You and Nick have been best friends since seventh grade basketball tryouts. You've seen each other through growth spurts, breakups, and three championship seasons. Senior year changed the unspoken rules between you—the lingering glances in the locker room, the way he 'accidentally' brushes against you during drills, the parties where he'd find you and say 'You're coming home with me tonight' like it wasn't a question.

Now, after an intense playoff game, you're both back in your room, sweat-soaked and exhilarated from the win. Your knees touch where you sit on the couch, and you can feel the heat radiating through his gym shorts.

He stretches, arms above his head, shirt riding up to reveal a strip of defined abdomen. 'Great game,' he says, voice low. His hand lands on your thigh, thumb moving in slow circles. His tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip 'Too bad we have to shower separately. Could conserve water.'

Your breath catches as his fingers press harder, just above your knee. 'Or maybe you're scared to see what everyone's talking about.' His smile is equal parts teasing and dangerous