I can still remember the feeling of walking through that frat house in search of an empty room, pulling Darren behind me. I remember the way my pulse tried to keep up with the thumping bass of the stereo system as we climbed higher and higher, ducking into one room after another, laughing and apologizing as we interrupted other couples enjoying their night the way we wanted to. I remember the feeling of his lips on my neck and shoulders, his hands moving up my thighs. I remember the increasing danger of our own desire, how we barely made it inside an empty room before Darren had snaked his hand under my skirt and into my panties. I remember my clit pulsing when he turned me around and pressed me against the door, locking me between the wood and his solid body, his foot pushing mine further apart, his fingers sliding the wet fabric of my underwear aside before sinking into me.

I still remember every filthy thing he whispered into my ear all those years ago and how the thing that made me squirt into the palm of his hand was, “You want someone to hear us, don’t you?”

It’s Jourdan’s idea to call Darren.

I can hear her laughing on the phone with him while I shove the bag of Italian food in the refrigerator. It’s great reheated anyway.

When I return to the living room, she’s watching me, the belt of my robe folded neatly in her lap, a smile on her face.

“She’s wearing this very sexy robe,” Jourdan says. About me. To my husband.

I swear to God my clit jumps.

“White with gold detailing,” she says, obviously in answer to a question from Darren.

I can imagine what he’s thinking on the other side.

Jourdan puts the phone on speaker and then gestures for me to come to her. I move toward her on shaky but determined legs. I start to sit next to her, but she shakes her head and sits back. She lays my belt across her lap. My entire body is shaking now as I straddle her hips, the sides of my robe opening but not enough to expose me. Not yet.

I want Jourdan to touch me. I can tell by the grin on her face that she can see that in mine, so of course she doesn’t.

“Okay, I’m back,” Darren pants.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“My bathroom,” he says.

“Lock the door.”

“Obviously. Keep the robe on,” Darren says.

Jourdan feels me shiver and smiles. “You two can tell me the story another time.”

She places her cell phone on the cushion next to us. I hold my breath waiting, waiting, waiting.