I keep thinking about the way he touches me, so casual and so easy, like we’re kids again. But we’re not kids, and I can’t let myself fall into that trap.

We’re coworkers. That’s all we are these days. We have to work on this story together and then we’ll be done. I’ll do another story and probably work with a different producer. Henry isn’t a permanent fixture in my life, or at least I don’t think so.

What’s so wrong about enjoying him, though? He’s tall, muscular, handsome, rugged, smart, capable, talented, accomplished, and that’s pretty much just the surface stuff. He’s also pointedly funny and he knows me so well that it’s almost scary. And we both believe in the same things and are dedicating our lives to the same pursuit.

I mean, that’s all I’ve ever wanted in a man and way, way more.

The problem’s simple, though. Getting involved with a coworker is stupid, and getting involved with an ex is even stupider. Henry’s both of those things, which means he’s twice as off limits.

Which somehow, maddeningly, insanely, makes him even more attractive.

The next day, after basically hiding out from him in my room, we have an easy interview at a nonprofit for addicts in the area. As we arrive at their stale and boring office park, I find myself paying more attention to Henry than I do to the men I’m supposed to be interviewing.

Henry moves with this quiet confidence that surprises me. The crew looks up to him, which I attributed to his success in this career, but it’s more than that. Every new person we meet seems drawn toward him, although he’s not particularly outgoing or anything.

He has this gravitas about him. It’s this strange weight, like you want to make him happy, make him proud of you. He seems to dominate a room with his presence. When he speaks, people want to pay attention.

I’m staring at him as he’s helping one of the workers set up his mic, and I hear Trace clear his throat.

“Uh, Viv? Did you hear me?”

I come back to reality. “No, sorry, what was that?”

He grins at me. “You were staring at him, weren’t you?”

My eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind.” He grins at me, his goofy boyish grin, and my heart beats fast. There’s no way he noticed me watching Henry. “Just wanted to let you know that the cameras are all ready, so we’re about to get started.”

“Right, okay. Thanks, Trace.”

“Sure thing.” He gives me another goofy look before heading back over to his equipment.

I pull myself together and dive into the interview. I don’t so much as glance in Henry’s direction for the rest of the afternoon, which is probably even more obvious than if I were staring at him. I can’t help myself, though. Trace really rattled me.

I don’t want this to become a thing. I really don’t need the crew to start whispering about Henry and me. This is my first story with WBN, and I can’t risk this job. I moved all the way to Philadelphia, I gave up a lot to be here. This is my dream job, or at least it can be if I put in the work and make it happen for myself. I had a life back in New York. I had friends and while I was a freelancer, I had work. There were Chinese food places, bodegas, bars and more that I loved, and I gave it all up to move.

I gave it all up for this job, and I can’t risk ruining it for some stupid crush.

I don’t even know if it’s a crush. I don’t know what the heck I’m feeling for Henry. Maybe it’s a crush, I don’t know. It’s definitely an attraction, and I can’t deny it. Even if he broke my heart all those years ago, it was still a long time ago, and we’ve both changed a lot.

We’ve both grown up.

The interview ends, overall an average afternoon of shooting. We have decent film, and Henry seems pleased with it all. We break down the equipment and head back to the hotel.

“You know what, guys,” Henry says as we pull into the spot. “I think we should celebrate a little bit.”

“Celebrate?” I ask him.

“Sure. We had a good day today.” He turns and looks back at the crew. “What do you think, guys? Dinner on WBN?”

“Yes and yes,” Bill says. “Please and thanks.”

“Always in for free food,” Trace calls out.

Miller just shrugs, which is basically a resounding yes.

I sigh. “Sure,” I say, “Why not?”

Henry grins at me. “Good. A little team bonding.” He kills the engine. “You guys get this shit upstairs. I’ll find a place.”

“Roger that, boss,” Trace says as they pile out. I give Henry a little smile. “They like you, you know,” I say softly as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“They like free food,” he corrects.

“No, it’s you,” I say, and want to go on, but Trace throws open the back door and interrupts me.

