More Than Water by Renee Ericson

“His name’s Foster.”
    “Foster? Well, isn’t he all proper?” He examines Foster for a few moments. “Hello, Mr. Foxy Man with Spectacles. I wouldn’t mind a one-nighter with him. Fill that geek-chic bucket-list fantasy.”
    “Oh. My. Gawd.” I giggle. “Can we focus on my dilemma?”
    “I don’t see the issue. You two had sex. Get over it, and he will, too. Don’t make it a bigger deal than it really is. Move on. Or not. He’s hot.” His lips tighten. “That shirt he’s wearing is doing all kinds of good things to showcase his chest and arms. I might have to give him a whirl myself. He’s got a good body under all that cotton, doesn’t he?” He cocks his head. “I wish that damn desk wasn’t in the way, so I could get a good look at his ass.”
    I grunt, frustrated that my friend is of no help. I thought for sure he would have had some reasonable guidance. Instead, he’s adding the guy from my tryst into his spank bank.
    “Stop trying to stare at his ass,” I chide.
    “Well, if you’re not interested…maybe I can convince him to come and play with me.”
    “Stop it. He’s not your type, and he’s totally not my type. The guy lives and breathes the periodic table of elements.” I sigh. “How am I supposed to go about this?”
    Foster lifts his head, peering toward us, as Wolfgang and I are gawking at him from the other side of the glass door. Foster adjusts the bridge of his glasses, and his expression goes blank.
    At my side, Wolfgang slides an arm over my shoulder, and before I have a chance to react, he’s kissing me—full-on lip-to-lip, caressing-my-face kissing me.
    It takes a few seconds before my brain registers what’s happening to my body. The fact that my gay friend has decided to give girls, namely me, another try at this moment in time without my consent is not exactly what I was expecting.
    I push him off of me, wiping my mouth with the tips of my fingers. “What in the hell was that all about?”
    “I was helping you with your problem.” He tilts his head toward the library desk.
    Foster disappears into the back room.
    “Great.”
    “Well, now, you don’t have to worry about him asking you out—you know, since you were sucking face with me.”
    “Not the best solution.”
    “Hey, I was just trying to help.”
    I elbow him in the ribs. “That’s not helping. Kissing is what got me into this mess in the first place.”
    “I think it was a little more than kissing.”
    “No kidding.”
    Leaving Wolfgang’s side, I make my way through the glass doors and into the library. It’s early in the evening, our busiest time of the shift, and with finals just around the corner, I expect it to remain this way until the end of the quarter.
    At the front desk, I drop my bag into a cubby and check myself into the computer system. Before I take a seat and get situated, a student asks for assistance in finding a missing volume on the shelves. I guide her to where it should be, locate the book on the opposite shelf, and then return to the information area where Foster is actively engaged in aiding another student. I sort through a short stack of books, and then I’m pulled from my work again to assist another person.
    This goes on for the next hour, busily assisting students with their searches and assignments. Foster and I exchange a few words here and there, but they’re completely work-related. There’s a bit of formalness to our interactions, but otherwise, any awkwardness is shadowed by the hustle and bustle.
    When the room finally begins to settle down, Foster and I are seated next to one another for the first time since I arrived, and the nerves commence. It appears that everyone within view is occupied, so I open up the drop-off area and process some of the returns to keep my hands busy.
    I’m waiting for the inevitable real talk, the one that I keep telling myself won’t be a big deal, but for some reason, it has me full of trepidation.
    Silence screams between the