"Yeah, I'm fine. Just... bored."

And lonely.

And kind of hungry.

I'm a mess.

"You should've visited this week," she says. "We could've spent some time together."

"I know... I'll see you soon, though."

"Can't wait," she says. "Anyway, I should get going. I'll call you later, okay?"

We hang up. I toss my phone down, waiting for it to ring again.

It doesn't.

I eventually head downstairs, grabbing something to eat from the dining hall while it's open. It's slim pickings, a few scraggly students hanging around from the building. The sun is still shining when I come back upstairs. I crack open my philosophy textbook, trying to get ahead on it, but end up falling asleep with the book on my chest.

I'm awakened much later by a noise. The room is encased in darkness, a soft glow swaddling my desk beside the bed. My phone. Reaching over, I pick it up and glance at the screen as it rings.

Naz.

I answer tentatively. "Hello?"

"You looked beautiful today."

No hello. No greeting at all. I'm stunned. Beautiful? Where did that come from?

My eyes are drawn down to myself. I haven't even changed out of my old ratty pajamas in what I think might be two days. "How do you know?"

"I saw you."

My stomach is in knots. He saw me? "Where?"

"In my dreams."

The moment he says it, a smile lights up my face. "Are you just fucking with me?"

"No, but I'd like to be fucking you."

I laugh sharply. My body heats at those words. How does he do that, his responses so slick, so quick?

"I do know you looked beautiful today, though," he says. "I wasn't lying."

"How?"

"Because you always are."

I'm not sure how to respond to that. I start stammering. Thirty seconds on the phone and I've turned into a blubbering fool because of this man.

He laughs, genuinely amused. "Goodnight, Karissa."

Before I can respond, he hangs up. I stare at the phone, biting my bottom lip, as I whisper, "goodnight," into the quiet room.

As silly as it is, I feel a bit better.

At least he hasn't forgotten about me.

Sunday afternoon drags, each minute like an hour, each hour damn near another whole day. The dorm comes alive mid-afternoon as people filter back in. I can hear our suite mates through the thin walls, returning from wherever they headed off to.

I don't know.

Don't really care, either.

I'm a terrible neighbor.

I'm sitting in my bed, knees pulled up, staring down at the book propped up against my legs, when the door flings open. Melody walks in, hauling her bags along, and lets out a groan in lieu of a greeting. I glance up as she discards her things by the door to collapse in her bed.

"Oh God, I'm exhausted!" she says.

"You look refreshed," I point out. In fact, she looks different, a sun kissed glow to her. Her hair is almost platinum blonde, bleached from the sun's rays, while her skin is now a deep tan.

It's amazing how much someone can change in a week.

"Refreshed?" She rolls over onto her side to gaze at me. "I feel like I was beaten!"

"Were you?"

Valid question with Melody, one she answers with a sly grin. "A lady never tells."

Laughing, I close my book and set it aside. "Good thing you're not a lady then."

Melody sticks her tongue out before launching into it, relaying details from her trip. I thought I'd feel a twinge of jealousy, hearing all about her adventures, but I'm more amused than anything. Because nothing she says, no matter how exotic, tops my erotic.

You swam with dolphins? You went scuba diving? You sunbathed topless on a gorgeous beach? Well I ate at the finest restaurant in the city, drank thousand dollar champagne, and had my brains fucked out by the man of my dreams.

I should tell her. She's my friend, maybe my best friend, arguably my only friend... I should tell her about him. She's always telling me about her escapades, and rarely do I ever have anything to share in return.

I'm going to tell her.

I am.

I will.

"So what did you do this week?" she asks flippantly

Just not right now.

Maybe later.

"You know, little of this, little of that." A lot of that.

She scrunches her nose at my lame response and launches back into her stories. I'm vaguely listening, her week just short of something out of Girls Gone Wild, when she starts talking about someone named Paul.

"Who's Paul?" I ask, interrupting.

"Oh, you know Paul," she says, waving me off.

Paul Newman? Paul Bunyan? Peter, Paul, and Mary?

I don't know anybody named Paul.

"Refresh my memory."

Melody rolls her eyes, a slight flush to her cheeks as she rolls over onto her stomach on her bed to stare at me across the room. "He's the guy from Timbers. Remember? Mr. Top Gun?"

"I thought he was a Pat," I say, "or a Pete."

"Yeah, so did I, but no… it's Paul. He's so great. He's just… he's everything. I've never met someone like him before."

My brow furrows. I'm not sure what he has to do with anything. "He didn't stay at your resort or something, did he?"

"What? No, of course not. That would be crazy if a guy just showed up wherever I was. Stalker-y."