Life as an Extreme Sport

but all I remember are the dreams in the mist

The cursor bobbed across the screen, jerking from menu to menu. “You can make this work?” he said, half question and half order.

She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh, and leaned around the corner of the desk. “I hate these mice,” she said conversationally, placing her right hand over the large optical mouse. “Mac’s don’t need this many buttons, and the wheel is just irritating.”

“I only take what they give me.”

“Yeah, I know. …still hate them, though.” she grinned this time. She moved the mouse quickly across the screen, clicking the file name and popping the extensions menu open.

“How do you move the mouse so smoothly?” he asked. It was then she noticed his hand was still on the outside of the mouse; she had been preoccupied both by trying to fix the program and the closeness of him. It amused her that in her preoccupation she hadn’t noticed his hand; ouija boards came to mind and she smiled again.

“It’s sort of like a mental map, I guess…” she centered the mouse on the screen. “I guess I know just how much to flick my wrist to move it from center to anywhere on the screen,…” her words trailed off as he moved his fingers over hers.

“Like this?” he pulled the mouse quickly to the right. It jerked a little, partly from her resistance.

“Uh, sort of…” she wasn’t sure how to handle this, or herself. Taking a deep breathe, she could smell him, soap and spice. “You need to move more smoothly, though – less from the wrist and more from the arm.” She took control of the mouse and it moved smoothly across the screen. “I generally prefer using my right hand for the mouse, too” she nodded slightly at his left hand, fingers still over hers.

“Well if I use my right hand, I’m always taking my hand off the mouse to type.” he pressed gently down on her fingers, stroking back lightly. He looked at her then, his expression carefully neutral, only his eyes showing a quiet question. Her breathe caught in her throat. His hand was large, almost completely covering hers, and soft, without callouses. She raised her thumb, hesitating and then pressing it against the edge of his hand. His eyes softened into a smile, and she shyly looked down at the keyboard. “I, I think that should fix the problem…” she almost whispered. She started to stand back and pull her hand off the mouse; they faced the office door, but it was open and if anyone walked by…

His fingers laced through hers and squeezed, stopping her movement. “There are some other… Things, maybe you can sit down and help me with?” Her eyes went wide at the innuendo as he turned red. “I, that is, I-” he stuttered, gesturing at the computer with his free hand.

Frozen there, they paused for a moment, poised over a line both knew shouldn’t be crossed. An unspoken question hung between them, and she gazed at his face in search of an answer. She smiled again, a slow flush spreading across her face as moved around the desk to sit next to him. Resting her foot next to his and squeezing his hand, she said “Yes, yes I think I can.”

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