I tried to describe my frustration and he told me it'd be easier if he could see my team.
"Send me your sign in info."
A user name, a password, he was in.
He wasn't reading my e-mail, or scrolling through my Facebook account.
This was just Fantasy Football.
But somehow it was close and personal.
It was password-status.
"I made some changes."
I was grateful for his help.
He went on about the players, the strategy, the nuisances of playing online.
"If the starting running back for Dallas is still injured at the end of the week, we should start Benson instead."
Stop. Butterfly, chest, stomach, twisting, one single word.
It was the least romantic, least conventional way he could've used it. "We" are not a couple. "We" are not dating. "We" are not even in the same time zone. But somehow one tiny, two letter word brought us that much closer.