Sunday, 1:36 AM

“What time is it?” he asked sleepily into the phone.

She rolled over in bed. “Dammit, I can’t see,” she answered. “I already took my contacts out. Check your computer.”

“Bitch, you better tell me what time it is! I am—”

She hung up on him. Curling up under her covers again, she waited for him to call her back.

Although she was expecting it, the familiar ringtone still startled her out of a reverie. She flipped her phone open and pushed talk.

“I DIDN’T MEAN IT!” His apology bombarded her ears.

“Aaaah! Not so loud!”

“Sorry.”

She squinted at the glowing red numbers of her alarm clock. “Anyway, it’s one thirty-six.”

“Mm-kay.”

There was a slight pause. She set her phone to speaker (volume turned down low) and laid it beside her on the pillow so that she wouldn’t have to hold her phone to her face.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?” she mumbled.

“You know I didn’t actually mean it when I called you bitch, right? I’d never actually address you like that or anything.” She could almost see his brow wrinkling with concern.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good.” She heard him sigh.

“What are you doing right now? At this exact moment?” she asked.

“Talking to you.”

“Argh. I meant besides that, stupid.”

He laughed. “Thinking about you. Masturbating.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, I am thinking about you. I was lying about the masturbating part.”

“I figured.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to picture the exact color of your eyes. They change, though, so it’s kind of hard.”

“Yeah.”

Slight pause. She closed her eyes and brought her blankets closer around her.

“Wanna know something?” she heard his voice ask her.

“Go for it.”

“I love you.”

She smiled into the darkness. “I love you, too,” she murmured into the phone.