I step over the threshold hesitantly, my shoulders and back stiff with discomfort. I’m really trying not to focus on how distressed and insane I feel about being here, but it’s not working.
He opens the door wider and moves away slightly from the doorway, giving me some room to pass, but not enough to squeeze by without my body touching his. The act is intentional, and I only know that because he doesn’t take his eyes off me, not even for a second. It’s like he wants to see what I’ll do, like he’s testing me or some shit. I breathe out, trying to exhale some of the tension and anxiety, hoping to relieve some of the discomfort in the atmosphere.
“Uh…do you mind?” I say, hoping he’ll just move and not be difficult.
“Do I mind, what?” he asks plainly, his expression neutral, showing no sign of what he’s thinking.
“Could you move a little?” I clarify, not that he needs it. “I can’t come in if you’re in the doorway.”
He stands there for several seconds, not budging and just staring at me. I would be creeped out if I wasn’t so turned on. I walk past him, my shoulders brushing his chest even as I squeeze myself through the little opening between his body and the door as best as I can.
He makes no move to give me more space, nor does he seem to care that I’m getting into his personal space—or that he’s imposing on mine, for that matter.