After that, we stick to a no-touching policy. Shane comes home and follows his nose to the kitchen. “Cookies!” He hooks his arms around both our necks. “You guys are the best roommates ever. Group hug.”

The mood is light and jokey again. Shane asks me to proofread his assignment, so we sit around the table and work while we eat cookies.

“Oh, little bit, I almost forgot.” Shane pulls a lockbox out of his backpack and sets it in front of me on the table. Then he hands me two keys.

“What is this for?” I ask.

“I notice that you don’t let that notebook out of your sight, bringing it with you even to the bathroom, and I feel bad. You can lock it up in your room if you want, and you won’t have to worry that I’m messing with it.”

I run my hand over the box. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I want to read that damn notebook more than almost anything...but I’d rather have you feel safe here at home. So, this way, we’re both safe.”

For all his trying to convince me otherwise, Shane is a really nice person. I’m touched that he thinks about my feelings so much. “Thank you. But you know what? I’m just going to trust you.”

“Bad idea,” Fletch says.

“Super bad,” Shane agrees. “I’m not the guy you should trust with your feelings. I’m shit at that kind of stuff. I’d never mean to hurt you, but I would.”

“I don’t think you will.” I don’t know why I feel so strongly about it. “I trust you, Shane. I don’t think you will invade my privacy now that you know how much it means to me. I trust that you care more about me than that.”

It may be that nobody has ever said something like that to him before. He doesn’t invite this kind of conversation for sure.

It feels like a big moment, but also one that we don’t want to draw to much attention to. So, Fletch makes a joke, they both belch, and I roll my eyes. Things feel solid.

I almost feel like a real girl.

Chapter Five

On Saturday, Shane knocks on my door.

I open it to find him fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. There are still flecks of water dripping from his hair, and I want to follow the wet trails with my tongue. So many nights I've fantasized about the way those muscles would feel, their heat, power, and hardness under my hands. A little jolt shoots through my chest when our eyes meet, and I realize he's watching me check him out. He holds my gaze for a moment and then winks. I can hide nothing from him. It’s like the guy is psychically tuned to my most embarrassing frequency.