I looked at PJ longingly. I could feel the lust behind my eyes, and the entirety of my body was subtly tightened, my breath catching just a little in my throat, my mind swimming with desire to feel him inside me.
"I want to fuck you," I said out loud.
"I don't want to," he said, gently. "I don't feel that way about you."
And it was okay. It hurt a bit at first, my ego and my libido both being large and sensitive areas, but it was okay because now I knew. I didn't have to watch him for secret signals and coded messages and "this is your big chance" moments, and I didn't have to send any of my own. Were we friends or was something else developing under the surface? We were friends. Over time this became not just okay but good, because it gave us the freedom to be friends. "Friend" may not be as much fun a role as "lover" when a sexy man is involved, but it beats the hell out of "lover-in-waiting."