“Good news—it’s going to stay wet in the wash, so you can go ahead and get it. I’ll even strip your bed for you.” I immediately throw a glare Matt’s way. “No stripping jokes.”

He holds up his hands innocently. “It was too easy anyway.”

“I thought ‘too easy’ was exactly how you like it,” I shoot back as Salem heads to the communal bathroom and I yank his sheet from the mattress.

“That’s my girl,” Matt says with a grin.

It strikes me then that I am in the presence of the one person who is the genuine male equivalent of what everyone thinks I am, and he doesn’t seem to give a shit about his reputation one bit. Matt could probably give me some decent tips for how to handle it, and for all he loves to joke around about everything, I also know he’ll take me seriously.

“Hey, can I ask you for some advice?” I glance at the door. “Later, I guess.”

“My door is always open to you, dormie. And yeah, later’s good; I’ve gotta go meet my study group at the library now anyway.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“I wish.” He stuffs a few books in his bag. “That sounds a lot more fun than AP Bio.”

“You’re in AP Bio?” I immediately feel bad for how incredulous I sound, but the way he smirks, he’s clearly used to it.

“Me and pretty much all the other kids planning to go premed.” He says it casually, as if the guy best known at Camden for his bedroom skills planning to become a doctor is no big deal. And, technically, I guess it isn’t. I mean, he certainly knows human anatomy. “I’ll see you later, Skeevy.”

“Oh my God, don’t you dare start calling me that!” I yell after him, his laughter carrying over his shoulder as he heads out to campus.

Shaking my head, I return to the task of Salem’s sheets, pulling off his top pillowcase and then the bottom one. As I pick up the latter, I see something black underneath, and I pinch it between two fingers, figuring it’s another piece of Salem’s laundry left behind.

But unless Salem’s got a hobby I don’t know about, that is definitely not his underwear.

In fact, I know that underwear, or at least that brand; I’ve got a pair in the very laundry at my feet.

My pair, however, is pink.

Because the person who wears black?

Is Jenna London.

“Hey.” Salem peeks his head inside and I immediately shove the underwear in with the pile of sheets. “Got my towel. You ready?”

I think I nod. I know I stand. But am I ready to have a casual conversation about detergents and water temperatures with Salem when I just found out he’s hooking up with Jenna London?

Not so much.