He's a player.She was his first crush.Three years ago, I decided to have my first one-night stand. The plan was simple: research how to do it and meet a man at the bar before the nerves playing with my guts got the best of me. I wanted to ring in the new year between a stranger’s legs. Someone with good hygiene and exceptional tensile strength to take the edge off of studying mechanical engineering.Then he walked in.I’ve heard whispers about “a night with Knight,” tales of toe cramps and matted hair. Antonio is the biggest player and not the man to relieve me of my pent-up tension. His thick thighs, veiny forearms, and that charming smile promise a trip to the hospital.I shouldn’t have followed him back to his condo, but I did.Dinner turned into a kiss, and that kiss led to accidental humping. That’s how we ended up in the emergency room. He had a broken nose, and my wig was stuck on his watch.Three years and a PhD later, Antonio has cemented himself in my life as my best friend. Moving to the city where he plays professional rugby and my sister lives wasn’t a big deal at first. But everything changed when we hugged. His cologne surrounded me, and his eyes stayed locked on mine.Our friendship is platonic, ironclad after the one-night stand gone wrong. So why can’t I shake the feeling that we’ve barely scratched the surface?
