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My cock pulses hard enough to make me grip the counter.

Enough.

Me: I think we’ve had enough for today. I don’t want you to sleep through your test tomorrow. Rest up.

Maggie: Are you serious right now?

Me: Are there any topics you want me to revise?

Maggie: Nvm.

Maggie: I thought we were

She’s typing. Then she stops.

I want to ask her, we were what, Maggie? But I can’t.

My balls hurt.

Maggie: I hate that you’re right.

Maggie: Can you at least give me your name?

Me: You can call me not-Evan.

She sends a frown faced emoji.

Me: But since you’ve been such a good girl, you can call me D.

Maggie: Really? Are you doing it intentionally?

I look down at what I wrote and immediately regret it. I can only imagine what she’s thinking.

Me: Goodnight Maggie.

The text bubble keeps on appearing, then disappearing. I wait.

Maggie: Goodnight, bossy

I don’t know why, but I’m disappointed by the response.

There is no reply after that.

I wait anyway. Five minutes. Ten.

The screen stays dark.

Good.

She’s asleep, or trying to be. Across the city, there’s probably a notebook open beside her, full of terminal branches and ridiculous labels and two hours of a night neither of us planned.

I turn off the lamp. The bedroom goes dark. I lie still, one arm behind my head, looking at the ceiling I can’t see. The apartment has warmed by two degrees. Not enough to matter, but enough to notice. The vent moves air softly through the room. Somewhere far below, a car passes over wet pavement.

My phone is on the nightstand. Face down. Where it belongs.

I leave it there. For exactly thirty-eight seconds.

Then I pick it up again.