Splayed Fingers

Beside me, he sits, his fingers splayed upon his thigh. My every nerve is aware of it. I watch the lecturer blindly, hear deafly. Our peers are merely extensions of their chairs. Only he, I, and our hands exist. Nervousness quivers in my stomach. Excitement bubbles in my chest. My hand, upon my own thigh, twitches in anticipation. Our knees bump, press together. My breath catches, holds. Our Pinkies touch, mine slides over his. Conscious or no? Frozen, I await his withdraw, heart in my throat. Movement. Warm, smooth fingers curl through mine. Elated, breathing again, I smile.