If you like a boy you do crazy things. When your friend Hilton introduces you to his friend Drake, look at him and get that warm feeling in the pit of your stomach. Get lost in how totally handsome he is. The way he towers above you yet effortlessly leans against the brick wall with his arms folded turns you on. Immediately you’re undressing him and thinking about what he’d be like in bed, what his tongue feels like, his hot breath against your neck. Flash a smile that lets him know you’re thinking this.
Go inside the club. You’re all standing there but Hilton goes to get a drink, leaving you and Drake all alone. Think about sending Hilton a strategic text message saying, “Drake is so hot!” in hopes that he will relay the message to Drake, saving you the embarrassment. But you don’t say it. Instead, you and Drake stand there and have awkward banter, the kind that happens when you’re talking to your friends’ hot friend all by yourself. As he talks you’re not really listening, just watching his mouth open and close, staring at his eyes, wondering how they could possibly be so blue.
Hilton comes back and you all move to the dance floor. Though you’re embarrassed to dance in front of The Boy you manage a few wiggles anyway. Ten minutes later you don’t care and you’re really letting loose. It’s dark on the floor so you don’t really see anything, just strobe lights and shadows. You dance right in front of Drake, and with each move you hope his eyes meet yours, maybe he’ll feel what you feel. You notice the musculature of his arms, the heft of his hands. and you imagine him putting that hand on the small of your back to pull you in close. You imagine accessorizing this by wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing both of your bodies together tightly. As you feel him grow your hair raises. The music stops and the whole room disappears; it’s just you and Drake. You start to make out, hearts racing. He feels your face and you run your hands through his hair, stopping to take his whole face in. All you want to do is leave the club and take him back to your place. The fire of anticipation.
But none of this happens. Instead you slightly ignore him because you’re afraid of coming across too strong, eager. What if he doesn’t like you? What if you say something stupid? You like him but you don’t want him to know you like him. Wait on him to show that he likes you first.
It’s too hot inside and you’re all sick of dancing, want to come up for air. You go outside and stand on Belmont. You’re talking about Chicago and law school while drag queens and hookers walk past. An hour goes by and everybody wants to go home. You tell Drake you’re staying in Wicker Park, specifically on Damen St., and he says that he lives near there. Is this a sign he wants to come over? Maybe this means we can hook up before too long? You hope he’d say something like, “I should come over” but of course he doesn’t. Why would he? Why are you freaking out? Just chill. You’ve just met.
Get inside your place. Your roommates are still up playing WoW, and one of them is dealing with the fact that he and his girlfriend of seven years just broke up. You console him a little, telling him, “Dude, you’ll be okay.”
Your cell phone beeps and, crazily, you hope it’s Drake. But it’s your best friend Julie asking what you’re doing. You don’t respond to her message. Instead, you’re thinking specifically about adding Drake on Facebook. But how soon is too soon to add someone on Facebook before you become a stalker? You don’t add him, but when you wake up in the morning there’s a Facebook friend request in your inbox and it’s from Drake.