Nobody has ever touched me like that—with casual, sensual ownership. I have no idea how it feels to be half of a couple.

There’s a squeak next door. It’s the sound of a window being cranked open. It’s a chilly 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.