“Sounds to me like you’re already doing a great job.” Salem gives me jazz hands, and I wish I had something on me to throw at his smug face.

“Ease up, Grayson,” says Matt, and I could hug him. “I think you’re a nice girl, but I’m still not sure what it is you want from me. Are you coming on to me? Because usually I can tell when a girl wants to bone, but you’re a bit of a conundrum, dormie.”

A conundrum. That’s already far more interesting than anything else I have ever been called. “I do not wanna bone,” I say, nearly gagging on the words. “In fact, I specifically do not wanna bone, or date, or anything involving boys right now; this version of me has made way too many bad choices in that department. Also, if I’m gonna be on people’s radar, let it be for something a lot cooler than having been Archibald Buchanan III’s roommate for three minutes.”

“And you think I can make you cool?”

“I think the kinds of girls who climb your rope ladder probably have a lot more fun and take a lot more risks than I do. And while I really do not have any interest in climbing your rope ladder in a literal or metaphorical sense, I do want to become the kind of girl who takes chances. Breaks rules. Makes her own reputation. Has actual fun.” I cross my legs in a way I’m sure would be extremely seductive if I were not wearing plaid flannel pajama pants. “Teach me your mischievous ways, Matthew.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Salem opening his mouth, and I immediately shut that down. “Not a word.”

He shrugs and goes back to shoving his clothes in his drawers. It makes my hands itch to fold them, but bad girls don’t fold other people’s shirts. Boxers, maybe.

“Evie.” Matt sits down on the edge of his desk with a sigh. “You do not need to be anyone else. And I do not want to be responsible for corrupting you in any way. You seem very…” He waves his hands as he tries to come up with the correct phrasing, and that’s how I know it’s going to hurt like a dagger to the soul. “Pure of heart.”

“Says who?”

“Says the fact that you showed up at my door in flannel jammies asking for help getting into trouble because you literally don’t know how to do it yourself,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. “This campus does not need another me, and besides, I only have one vice. Unless you’re interested in a very specific kind of lesson…” His lewd gestures do suggest expertise, but I shudder anyway. “Yeah.” His smile turns into a full-fledged grin now. “That’s what I thought. Catch ya later, dormie, roomie.”