Henry gives me a little shrug and ambles back into the hotel. I help the guys carry stuff upstairs, all the while trying to understanding their undying loyalty, all the unspoken things that make Henry the man that he is.

We end up going to this big red sauce Italian place just a couple blocks away. We get a table in the back under a mural of some peasant farmers planting tomatoes or something like that. Bill orders pitchers of beer for the table and I laugh as he pours everyone a drink.

“To the opioid epidemic,” Bill says, raising his glass. “May it rot in hell forever.”

“Here, here,” I say, and the drinking commences.

I can’t keep up with the crew, and I don’t even bother to try. I’d rather keep my wits about me, at any rate. They keep pushing more drinks on Henry and he keeps folding. He ends up ordering way too much food for the whole table, and we end up with a mountain of stuff as the guys dig in.

“This is the life,” Trace says seriously. “Big piles of pasta and never-ending beer.”

“The beer isn’t never-ending,” Henry says.

“Sure it is, son,” Bill replies, patting Trace on the back. “For you, it’ll never end.”

“Thanks, Bill. Henry’s always too worried about the budget.” Trace winks at him.

“Someone’s gotta be,” he grunts, sipping his beer. “Otherwise you idiots would drink the whole site out of existence.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Bill says to me, leaning over to whisper loudly. “But we’d sure as hell try.”

I laugh and sip my drink, genuinely enjoying myself. I haven’t felt part of a team like this in a long time. Working as a freelancer is good and all, I can set my own hours and I don’t have a boss, but I’m alone most of the time. That can be pretty hard. I always made it a point to get out of the house at least once every day, even if it was just to go for a jog or something.

But here, I don’t have to worry about being alone. The five of us are in this together. When we first got here, I felt like I was separate from them, different somehow, probably because I’m new and they’ve all worked together at least once or twice before.

But the more we work together, the more comfortable I feel. The guys always go out of their way to make me comfortable, always make sure I know what’s going on with the lighting and the sound rigs. I don’t know if they normally do that with their journalist, and I suspect that Henry has some small hand in that.

But it feels good. And so I eat too much pasta and drink another beer.

“I remember out in Afghanistan,” Bill says, leaning toward me. “Henry and I were up in the hills with a Marine detachment. It’s the middle of the fucking night, middle of the fucking desert, and we’re just in these big armored Humvees.”

I glance at Henry and he sighs. “Don’t listen to him,” he says. “He exaggerates.”

“Scout’s honor,” Bill says. “Anyway, we’re sleeping, or trying to. The Marines are all dead asleep but I’m awake, like, freaking out, afraid of an attack at any second. Of course, we weren’t anywhere near a danger zone, but still, I’m terrified.”

I can picture it: dark, cramped Humvee, snoring soldiers, the constant sense of impending doom. I don’t know how anyone could sleep in that, much less someone with zero experience.

Bill slugs his drink and continues. “So I’m awake, and I hear this noise. It’s like… a clicking. And it takes me a second to realize that it’s coming from the Humvee next to ours, the one that Henry’s supposed to be in. They split us up for some reason.

“So I look out the window, and I see this shape on the roof. Takes me a second to realize, but it’s fucking Henry, sitting on the roof of their vehicle and taking pictures.”

I look at Henry, eyes wide. “Really?”

He shrugs, a smile on his face. “The moon was full. I got some gorgeous shots.”

“In a fucking war zone, he’s out in the open, taking fucking pictures. While everyone else is asleep. I watched him do that for like ten minutes before one of the guys in the Humvee dragged him back down. The Colonel was pissed as all hell, but Henry here didn’t mind.”

“Like I said, good pictures.” Henry yawns. “Plus, that guy was an asshole.”

“What’d you call him?” Bill asks.

“Colonel Blowhard.”

They burst out laughing and I grin at the two of them. I can’t help but stare at Henry with a little awe. That’s the sort of war story you hear about from other people and wonder if it’s true, but I can tell that really happened. And it’s absolutely incredible.

