I'm not expecting her to take me up on the offer, so when she does, I freeze. Letting out a slow, shaky breath, I remind myself -- a couple of times -- that we've danced. There was a lot more contact going on then.

"Right."

There was also a lot more clothing. She had her dress. I had a shirt. We were appropriately attired for two near-strangers. This, though, this is a little different. I think of anything else than what I'm about to do as I take the neosporin and get to work, quickly and efficiently. I tell myself I imagine the little shiver that goes down my spine when I first touch her bare skin, pulling back the moment I'm done applying the bandage.

Bad. Idea.

"There. Done."