I still remember the night it all started, even though I swore I wouldn’t let myself get involved. My name’s Jamie, twenty-four, working my first steady job in Chicago while sharing a downtown apartment with Alex. Alex and I hit it off as friends pretty quick after I found her post on the housing board last spring. We were both a bit too honest, loved takeout, and neither of us was a freak about cleaning. At first, living together felt natural—no tension, no drama. Just the rhythm of two people surviving rent, streaming dumb series, and trading beers after rough days.
Alex is the kind of person people notice. She’s got this wavy dark hair that always manages to fall just right, soft brown eyes, smooth skin—she glows. She’s also into photography, and there were always prints drying out on our kitchen table, images where sunlight just looked better through her lens. I never, ever thought about what the sunlight might look like falling across her naked body. At least, not for the first few months.
It started to change the night her ex called. I got home late, tossed my keys on the counter, and heard her voice—shaky, cracking just enough for me to know something wasn’t right. She was curled on the couch, phone beside her, eyes red. I said her name and she just shook her head and wiped at her cheeks.
“Jamie, can you just…sit with me, please?” She barely made a sound.
I sat, not asking questions. She leaned her head on my shoulder, and I wrapped an arm around her. We didn’t talk, but I could feel her shivering, even though it was warm in the room. She smelled like coconut conditioner and something floral. She pressed closer and, for a second, I felt my chest tighten in a way I tried to ignore.
We stayed like that until she dozed off. I didn’t move. I listened to her breathing, steady and soft. I told myself I was just being a good friend, even when my fingers played idly with a strand of her hair.
The next few weeks, something shifted. We started spending more time alone, cooking, watching old movies, passing popcorn, knees brushing under blankets. The casual touches—an accidental brush of her hand on my arm, her knees resting against mine—left me restless. I caught her looking at me when she thought I wasn’t watching. I’d catch her mouth parted just slightly, eyes on my lips. Each time, I felt that old, familiar tightness in my stomach.
Still, I didn’t want to cross a line. Alex meant something to me—even then, with all the tension thick in our apartment, I didn’t want to screw up what we had. I wasn’t sure what she wanted. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe I was reading into everything because I hadn’t gotten laid in months. All I knew is that I started thinking about her at night, alone in my bed. What would it be like if she wanted me? If she made a move? If I did?
One Friday, she called through the bathroom door while I was brushing my teeth. “Jamie, are you busy tonight?”
Spit. “Not really. Why?”
She smiled, half-shy, half-teasing. “Let’s go out. Just us.”
So we did. We went to a little bar near the river. She wore a red dress I’d never seen before, cut just above her knees, slipping off one shoulder. I couldn’t help but stare. She caught me, grinned, and all I could do was laugh it off.
We got a little drunk. The bartender kept sending over shots, just because Alex flirted back. At some point, she leaned in, her voice low in my ear. “Do you ever think about us?” Her hand slid along my thigh under the table.
I looked at her, heart pounding. “What do you mean, us?”
Her smile trembled. “You know.” Now she was blushing, biting her lip. “Us, being…more than roommates.”
I froze, pulse roaring in my ears. I knew I wanted her. Badly. But I was also scared—I didn’t want to make it weird, ruin what we had. And part of me wanted the safety of leaving things the way they were. So I hesitated, and the moment passed. She looked away, sipped her drink, and we never brought it up again that night.
Back at home, I couldn’t sleep. Her question kept spinning inside my head. I kept picturing her—her lips slightly parted when she laughed, how she let her dress slip a little farther off her shoulder as she got more comfortable. I remembered her hand on my thigh. Did I fuck it up by saying nothing? The night was full of images: her body pressed against mine, her hand on my skin, her voice whispering my name.
Two days later, I was still thinking about it. She was editing on her laptop on the couch, hair in a messy bun. She wore a loose shirt and nothing else—her bare thighs peeking out, feet tucked under her. I grabbed a coffee, trying to act casual, pretending everything was fine.
Alex looked up. “About the other night…I’m sorry if I made things weird.” She closed her laptop, bracing for rejection.
I set down my cup. “It’s not weird. I just…didn’t know what to say. I don’t want to screw this up, you know?”
She nodded, cheeks pink. “Me neither. But I can’t help wanting you sometimes. It’s just there, Jamie. When I see you walking around in those dumb pajamas, or when you’re still half-asleep in the kitchen. God, I think about it all the time.”
I swallowed, my whole body suddenly hot. “Me too. I’ve wanted you for a while, Alex.”
She shifted on the couch, eyes sweeping over me, lingering on my mouth. “So what now?” Her voice sounded both brave and scared.
I sat next to her—so close I could feel her heat, her bare thigh brushing mine. “You tell me.”
She leaned in, face trembling with nerves and anticipation. “Kiss me.”
We kissed, slow, like we were testing a theory. Her lips were soft, insistent, opening for me as I slid my tongue across them. She tasted like coffee and something sweeter. I put my hand on her waist and pulled her in until her chest pressed against me. Our breath was shaky, desperate. We kissed harder, teeth clashing, hands tugging at clothing. Her shirt fell away and she pressed her body into mine, skin warm and alive under my fingers.
“Come to my room, Jamie,” she whispered in my ear. Her voice was needy, throaty—a voice I’d never heard from her before. I followed without thinking.
In her room, she pulled me onto the bed. Her hands roamed over my chest, pushing up my shirt, nails scoring my skin. She tugged off her own shirt, bare now except for the simple black panties stretched over her hips. She looked up at me, eyes wide, chest rising and falling. Her confidence stopped and I saw a flash of nerves.
“You sure?” I asked, voice barely a whisper.
She nodded. “Yeah. You?”
I nodded back, and then I was kissing her again—harder, rougher, messy and hungry. My hands found her breasts, fingers squeezing, teasing her nipples. She gasped, arching against me, her thighs opening just enough for my hand to slip between them. She was wet, already, grinding against my palm. I rubbed her through the fabric, feeling her hips shudder.
She unzipped my jeans, tugging them down, staring at my cock through boxers. She bit her lip, stroking me, making the air between us electric. I groaned, burying my face in her neck, sucking at her skin, relishing the moans she let slip out. I pulled her panties aside, fingers sliding through slick heat, finding her clit and circling it.
“Oh fuck, Jamie,” she said, voice cracking, legs quivering against my shoulders. “I need you.”
We stripped away the last of our clothes in a tangle of limbs and laughter and desperate kisses. I slid inside her slowly, feeling her tense, then melt around me. It was like nothing I’d ever felt—hot, tight, so fucking eager that I nearly lost control right there. She clung to me, nails digging into my back, moving with me, her body asking for more and more.
“Harder,” she panted. “Please.”
I gave her everything, hips grinding, her legs locked around me. Our bodies slapped together, wet and messy, every thrust making her cry out—God, those sounds, high and sharp in the dark. I buried my face in her hair, lost in the rhythm, biting her shoulder as I got closer. She pressed her hand between us, rubbing her clit, trembling under me. Everything stuttered—her hips, her voice, her walls clenching on me as she came, loud and honest, pulling me right over the edge.
After, we lay tangled and sweaty. I felt her smile against my chest before I even saw it. “Guess we’re more than roommates now,” she whispered.
I laughed, running my hand over her bare thigh, still not quite believing what just happened. “Yeah. I guess we are.”