Adrenaline Bliss

He had been a coworker for almost two years. Over time we’d had a handful of non-work related conversations, which I found to be both wonderful and torturous. Wonderful because for a few moments in time I was on his radar; torturous because he made mine go crazy.

I wasn’t a slender woman, never had been, and one thing I’d learned over the years was that almost without fail, handsome men went for stunning women. Why shouldn’t they? Beautiful people could afford to be picky.

His hair was dark and glossy, like mahogany that had been polished by years of loving caresses and the short cut kept it away from his face. Thick lashes that would make any woman pea green with envy framed his eyes, warm like aged bronze.

Yes, he was beautiful. Yes, he was kind, and funny, but it was his scent that ate away at my nerves. Soap, shampoo and cologne I couldn’t name; but under that was just him. Just his skin. Each time he passed me my eyes involuntarily fluttered shut as I inhaled in his wake. When we spoke face to face it took all I had not to bury my nose in the hair behind his ear to breathe him in.

I was routinely surprised at how strong an aversion the mass population had to making, and keeping, eye contact. People always seemed to find somewhere else to focus, only letting their gaze skip rapidly across other faces like a stone across a pond. But not him. He held my gaze, steady and unflinching, which only served to fan my fascination.

He was talking about books, his laugh rich and touchable as ermine, and to punctuate a statement he briefly touched my hand. Adrenaline bliss!

I was absolutely certain that my friends were sick of hearing about him, but I just couldn’t bring myself to act, which was the antithesis of my usual direct approach to life. I wanted to ask him out. I wanted to tell him how I felt, but the overpowering fear of not only being rejected, but of losing what little interaction we did have, paralyzed me into inaction.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, and his usual confidant demeanor slipped into that of an uncertain teenager, “Would you be interested… I mean, if you want to… I was going to ask if…” His words trailed off but had been enough for me to deduce where he had been going with them, and I thought my heart might burst from my chest.

“Are you trying to ask me out?” I asked, amazed that I’d summoned the nerve to say those words out loud.

He smiled a ten thousand watt smile at me, flashing white teeth, and he seemed to relax when I smiled back. “Yes, in my own feeble way I am.”

“I’d love to,” I said with a nervous laugh, and at that moment I could have sprouted wings and flown to the moon. “What did you have in mind?"