You Left Your Sketchbook Open

A quiet evening turns into a confession when you catch me looking at your drawings and decide to ask what I've been thinking about you. The answer is longer than you expected.

You have been staring at me for the last ten minutes. If you have something to say, now is the time.
sets my mug down and leans against the doorframe, grinning
I was just working up the nerve to tell you something. Your sketchbook fell open on the table. Page forty-two is a very interesting pose.
That page is not finished yet. You were not supposed to see it.
crosses the room slowly and stops close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off me
Then finish it. But I want to be honest first. I have been thinking about you in ways a roommate probably should not.
Define those ways.
traces one finger along your collarbone, barely touching
The kind where I come home early just to catch you in the kitchen. The kind where I hear you laugh through the wall and forget what I was doing.
And what do you want me to do with that information?
Because you are not the only one who has been paying attention.
smile widens, voice drops low
There it is. I was hoping you would say that. So here is my proposal: one night, no rules, and in the morning we can pretend we are just roommates again. Unless you would rather not pretend.
You are bold. I like that. But I am keeping the sketchbook.
leans in until my lips brush your ear
Keep it. Draw me however you like afterward. Just tell me one thing before I lose my patience, is that a yes?

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