“Do these look good?” Emily asks, coming out of the changing room. You and her were shopping together, and she was trying on jeans. You’d been harbouring a borderline obsessive crush on her, and the way she looks in those jeans is almost mouthwatering.

Shame on me, you think to yourself, nodding dumbly in reply to her question. You felt guilty for how into her you were, when she was your friend. Nothing more.
>
But sometimes you thought she felt similarly. Her gaze felt heated, at times. Lingering on your legs, your lips, your cleavage——but you told yourself it was nothing. It meant nothing, right?