t pursue a relationship, how they wouldn’t work out, how it was too hard. She didn’t want to be with him. She thought that was okay. He dismissed every remark and continued with stories about himself. He said they could make it work, “they had to.” Why did they have to? She moves her leg to indicate it’s time to leave. Nothing. Again, she shakes her leg. He sits up, shoulder to shoulder. He mentions how small her feet are, how short her legs are, and how cute she is. They laugh it off. Seconds of silence, that’s all it took. He slides his hands in between her thighs. Yet, she moves her legs away. Disregarding that body language, he lifts her left thigh and puts it on top of his and repeats with her right. She’s too close to him. His hands brush her thighs, her arms, her cheek. She knows. She turns away. He turns her body back toward him. She points out how late it’s getting. She looks up at the gloomy sky, wishing to disappear, only wanting to breathe. She feels a raindrop fall on her forehead. He wipes it off and stares at her as he caresses her face. She knows. Water fills the ground. “Thank God,” she thought. She gets up to leave. He’s upset, pleads for more time. She denies. “Before you go, I wanted to at least slow dance with you tonight.” It sounded planned, she thought, what else did he plan that night? Before she gets the chance to respond, he hits play. As Elvis’ Can’t Help Falling in Love rings in her ear, he pulls her close. So close, she can feel her imbalance. She pushes back. Just a little more space. This will be over soon. As the lyrics looped in her head, all she could think about was how she rather could help falling in love. He pulls her closer. She pulls away. He pulls her back. Again and again. She counts the verses, waiting. She drowns her thoughts with the sound of the fresh rain against the concrete. She feels his hands brush the droplets of water off her skin. “For I can’t help falling in love,” finally the last line. She begins to walk away, bidding goodnight. He pulls her back into an embrace. He brings her chin up to look at her face to face. She knows. She chuckles and walks away. In almost an instant, he grabs her wrist and pulls her entire body weight back into his arms. “That hurt,” she thought. She repeats, “No, we can’t” over and over again trying to escape his grip. He settles for kissing her forehead. She walks away and approaches her car door. “Goodnight”. He’s upset. He feels wronged. He wanted more. He expected more. Why did he expect more? She didn’t want more. She thought that was okay.