She had her suspicions.
Come to think of it, she always did.
Sometimes his gaze would linger on her, his eyes traveling up the swell of her breasts almost shyly, as though his gaze was one sweet caress.
Other times he'd lightly push up against her in their crowded kitchen, muttering an insincere apology.
And then there were those times he'd walk around their small apartment, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, smirking whenever their eyes met.
It flattered her, sure, that her hot as fuck roommate found her attractive, but she didn't know how to proceed. Was it, for all intents and purposes, really a good idea to approach her roommate and confront him about their assumed mutual atraction? Would that ruin the naturally comfortable rapport that they have? Or, would it really work in their favour if they gave in to their animalistic urges and had coitus in the kitchen... the way she imagined whenever she felt the heat of his body pressed against her back?
It was a real problem and things only seemed to be getting worse the day that he moved in.
Thanks to him, there was a real tangible shift in the apartment. As though a ticking bomb had been turned on and every second brought them all closer to the moment when a choice had to be made.
She only wished she'd never have to make that choice.
Change was bad enough without the added pressure.
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