Warm light from the computer screen was making his skin glow. A bead of sweat was sliding down the side of his face. Was he nervous? Hot?

“Are you ready?”

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes darted across the screen. Rows and rows of data flashed before him. Hundreds of names, thousands of numbers – his eyes were taking it all in. The way his muscular shoulders slumped showed how they held the weight of the world.

I wanted to release him from under that weight.

“Yeah, I think I have this under control.”

His response was distant. He didn’t break eye contact with the screen – not even once.

How I longed for those eyes to see something else – to see me.

A second bead of sweat began sliding down his forehead.

I took a step forward without knowing why. “What pick do you have?”

Rows and rows of player names, teams, and positions scrolled before him. I noticed his index finger was smoothly scrolling up and down the computer mouse. It was rhythmic, constant. A bead of my own sweat began sliding down my neck as I watched.

I took another step forward. What was I doing? Why hadn’t he responded?

“Are you first pick?”

He swallowed audibly. It was almost loud – a feral noise that stirred something in me. I took a final step forward. I was standing directly behind him now, a passenger to my own desire.

I placed my hands on his shoulders – his muscular, strained shoulders.

“Yeah, first pick overall. I’m still not sure who to take.”

I slid my hands down his shoulders, slowly, feeling each crease, each muscle. His skin was warm and inviting. I saw my hand gliding downwards, until it rested on his own hand. His rhythmic index finger stopped moving. I placed my own index finger over his, and began sliding the tip of mine across the back of his.

My chest was pressed firmly against his shoulders. My sweat was joining his. I was close enough to see numbers on the screen counting down.

“The draft doesn’t start for a few minutes. Maybe I can help?”

He groaned, and I felt the stress release from his shoulders.

He turned his head, and his eyes finally focused on something else – me.