“Do you think we’re in love? I think we are. I think I’m in love with you.”

“You’re mine, Ali. I’m going to marry you, and we’ll have beautiful babies together.”

“I’ll save up and then I’ll move to New Haven to be with you. I’ll find a job and we’ll live together.”

These are all the things that Zeke has said to me in the four blissful days that we spent together at my parents’ house.

But now, barely one month later, everything has changed.

Here I am, sitting alone in my dorm room at Yale University, enrolled in the law school of my dreams. And I’ve never been more miserable in my life.

I haven’t been able to reach Zeke.

Well, that’s not accurate. We have texted and called each other, so it’s not like we haven’t been communicating at all.

But it has been pretty one-sided.

Whenever I want to reach him, he never texts me back right away or picks up my phone call. But when he’s looking for me, I’m always quick to respond.

It’s not fair, although I know I’m not being fair either.

This is only the first few weeks of classes for me. So even though there are classes to attend and new people to meet, I’m not that busy.

Truth is, I’ve never been very quick to make friends, so I’ve been kind of lonely. This is the first time I’m living on my own, away from my family.

Mom and Dad have been good at staying in touch with me, so that’s great. I’m not completely alone at least.

But Zeke… God, I miss him.

I want to get angry, but maybe I’m not being fair to him.

His schedule is a lot busier than mine. He’s holding down two jobs—a full-time job as a member of my dad’s security team, and a part-time job as a personal trainer at the gym.

So it makes sense that he can’t spend as much time on me as I can on him. He’s struggling to support himself by working all the time, while I’m a privileged girl from a wealthy family who has never had to work.

I’ve never been one of those girls who cares about a guy’s money or connections. But Jesus, it sucks to have a boyfriend who works all the time.

Boyfriend.

I let out a big sigh. I don’t even know if I can call him that. It’s not like we’ve ever made it official.

I wish he’d call me more, and I wish he’d call me his girlfriend. I wish he’d treat me like a priority.

Oh god. Am I even listening to myself?

I’ve never wanted to be clingy or jealous. And I definitely don’t want to nag anyone to commit to me. If a guy wants me, he needs to show me at least a little enthusiasm.

Zeke may be my first boyfriend, but I’ve heard enough complaints from my girlfriends about their boyfriends to decide what kind of a girlfriend I want to be.

Which is why I hate that Zeke has put me in this position. I don’t want to be that girl. The clingy, jealous nag. The buzzkill.

This may sound crazy, but I still believe that Zeke meant everything that he told me in the darkness, while we were sneaking around behind my parents’ backs. Because even though we have only started to see each other, I’ve known him for three years, and I know he was being honest.

I know he loves me, at least. But I don’t know if he’ll do anything about it—if he’ll actually move here to be with me, like he said he would.

But I trust in the connection that we share.

I may be young, but I literally have never met anyone who gets me like Zeke does. And I know he feels the same way. He told me himself, and I saw sincerity in his eyes.

I know enough to understand this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I feel like Zeke is throwing this away, although in my heart of hearts, I know our connection is too strong for us not to get together eventually.

But there’s no doubt Zeke has changed since I left San Francisco.

Maybe he has forgotten how it feels to be with me. I know that if we were face to face right now, I’d be able to get him to do anything.

But right now, as I hug my pillow on the other side of the country, I feel powerless. There’s nothing I can do to influence him. Hell, I can’t even get him to text me back.

I squeeze my pillow and pretend it’s Zeke. But it doesn’t work.

Of course it doesn’t. I’m being stupid. It will never feel like Zeke.

It doesn’t have the warmth of his skin, or the lines and ridges of his muscles, or the weight of his hard body. It doesn’t react to my touch.

I wonder if he thinks about me, too. I wonder if his cock stirs at night when he’s trying to sleep and I suddenly slip into his thoughts. I wonder if he gets hard.

Just thinking about that big, hard cock he’s packing in his pants gets me all hot and bothered. He has the most magnificent cock. It’s thick, veiny, and it’s just the right size.

Just when I start to reach my hand down into my pants, my phone rings.

Oh my god. It’s Zeke.

Maybe all that staring at the screen has worked to summon him after all.

My heart pounds in my chest as I press the green button on the phone. If I don’t hurry, the phone might stop ringing. And then I won’t be able to speak to Zeke in a long time.

“Zeke?” I say as I pick up the phone. I sound anxious. Why do I sound anxious? Jesus, I hate how anxious I sound. I hope Zeke doesn’t notice.

“Hey, Ali,” he says in that voice I miss so much.

“Hey, Zeke.” A smile blooms on my face.

I’m talking to Zeke right now. Everything is good. I can put aside everything and just enjoy finally talking to him.

“How’s life over there?” Zeke asks.

“It’s pretty good,” I lie. I don’t want him to know how miserable I’ve been. I don’t want to appear weak or needy in front of him. “The first classes are pretty easy for now, but all the other students look so smart and I feel kinda intimidated.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” he says.

“Thanks, baby.” My heartbeat picks up. I’ve never called anybody baby before, and it has been days since Zeke has called me a cute nickname. I’m hoping he’ll reciprocate.

“So, have you been meeting lots of new people?” Zeke asks.

“Yeah. Some,” I answer half-heartedly as disappointment cools my blood.

What is going on between us now? Why is he being so distant? I want to ask him so many questions, but I’m afraid of the answers.

Worse than that, I’m afraid I’ll scare him away. After all the time I’ve wanted him, I don’t want to end it over some careless words.

“Met any guys you like?” he asks casually, as if he’s completely unaware of how much it cuts into my heart.

“No,” I say when I’ve recovered enough from the shock to respond. “Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t know. You’re living in a new city; you’re going to college; you’re meeting people who are just as smart as you are. It’s possible you’ve met some guys you like.”

“Zeke, I want to see you.” My whole body vibrates with fear and anticipation. What he says next could give me hope or crush me.

He goes quiet.

“Do you want to see me?” I ask again.

Zeke remains silent for a few seconds that feel like forever. Finally, he says, “Of course I want to see you. But you’re so far away.”

“I miss you,” I say with a big exhale. My muscles loosen up from the confession. I feel like I’ve been holding something heavy inside me, and now it’s out there.

“I miss you, too,” he says, to my relief.

“Then come see me.”

“You’re on the other side of the country, Ali.”

“I know. But it’s not that far. In case you haven’t heard, we have metal flying machines now,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. I laugh nervously.

“Yeah,” he says.

“It’s not so bad, Zeke. We could take turns flying to see each other every couple of months.”

There’s a long pause, a silence filled only by my own loud heartbeats.

Yes, this is crazy. A long-distance relationship doesn’t have much chance of working out.

But I can’t just throw this all away. I can’t just throw us away. I need to give this a try.

Zeke laughs awkwardly, then he says, “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you? You must really like me, huh?”

My stomach drops. The entire time that he hasn’t been in touch, I’ve been hanging all my hopes on this. I’ve been telling myself to hang on.

If we could come up with a schedule, with some kind of a plan, we could get through this.

But without that…

Without that I know we’re…

Sadness rises from my chest and fills my whole body with lethargy.

Suddenly, I’m tired.

I’m so very tired.

I can’t do this anymore.

“Zeke, I have to go,” I say before my voice gets distorted by the lump in my throat.

“Okay. Talk soon,” he says lightly, as if he hasn’t just broken my heart.

Isn’t he even going to ask why I have to go? Does he care if he’s ever going to see me again?

I don’t want to ask the questions. I don’t want to hear the answers. I know they’re only going to hurt me.

So I hang up.