“I cannot begin to tell you the number of things wrong with that sentence coming out of your mouth.” Starting with the fact that it’s a confirmation. I didn’t even know a part of me was holding on to the thought that he might tell me this was a total misunderstanding and it was actually Matt she was fooling around with, or the underwear under his pillow was some weird prank. But there it is. Confirmed.

Okay then. That’s fine. I’m fine. What’s there not to be fine about? Salem is hooking up with Jenna, and he’s happy, and they’re happy, and Salem and I aren’t as close as I thought. Cool cool cool.

“What do you want me to say, Skeevy? I gave Matt shit for being a slut and now here I am, doing the same thing. It’s embarrassing.”

“You have to know hooking up with a single girl doesn’t make you a slut, but even if you were, so what?” I demand. “Matt’s not hurting anybody. He’s not pretending to be anything he isn’t. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, or an almost-girlfriend, and he isn’t telling girls he loves them and then sleeping with their sisters. Every girl at this school who hooks up with Matt Haley knows what she’s getting and she doesn’t care, because she wants the same thing. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Those are some awfully specific examples.”

God, of course he would pick up on that. “I’m just trying to make a point. There’s nothing inherently slutty about hooking up, and there’s nothing inherently evil in being slutty anyway, so maybe you could ease the hell up and realize your roommate is actually a pretty freaking nice guy.” Frankly, I’d kill to have a roommate who cared as much about me as Matt clearly cares about Salem.

Salem narrows his eyes. “Please tell me you are not hooking up with Matt.”

“Jesus, Salem, no, I’m not, and you are missing the point.” I open my mouth to continue the tirade, but Salem holds up a hand.

“I know, I know. You’re not wrong. He has been … nice,” Salem admits grudgingly. “And relatively considerate, considering our room—or at least our window—is a revolving door.”

“And?”

“And … you may have a point about the rest. I don’t know. I didn’t exactly come here with a ton of experience.” His eyes drop to the desk, an unfurled paper clip I hadn’t even noticed in his hand scratching out an S in the scarred wood. “I might’ve been … jealous. A little. Of Matt.”

My eyebrows shoot to the sky. “I’ll be honest, I thought it would take at least six hours of physical torture to get that out of you.”

“It should’ve,” he mutters. “Anyway, feel better now?”