night, so the open window probably means that they’re smoking a joint. Another thing I’ve never tried.
Now I can hear their voices a little more clearly. Kaitlyn’s is the clearest. “Why do we always have to go back to your place?” she whines. “You could stay here for once.”
“Three words,” Dylan’s lower voice says. “Queen-sized bed.”
“That’s not really the reason,” Kaitlyn says.
The next bit is muffled, so I find myself sliding out of bed and edging toward my own window. It’s already unlatched, so all I have to do is nudge the crank and it opens an inch.
And almost immediately, I wish I hadn’t.
“God forbid we’re overheard. Why do you fuss over her?” Kaitlyn asks, her voice high and angry.
I sit down on the edge of my bed, my heart in my mouth.
“She’s a good friend.”
“You just want to watch her take off that low-cut top.”
“Kaitlyn!” His raised voice is easy to hear now. “You’re ridiculous. Can a single puff of weed make a person paranoid?”
“I see where your eyes go. Right down that slutty blouse.”
They’re fighting about me, and I want to die. I clutch the V of skin above the first button on my PJs, as if I could undo the evening’s fashion blunder.
That top was too revealing. Obviously. I wanted to be nonchalant and sexy. But I achieved slutty instead. Slutty and drunk.
Except... It wasn’t Dylan who thought I looked slutty. He doesn’t notice me the way I want him to. It was Kaitlyn who noticed. And Kaitlyn who didn’t like it very much.
Maybe I’m a mean drunk, because this idea makes me smile in the dark.
Now Dylan’s voice goes low and soft. I can’t hear their words anymore. They’ve probably moved away from the window. I should get up and close mine, but my comforter is warm, and I’m lazy.
I’ve almost drifted off when a sound from next door floats me back up to the surface of consciousness. It’s a keening moan.
My eyes flip open in the dark. I listen. It takes a few seconds, but then I hear it again. “Ohhh.” Kaitlyn moans. “Yes.”
I’m instantly, catastrophically awake.
It all unfolds within earshot—the terrible, wonderful sounds of Dylan making love to someone who isn’t me. At first, I only hear her whimpering moans. They soften her, actually. Each mmm and ahhh is full of unselfconscious need.
But then? I hear a low growl. The hairs on my arms stand up at the sound of Dylan’s voice. I can’t understand the words, but her response is a hot gasp. My heart begins to pound. I flatten myself onto the mattress, ears straining.
He murmurs to her again, and the hungry timbre of his voice reverberates inside my ribcage. I’m holding my breath now.
And then it really begins—the rhythmic sound of the bed rocking against the wall.
I break out in a sweat. He grunts, and I shiver. Every little noise he makes is gold. I close my eyes, and I could almost be the one underneath him. My heartbeat syncs to his rhythm. Inside. Straining. More. Yes.
“Please,” she moans. “Please.”
Her begging is the soundtrack of my life. Please, Dylan. For once she and I are in perfect agreement. I clench my legs together against the ache. And then I do it again.
I’m a sinner. I’ve always been a sinner.
Pressing myself into the mattress, I spread my legs, and I imagine his body over me. His hot skin against mine. His tongue in my mouth. His low voice in my ear. My pulse pounds, and my ears strain, and I keep forgetting to breathe.
“Grab the bed rail,” Dylan growls. “With both hands.”
Then the wall practically begins to shake as the rhythm rises. It doesn’t stop until a rich, satisfied moan comes from the other room, chorused with my roommate’s.
And now I know what he sounds like when he comes.
I don’t move a muscle. If I got up to close the window, I might be overheard. If Dylan knew I was listening, I’d die of embarrassment.
But nobody is thinking about me at all right now. I hear only the low murmured voices of lovers speaking to one another from very close range—the closest range there is.
I lay still and try to think of other things. But I’m turned on and lonely, and the room is spinning gently.
It takes a long time to fall asleep.
Five
Dylan
“Hey, morning.” I plunk a tray down on the dining hall table and slide into the chair across from Chastity.
“Morning,” she says, her voice a squeak. She glances up at