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to come,” I say.  
    I tuck my short hair back behind my ears and fight the urge to bail. I want him. It’s not a secret. That’s why I’m here night after night. Ryan is nice enough. He doesn’t make me feel like this relationship, or arrangement, is shady, he treats me right when we’re together, and, good lord, the boy is a god in the sack.
              “I always want you to come. Let me prove it.” His voice is low and sexy in my ears.
              He smiles and pulls me back in, running his hands up the back of my shirt and unhooking the red lace bra that I put on this morning, obviously with him in mind. His lips crush into mine as he pushes me back onto the sofa, and Ryan makes good on his promise.
    This is always the most awkward part of our arrangement. When the sex is over and Ryan is passed out and I’ve got to scrounge around the apartment in the dark, hunting for my clothes. I tiptoe to the refrigerator and pull it open, letting the light filter through the front rooms.
    “Gotcha,” I say. I smile because I’ve managed to find the next-to-nothing thong Ryan had peeled off of me and flung across the apartment earlier. It’s wrapped around the leg of an end table. I sort of thought it was a goner. “Well done, Whit.” I mentally pat myself on the back and then move on to tracking down the killer kitten heels I wore over. There’s no way in the world I’m leaving without those.
              I know I should feel some form of shame that I’m in this situation. That I regularly put myself in this situation. But I don’t. I’ve learned the hard way recently that life is too fucking short, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to take a second of it for granted. I’m living doubly hard from now on. I owe Wakefield that much after all he sacrificed. No one should have to leave this earth at eighteen. No matter how honorable their death is. And since he can’t be around anymore to live it up, I’ll do it for him.
              I slide the black pencil skirt over my hips and zip it up. Even the noise of the zipper cuts through the silence in the apartment, and I feel like a first-rate asshole, because what I want least in life right now is to wake Ryan up. Goodbyes are never any good, and really, who wants to say ‘thank you’ to their fuck-buddy for getting them off? It goes against the no-strings-attached beauty of our arrangement. I hold my gorgeous shoes in my hand as I crawl around the front of the apartment trying to put my hands on the small purse I’d tossed aside when Ryan met me at the door.
              Out of nowhere, Ryan’s quiet apartment turns into a fucking big band concert when my stupid phone starts ringing.
              Shit. Shit. Shit.
              I easily find my purse now that it’s illuminating the room with each note my phone plays from the inside.
              “Whit?” Ryan calls groggily from the sofa.
              “Sorry!” I squeak. “I’ll shut it off and get out of here.”
              “Thanks for a good time.” His voice trails off at the end. I cringe. Exactly what I was trying to avoid.
              “I’ll call you,” I promise guiltily. He mumbles something that’s so full of sleep I can’t understand it, just as I silence my phone. I pull out my car keys and sprint down the stairs to my car. It isn’t until I’m outside in the fresh air that I feel like I can breath again. I check my missed calls as I walk to the LeBaron.  I don’t recognize the number.
    Perfect.
    A wrong number at this hour.
    I settle into the car and rub my eyes. It’s nearly 3 A.M. I have to be in class at 8.
I turn onto PCH and my ringtone screams through the quiet of the night again. I hit the speakerphone button and toss my phone into my lap, because wearing a Bluetooth is never going to happen.