I met someone. He’s endearing, has great taste in movies, and loves to run his mouth, especially when it comes to telling people what he thinks about different people and topics. Some people call him stubborn, maybe even obnoxious depending on the conversation. But I think he’s different, the kind of different that’s charming, flirtatious and endearing. We get along like we’ve been friends for longer than we have, and we’re both single. I want him.

But there’s a serious problem – we work with each other. So we can’t. We just can’t. Like ever.

Before I tell you further why we can’t take off our jeans and get to it, let me tell you about this boy. He would never admit it, but he takes time to style his wavy brown hair in the morning. His eyes are deep, and while it looks like he’s tired, his face looks wise beyond his years, even though he’s only 25. He listens to Caribou and the Knife, and when he laughs it’s the kind of laugh that makes his eyes warm up in a way you wish everyone’s did when they laugh. He doesn’t know this, and if he read this and knew I was talking about him, I would blush so hard that my face would turn into a cherry and my body into a big scoop of strawberry ice cream. He might know that I secretly like him, but I doubt it.

And so here we are, at work, sometimes outside of work, drinking beer and talking until the early morning about god knows what. Or we drink at his place, or we drink at mine, one time I even convinced him to eat a weed cookie with me. We talk about people, what makes them tick, the people we’re thinking about seeing. Then, after a few drinks, there’s a moment where I look at him for a split second and think to myself, “What if?” As if working together didn’t matter and we could make out like any other horny pair of young adults. Maybe, just maybe, he’d look me in the eyes and think, I want this too.

Mind you, this has never happened, nor will it ever. Not in a million years, not even in the afterlife – even if it was just me and him, naked in the afterlife, NEVER. I’m terrified, and I want him to make the first move. Now more than ever, when he talks about other girls I get upset. I don’t want to get upset or jealous, I just do and it feels terrible. I don’t want to picture him with another girl. And I don’t want to ask too many questions either: does she have blonde hair? Maybe a chain piercing that extends from her butt to her nose? Does she have a tattoo on her face (I hope so)? Trust me, I don’t want to think about it.

So here I am, a friend of someone I care about in a way I have trouble explaining, but can’t help but want to grab his hair and roll around in bed with him all day. But we work with eachother, and we both know we can’t. So I need help, do I make the first move or do I accept that we’re friends – until my vagina falls off and I lose my memory? What would you do?