On an Edge of Glass

that plays local bars a few nights a month.  He bites his lip and his cheeks flush noticeably red when I ask him if he’s hounded by groupies in miniskirts and push-up bras. 
    I like the way that he obsessively tucks his hair behind his ears as he talks, and how his whole body moves when he’s nodding his head.  He’s enthusiastic about the things that he likes, and lately I’ve been noticing that enthusiasm is a rare commodity among a generation of young men that value disengagement and pop their chins and say, “sup” in lieu of a greeting.
    Ben shares stories about his family—about the little brothers that dominate his home life and the mother that rules them all.  I laugh until tears drip onto my cheeks when he tells me about eleven year old Kyle rigging up a homemade zip-line extending from the rooftop of their house to a tree across the street.  Needless to say, it did not end well.  He fell into a neighbor’s trashcan and broke his wrist.
    Payton joins us when she ge ts home from class.  With her presence, the music gets louder and a bottle of wine is opened.  Then we delve into a second bottle. 
    Sometime between dinner and ripping into a bag of Oreos, a deck of cards and a bottle of vanilla flavored vodka are introduced into the mixture. 
    Ben sits next to me on the floor with his long spidery legs crossed in front of his body.  He doesn’t have shoes on and it’s first time I’ve seen his bare feet up close.  I note his narrow toes and the way that he wiggles them against the wood floor while he’s thinking about his cards. 
    Each time his arm brushes against mine, or I ca tch the already familiar soapy scent of him, I try not to lose my way.  I hunch forward, curling my shoulders inward over my chest.  I attempt to stay focused on the playing cards in my hand, and it works.  I end up winning two times in a row. 
    Payton mutters under her breath and throws her cards down , but Ben flashes me a dimpled smile so wide and beautiful that it hurts.  I look at the floor.  I’m confused and a tad off-balance by the huge feeling unraveling inside of me. 
    Like some kind of cosmic joke, Payton’s phone buzzes.  She gets up and walks into her bedroom to answer it, leaving Ben and me alone on the dining room floor.
    There are a thousand things that I want to say right now , but I can’t even breathe properly, let alone get real words out.  Ben is fiddling with his cards.  His dark eyebrows cut a straight line across his forehead. 
    My left foot is hooked under my right knee, and my palms are flat on the floor.  I untangle myself so that my legs stick out straight.  Looking sideways, Ben follows my movements with hooded eyes.  He sucks in a visible breath and curls the hand not holding his cards into a tightly balled fist.
    Imprisoned inside of my ribcage, my heart starts beating faster.  My face is on fire.  Chills are breaking out on my skin, and I wonder if Ben can see the effect that he’s having on me.
    I start to imagine him touching me on purpose.  Not just an accidental brush as he reaches across me for another Oreo.  A deliberate touch.  One that is intended to make a point. 
    I ponder how Ben’s long, slender fingers would feel grazing the bumps of my ribcage.  I picture his thumbs running along the waistband of my jeans, tickling the sensitive skin there.  I think about his warm lips, sweeping over mine and moving down my neck. 
    Payton is still talking in the other room.  I can hear the muffled sounds of her mellow laughter over the music and the erratic pattern of my heartbeats. 
    Ben ’s mouth is parted and he’s placed his cards facedown beside him.  His expression is on the brink of something that I don’t quite understand.  I screw my eyes closed.  I suspect that the wine and the vodka swimming through my system are partly to blame for the churning in my gut.  I silently remind myself the multitude of reasons why pursuing anything with Ben is a bad idea. 
    1)       He’s not my type.  He’s scruffy, whereas I’m put-together.  I wear cardigans for God’s sake.  I think that effectively blocks me from being allowed to date musicians.
    2)      Ben is my roommate.   
    3)       I made a pact with Payton and Ainsley.  I made the two of them promise that they wouldn’t go after Ben, regardless of how tempting he turned out to be.  That has to stand for something.
    I halfway convince myself.
    I stand, my knees wobbling