As she walks by, her legs brush against his. “Love,” he thinks. He turns to face her. She keeps walking. “Come back. I didn’t catch your name!” She stops. She turns. He blushes. “Sorry, did you say something?” she inquires. He looks longingly at her. He imagines her wearing a dolphin outfit. Yes, a dolphin outfit. And leggings. “Are you okay?” she asks, “You don’t look well.” But he feels well. So well he would have skipped math club last night just to smell her hair for a few minutes. That is, if she hadn’t been “busy signing-in.” The sky is dark, and patches of moonlight fall onto her face. “I have to go now,” she tells him. He doesn’t believe her. “No. Stay. Please. You must,” he begs. “I, um, I have to follow the rest of my dorm,” she says, “It’s a fire drill. Do you hear the alarm?” Ah, yes. The sound. He had heard it. It was what drew him to this spot. For what reason, he had not known. That was, until he saw her. “I need you. I’ve always needed you. You know that, don’t you? You can let it out. Let it all out. We’re alone now.” She coughs and covers her mouth. “Sorry,” she says, “I just threw up a little bit.” “Sexy,” he thinks. “Hey, T-Man! What’re you staring at?” His friends are walking by, embarrassing him. The sound is still blaring. Perhaps this fantasy is taking a new turn. “No,” he thinks, “she is mine. All mine.” “You are mine. All mine,” he says. “Excuse me?” she blurts out as she tilts her head. Her beautiful, moonlit head. Her beautiful, moonlit, round, sexy head. His heart stops. She wants him. He can sense it. Feel it in his bones. He is tingling all over. “I’m tingling all over!” he shouts. “I’m gonna go now,” she threatens in a hot, moody tone. “It’s time,” he thinks. He whips back his long, flowing hair. His long, flowing, beautiful hair. His long, flowing, beautiful, greasy hair. He can feel his pectoral muscles yearning to break the buttons of his polo. “You’re sweating a bunch. Are you sure you’re not sick?” she calls as she slowly backs away. “Sick for you. Please – be my cure. It’s not quite sign-in. We still have time.” “My house counselor is calling me. I really need to go.” He sees the truth. This fantasy must wait. “You’ll call?” he shouts over the blaring, aphrodisiacal siren as she begins to jog backwards. He can’t hear her response, but he knows her words were sweet and fluid on the air. He can still smell her scent. He closes his eyes. Bliss.