“Hey, is that pinball?” Trace stands up suddenly, a little wobbly. “Hell, fucking yes, it is. Come on, Miller.” Trace and Miller charge across the restaurant toward an ancient pinball machine lodged in the far corner. Henry watches them go with a scowl on his face.

“Better make sure they don’t get us kicked out,” he grumbles, standing. “Don’t tell her anymore bullshit stories, okay, Bill?”

Bill nods and pours another drink. “Scout’s honor.”

Henry rolls his eyes and heads after Trace and Miller. I sip my drink and Bill looks at me with a little smile.

“How long have you known him?” he asks me.

I’m a little surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I see the way you two talk to each other. Like you’ve been friends for years.”

I hesitate for a second, but I might as well tell him. “We knew each other growing up,” I admit.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “I figured he was a college buddy. You’re the same age, right?”

“Right,” I say. “But no, we knew each other in grade school and high school. We were pretty good friends back then.”

“What happened?” he asks, watching me over his beer.

“You know,” I say vaguely, waving my hand. “Life got in the way. We grew apart.”

“Ah,” he says, smiling at me. “I get it. So that’s why you look at him like that.”

“What?” I ask, turning red.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Shit, if I were a woman, I’d be into Henry there. He’s a good man. One of the best I know in this business, and I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“It’s not like that,” I say quickly. “We’re just friends from a long time ago.”

“Sure,” he says, “I understand. Whatever you want. But listen, I don’t know what happened between you two, maybe you did just drift apart. Just saying, people change. You haven’t stayed the same, have you?”

I watch him, surprised at how perceptive he’s being. I figured Bill was something of a kindly drunk, probably an alcoholic but high functioning. I figured there wasn’t much more to him.

Obviously, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have judged him so quickly, and I feel guilty for that almost immediately.

“I guess I haven’t,” I say to him.

“Nobody does. Anyway, Henry’s a good guy.” He raises his glass. “And your secret’s safe with me.”

“What secret?” I ask him, panicking a bit.

But Henry comes back to the table, frowning. “We gotta go,” he says. “Trace just stumbled into a plant and knocked it on the ground.”

I look over toward the pinball machine and sure enough, there are Miller and Trace on their hands and knees putting potting soil back into a large, palm-like indoor plant’s pot.

Henry drops down a wad of cash for the bill and we stand. I want to talk more with Bill, explain that it’s not the way he thinks it is, that I’m not into Henry. But I can’t, because we hustle out of there before Trace can get in more trouble.

He’s drunk as hell, of course, and he sings the whole way back. First it’s Britney Spears, but quickly it turns into a garbled version of Frank Sinatra.

“When the moon hits your eyes like a big pizza pie, that’s amore,” Trace croons.

“That’s not Sinatra,” Bill says. “You racist.”

“Racist?” Trace shoots back. “That’s not racist.”

“You think all Italians sing the same songs. Seems racist to me.”

“Ain’t racist,” Trace mutters and Bill cracks up, clearly just messing with him.

We get back to the hotel, and Henry helps Trace back inside. I head back to my room, telling the others goodnight as Miller and Bill head back to Bill’s room for another drink.

Once in my room, I stare down at my hands and I wonder what the hell I’m doing. Bill can see right through me, but maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not so bad to feel this way for Henry. He’s clearly a good guy.

But that story… it’s haunting me. That was a reckless thing for Henry to do, but also a brave thing, and a beautiful one. I’ve never done anything like that before.

I want to, though. And maybe working with Henry will teach me a little bit of it.

I head into the bathroom and start brushing my teeth, but there’s a knock at the door. I open it up and Henry grins at me.

“You busy?” he asks.

I shake my head and let him in as I go into the bathroom to rinse out my mouth. When I’m done, he’s leaning up against the wall near the door across from me.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says.

“It’s late,” I say, a little evasive.

“Come on,” he insists. “It’s nice out. And I’m a little bit drunk. Could use the exercise.”

I bite my lip and for a second, I want to say no. I should just go to bed and wake up in the morning. I should keep things professional between us.

Instead, I nod my head. “Let’s go then. Since you’re so wasted.”

He laughs and I follow him out into the hall, my heart beating fast.