The Lines We Draw

It had been so long since she sat at a table with people casually chit-chatting. She settled onto the bench and listened as the conversation washed over her. It was shoptalk infused with a bit of politics — none of it was a crisis that involved any form of decision making.

She leaned in as two of her medical staff, no … two of her friends, gestured wildly in a heated but friendly debate. A bump on her left side pulled her attention away. He settled on the short bench beside her. She briefly considered moving over to give him more room, but she was already perched on the edge, and he could have sat elsewhere if he wanted space.

His leg slid over to push against hers. She searched his face to see if he was trying to communicate something. He wasn’t. He was chit-chatting with a field medic, who held his full attention. Curious, she moved her leg away just a bit. He slid his leg over and again she felt the subtle and insistent pressure of his hard thigh pushing up against hers.

She bit her lip and rested her chin in her hand to hide her smile. She couldn’t tell if this was completely unconscious behaviour or extremely subtle flirting, either way it was welcome. She turned away from him to answer a question and leaned a bit more into him.

Ten minutes passed with him sitting beside her but not once speaking directly to her. Occasionally their forearms would align, increasing the warm and insistent contact. A thrumming sensation coursed through her. She was unbelievably happy.

For a moment she contemplated why this subtle and probably unconscious contact was so thrilling for her, but found that the line of internal questioning didn’t lead to pleasant thoughts.

Shunting those thoughts aside, she allowed herself to simply enjoy the moment. She loved the feel of his calf and thigh, warm and firm. She wished she could slide her hand down and rest it gently against his leg, but she worried that a direct action would end the contact.

Moments later the table emptied. A card game started up nearby drawing everyone in. She waited for him to rise and join the others, but he didn’t. She turned to face him and their eyes met.

“Nice night,” he said softly.

The thrumming sensation increased. The feel of his leg pushing against hers combined with the direct attention made her wonder if his actions this evening were unconscious.

“Very nice.”

He reached his arm around her, pulling her to him in a sideways hug. “Are you going to play?”

Oh how she wanted to play. Images of him lying beneath her, twisting and gasping with pleasure flickered in her mind.

“No, I think I’ll pass,” she said.

He nodded and pulled himself up. She sighed as the warmth of his body left hers, her left thigh quickly growing cold.

“Good night,” he squeezed her shoulder once and then turned to join the others.

“Night.”

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