Girl Porn: Here’s What Your Nicholas Sparks Moment Will Look Like
It was a perfect night.
It didn’t start out that way; it wasn’t planned, and that was the beauty of it. A party, some wine, a text, laughter, dancing, awkward glances across the crowded room. She knew, he knew. Someone just had to make the first move.
They walked and laughed and tripped and held each other steady, tentative but strong, drunk on Moscato and beer and this unstable, seeping feeling of young love. Fleeting; just enough to make you wonder ‘what if….’
He beckoned, leading down, past the cafeteria, past the mailboxes and the pool table to a hidden music room. She marveled, could this actually be happening? Never in my wildest dreams….she followed, bright with anticipation mixed with wonderful disbelief.
No, they didn’t have sex, you dumb-shit horny 20-something reader. No. It was so much more beautiful, so much more. He took out his guitar (a good move, one of you sex-crazed teens must be thinking) and played the piano, then the viola. She watched, mesmerized, and wished she had just kept up with those damn piano lessons.
“Will you teach me a cord on the guitar?”
He smiled, almost knowingly. But then handed over the guitar and told her where to place each finger. A G chord. Easy, simple. She played, and played it again with childlike fascination, then looked up and smiled. She must have mentioned something about singing because he asked,
“What’s your favorite song?”
Damn, she thought, why don’t I know any cool hipster-y tunes. Or some good oldies at least. In a moment of panic all songs escaped her, and she helplessly shrugged.
“Nothing you’d play on there, I wish”
In retrospect, she wished she would have, instead, sung a-cappella her timeless favorite:
Wise men say
Only fools rush in
But I, can’t, help…falling in love with you
Take my hand [cue adorable, outstretched hand]
Take my whole life too [they’d slow dance around the room, forgetting the guitar and the piano and the viola]
‘cuz I can’t help, falling in love with you.
She’d hum the rest, not really knowing the words, and he’d look down and smile that sneaky stomach-dropping smile of his. And they’d kiss.
But, instead, they laughed and played guitar some more, fooling around with Bach and The Entertainer on the piano. All too soon, they realized the time, their settings, and more importantly the pain of her heels kicking in. Well past midnight, the magic was heavier, expectations hanging untouched.
“You play beautifully”
She stared out the window into the pre-sunrise dusk, wishing the night would never end. That she could leave her shoes behind, or that she was brave enough to say something more. Hugging her shoulders, she made a move to leave his building.
“Here, keep this, it’s freezing outside”
Warily she eyed his sweater, eyed the door, then back. Typical, she thought, but somehow didn’t mind.
“You sure? I probably won’t give it back anytime soon…”
He chuckled.
“That’s ok”
For a brief moment, as she wore his sweater and held her heels so her poor feet could rest, standing just beyond reach, she could have sworn there was something there. That electricity everyone always talks about. A spark. But instead of stretching the moment to see, she awkwardly hugged him and waved, promising to text upon her safe [and sober] return to her own dorm.
And that was that.
No more, no less. Her almost-perfect Nicholas Sparks moment.
Now she thinks, maybe it was all for the best. This memory, immortalized forever, untarnished by inevitable drunken mishaps and breakups and messy situations.
But then again, she’ll never know.