There is a very fine line between intense romantic tension and absolute, clueless stupidity.
In college, I was a boy from sunny Florida, and she was a gorgeous girl from Michigan. We had the ultimate “will-they-won’t-they” platonic friendship. We could finish each other’s sentences and read each other’s minds, yet neither of us had the courage to admit how deeply we were falling for each other.
When winter break arrived, I volunteered to drive her all the way home to Michigan. As we headed north, the temperature plummeted, and my car’s heater gave out, leaving only a single working vent right in the middle of the dashboard. Our hands constantly brushed “by accident” as we both reached for warmth, making the air thick with unspoken tension.
By the time we crossed the Michigan border, my legs were cramping. As I shifted in my seat, my right arm naturally fell across her thigh. She trembled at the touch, but she didn’t move away. My heart hammered against my ribs—was I ruining our friendship, or was this finally happening? I stayed completely frozen.
As we passed Detroit and neared her hometown, she shifted closer and leaned her head softly onto my shoulder. The movement caused my hand to slide even higher up her thigh. My entire arm was shaking, completely intoxicated by her warmth.
Suddenly, she leaned in, her breath warm against my neck, and whispered seductively:
“You know… you can keep going further if you want…”
So I drove to Canada.
