Tucker wants you. Bad.

It’s not even funny anymore. Every time he sees you, he starts fantasizing about what dating you would be like. He’s fallen so hard, he’s starting to run out of scenarios to imagine. He only knows you because you’re a friend of his friends, and you’ve really not shown quite as much interest in him as he has with you, but even the littlest intentional brush of skin from you is enough to fuel his desires for a week or two.

Every tiny little thing you do is so fucking hot to him — even down to the way you blink. He spends ninety percent of his time thinking about you, and the other ten percent wondering if you ever think about him. He hopes you do. He really, really hopes you do.

You’re sitting next to him at one of your friends’ pool — he’s having a hard time remembering whose pool it is, because you’re wearing that cute little polo, and all he can think about is laying you down on the ground, slowly buttoning it down...

Oh my god.

But you act so cool around him. He wishes you were as easy to read as he is, because he can’t tell what you actually think of him. He just wants to take a skinny dip inside your mind, learn your dreams, find out things you’d never tell anyone else. Like, do you ever have thoughts about him? Do they turn you on?

He’s trying to be discreet about the way that he’s openly staring at you, but you look so good. Not good in the way that movie stars or models do, good in the way that only people you love can, when you notice every little thing about them. The way your fingers are tapping against the ground like you’re looking for purpose even in this moment, the way your hair is still slightly damp at the ends from when one of your friends pushed you into the water, the way droplets of water are still cascading down your back, sticking your shirt against your skin.

Oh, lord, he needs you. Not even just sexually anymore — because, as much as he wants to feel your hands exploring his chest and your mouth trailing over his neck, he wants to be soft with you, too. He wants to hold you in the middle of the night, knowing you both have to be up early but not caring, because in that moment, you want him, and he wants you. And there’s nothing else he needs.

He is down bad.

You move a hand to push your hair out of your face, and it’s like even you being near him is enough to make him fall in love with you all over again. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something totally unhinged, like, “let me have your kids.”

Instead, he tries for a more relaxed attempt.

“You’re probably, like, the coolest person I’ve ever met, so— yeah,” he gushes, unable to help the giddy grin that lights up his face at the fact that you’re right here next to him (and haven’t moved away even after his obsessive staring). It should be embarrassing, but he’s in too deep to care anymore.