Inhale, Exhale by Sarah M. Ross Page A

furnace. He was waiting for permission, a sign that I wanted and accepted his touch. My hands stayed glued to the seat beside me, but I lifted up onto the balls of my feet, causing my knee to bump into his awaiting hand.
    It took but seconds for his large, strong hand to clasp the top of my leg, the pad of his thumb brushing along the soft skin inside my thigh. I looked around the table, but everyone was deep in their own conversations, and no one was paying us any attention.
    Neither his hand nor my leg moved for a long time. Just the tiny swipes of his thumb, causing my breath to hitch. We didn’t look at each other as to not draw attention. He chatted casually with people at the table, while I was drawn tighter than a bow.
    Finally, after an excruciatingly long time, he began to move his fingers. He ran his thumb in tiny circles on the inside of my thigh as his fingers brushed behind my knee, making a painstakingly slow ascent upward. One millimeter at a time.
    Time stood still and the room around me blurred. He was still an inch or two below the hem of my shorts, but I felt like he was touching me at my core. Goosebumps rose along my skin, and I shivered.
    Grant must have taken that as a good sign, because he began to very slowly—agonizingly slowly—inch his fingers further up my thigh. My muscles tightened in anticipation, knowing this was wrong but wanting nothing but his touch. He made his way to the hem of my tiny shorts, sliding his fingers back and forth against it. Inside my thigh. Outside my thigh. Inside. Outside. In. Out.
    My vision blurred, and my eyes slid shut with pleasure. I bit my bottom lip to contain the groan that threatened to escape my lips.
    Just breathe, Jillian. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale . It was as if someone had run one of those sparklers you get on the Fourth of July along my skin. It crackled and burned deliciously. And the irony that I really was playing with fire was not lost on me.
    I yearned for his hand to keep inching up, no longer caring that I was in public, that people could see me, or that I had a boyfriend. I needed his touch. I needed him.
    “I’ve gotta use the ladies’ room.” I jumped up, almost knocking over three drinks from the table. I didn’t stop to wipe the beer that sloshed out of them. Grant’s hands fell from my leg, and he quickly put them on his lap, covering his crotch.
    Oh my God! He’s hard as a rock! I dropped my purse on the seat and sprinted for the bathroom.
    Once inside, I took several deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. My stomach soured at the guilt.
    “I should not be here. I should not be doing these things, or wanting these things,” I told myself in the mirror, splashing water on my face. “This is just a stupid, meaningless crush. What I have with Christian is real.”
    I closed my eyes for a few minutes, trying to think of an excuse to leave. I knew if I did, they wouldn’t have a full team and couldn’t compete tonight. I didn’t think they’d really mind, since winning wasn’t their goal, but I still felt bad.
    The door opened, and Tonya walked in. “Hey, you okay in here?”
    I nodded and dried my hands with a paper towel. “Yeah, sorry. I haven’t eaten since lunch and I got a little lightheaded. Um, listen—”
    “Well, snap to! It’s our turn to bowl, and I’ve been looking forward to this all week!”
    I doubted the woman could bowl in a straight line, considering after three beers she could no longer walk in one, but hearing that people were depending on me made me realize I couldn’t just leave. It wouldn’t be fair to them. I’d have to suck up my feelings, keep my hands and body to myself, and deal with this stupid crush for a few hours. Then hopefully I could text with Christian for a little while later to get thoughts about Grant out of my head.
    “I’ll be there in just a minute.”
    Tonya nodded and walked back toward the door, but stopped. “You sure you’re okay? Was Grant