There was never “all-the-way sex,” as Hannah called it. Never penetration.

There was usually what Hannah called “everything but,” which meant an hour or so of feverish petting and then three hours of talking.

They never told anyone about their late-night dates. Hannah said it would hurt Bee too much. Bee—who had harbored a crush on Rob since meeting him in their dorm freshman year—was lovely, of course, and Rob had to admit she was conventionally better looking than Hannah or any of the other women he’d fooled around with while at Syracuse, but she was too wholesome and easily awestruck by his antics. She looked at him like he was James Dean, and he could never live up to whatever it was she saw. Rob tried to explain all this to Hannah one night, in bed, after she asked him matter-of-factly why he wouldn’t pursue Bee.

“I find it odd that you’re asking me that after what we just did,” Rob said, after a pause, rubbing the back of Hannah’s neck as she nestled her head in his armpit.

“Come on, Rob. I’m just curious. She’s really attractive and she’s the nicest person we know.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Rob said. “She’s like a doll. I’d feel like a dirty old man, touching her.”

“Rob, first of all, you can’t be a twenty-year-old dirty old man. Second, Bee has slept with more people than I have.”

“Is that true? How many people has she slept with? How many people have you slept with?”

“She’s slept with five, and I’ve slept with two.”

“Two? Only two?”

“Only two.”

“You’ve got to get out more, Hannah.” Rob was silent for a moment before murmuring, “So I’d be lucky number three?”

“In your dreams,” Hannah had muttered back as she lifted herself from his chest and turned to face her bedroom wall, which she’d painted mint green to mark the start of the spring semester. The color reminded Rob of toothpaste. He missed the dark purple from the fall. He couldn’t understand why she and Vicki made a big production of repainting their bedrooms every six months. Hannah had explained that Vicki, a future interior decorator, believed that they should start each semester with a new color scheme, but it didn’t make sense to Rob. Paint was expensive and the fumes in their apartment never quite dissipated. The smell of lingering chemicals made him feel like he was losing brain cells, especially during the spring, when Syracuse was buried in snow and all of Hannah’s windows were sealed tight.

Rob had enjoyed his late-night visits to Hannah’s room, the physical intimacy and the hours of chitchat, but he’d chosen to end the secret routine shortly after her walls went the way of Crest and Colgate. By mid-February of their second semester, Rob could foresee how the year would end, with him dropping out of school and moving to Austin. He had tentative plans to stay there for a few months, until he could figure out what he wanted to do next. He’d decided it would be best to separate from Hannah sooner rather than later. He’d been spending too many nights with her, and it was becoming more of a relationship than a tryst. So on the final Thursday of the month, on a week-night he almost always spent at Hannah’s, he just didn’t show up.