She sits cross-legged on rumpled white sheets, barely five feet of smooth skin and sharp collarbones, dark hair falling across one eye like she planned it that way.

You trace the line from her shoulder down to her hip and your hand looks enormous against her — that contrast alone does something to your chest, your stomach, lower.

The question hangs in the title but your body already answered it. You'd rearrange your entire afternoon, cancel everything, just to keep her exactly where she is.