There’s a long pause, those three dots flickering in and out, and then he finally types back. R u serious???

Me: Just text me when you get here.

He sends another text, but I ignore it and slip into my bathroom. I dry my hair, swipe on a little scented lotion and extra deodorant and pull on a pair of high-waisted jeans and a thin, cropped sweater. When I get back into my room, my phone buzzes.

I’m outside.

When I open the door, he’s cuter than I remember. Dark blond hair hangs just past his chin and I can see the geometry of his abs through his T-shirt, the outline of his chest, his jeans low on his hips.

His eyes fall down the front of me. “Thought I was going to regret taking the subway when I saw this weird guy hawking spit into a pile at his feet, but now I see it was worth it.”

He reaches out and pulls me toward him until our bodies slam together. His hand is up my shirt, tongue on my neck before I can stop him.

I push my hand against his chest. “Wait.”

“I have one.” His breath is warm against my skin, the most gentle fire. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a condom.

“No, it’s not that. Look.” I glance up at him to make sure he’s listening. “This is just sex, okay? No sleeping over. No calling me afterward. Just...sex,” I say.

I don’t need another headache. I don’t need any more drama. I just want to feel good. I need to feel good.

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. Not gonna fall in love with you.”

There is no foreplay this time. No coy, lingering touches or whispered words, only hunger, an overt kind of desperation. Me, dragging him upstairs and pulling his pants down only as far as they need to go. Him, so ready to fuck he pushes me right onto the bed harder than I expect, but I like it.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice deep, husky. The words drip down my neck like butter, warming me, tickling me. His body is heavy on top of mine and he smells fresh out of the shower.

I bite my lip and snake a hand between his legs. “You know what I want.”

“No.” He grabs my wrist and pins it down to the mattress, then looks directly into my eyes. “Tell me what you want,” he says, pressing into me, soft and hard at the same time.

I want him to fuck me so hard that I can’t hear my own thoughts anymore and not stop until I’m a silent, shivering pile of nothingness.

I want him to not care so much about what I want. I’m not his girl. I’m never going to be.