I feel happy inside...

Resting just between us, my right hand was held in nervous anticipation. It sat open and inviting on the couch as I use my left to wipe the sweat from my brow.

God, I wish he'd just touch me.

I wonder if he knew what I'm thinking. He was watching the movie intently, but I got the sense that he knows I'm watching him with the same conviction.

I thought, "Maybe if I stretch I can reposition myself so that my hand gently brushes against his. Oh no, I can't do that. He will see right through me and know what I'm up to. But, what if he then takes my hand? At least I will know that he knows and that he is interested too. Then maybe he will pull me in and kiss me. His lips on mine. I can move my hand to the back of his head and comb through his hair. I feel the curls sliding through my fingers now, they tickle."

Shit. I was breathing heavy and he's going to think I'm some perv. I had to calm down; my palms were starting to sweat and there's nothing worse than sweaty palms.

"Please don't grab my hand now. Maybe I can rub my hand on my jeans without him noticing. But I really want to rub my hand on HIS jeans. STOP THAT! I am making things so much worse," I screamed to myself.

Then he saw me move my hand, and gently grabbed it.