Skype alerts me on my opened laptop, and I sit up, placing my computer on my lap, and click into her call.

I see my girlfriend, and I exhale. Willow is sitting on her bed, dorm room dimly lit, X-Men poster hung up behind her.

Her eyes flit around me quickly. “You’re right, you are in one piece.”

“It was touch and go there for a minute,” I joke. A bad one.

She shakes her head, and so softly, she whispers, “Don’t.”

“Okay,” I say. “You look good.” Her olive-green shirt accentuates her warm brown, hazel-ish eyes that practically look like melting chocolate. Willow wore that same shirt on her last day in Philly.

I only remember because I went to the airport with her, and that image of Willow leaving is kind of engrained in my head.

“You’re home,” she realizes. “Isn’t it only—”

“One p.m.” I answer for her. “Connor sent me home.” I don’t mention that I fell asleep at my desk. “He thought the same thing as you. That I looked tired.”

“He’s looking out for you,” Willow says.

I snort. “He’s looking out for his company. I’m not his friend, Willow. I’m his employee.”

She shakes her head like she doesn’t believe that, but instead of carrying on, she asks if I’ve seen the latest episode of Supernatural. We talk about all the things we both love. TV. Pop culture. Video games. I’m suddenly wide-awake, just wanting to extend every second I can.

Willow glances at her clock and grimaces. “Holy—we’ve been talking for three hours, and I’ve sufficiently ruined your nap and the whole purpose of you getting rest.” She buries her face in her palms with a long groan. “I’m the worst. I’m sorry.” We’re both beating ourselves up.

Her for distracting me.

Me for distracting her.

I don’t know how to fix this.

“You’re not even close to the worst,” I tell her. “I enjoyed tonight—or today—or whatever you call it.” Tonight for her. Still today for me.

She unburies her face and slowly braids her hair. “So do you want to… maybe… um…?” She takes a breath, her eyes soaking into me like she wants something. And then timidly, she slips off her overall straps and pulls off her green shirt, just in a blue cotton bra.

God.

Blood pulses in my dick, and my eyes trace her soft skin and the tops of her breasts. Yeah, I want to. Times a million.

I yank my hoodie and tee off my head. Tossing both on the floor. I adjust the computer, setting my laptop more on my mattress near my waist. I see myself in the screen—what she can see—and my whole body is almost in full view.

I focus on Willow, and I frown. “Hey, we don’t have to do this if you’re not into it, Willow.”

Her shoulders are bowed in, and she’s clutching her elbows. She pushes up her slipping glasses. “No, I want to. I really do. It just feels kind of…” She glances around her dorm room. “It’s really quiet here.”