The notion that this woman can be easily replaced by someone else strikes me as ludicrous. But Solange wants to believe it. Or maybe she needs to believe it—because it’ll make it easier for her to leave the academy at the end of the summer. “You know, I bet your students would disagree. They’re going to miss you, Solange.”

Hell, I’m going to miss her too. And in that moment, I realize something else: I want this woman in my life. Forever. As a friend, of course, but still. I’d like to be a part of her village; I’d like her to help me build mine. My chest tightens, and my breathing grows shallow. Damn, what the hell is wrong with me today? Maybe I just need a good night’s rest.

I turn off the lamp on my nightstand, and we settle in for bed.

“Need me to rub your belly?” I ask. “Would that help?”

“You’re the sweetest. Sure.”

“Get on your side, then.”

The sheets rustle as she positions herself. Once she’s still, I blanket her body from behind, snake my arm over her waist, and place my hand on her stomach. I rub in circles, hoping the sensation will distract her. “Is that good?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

A minute later, she covers my hand with hers and draws our entwined fingers inside her drawstring pajama pants. “But here’s where I really need it,” she says, dragging my hand across her lower belly.

I scoot back, afraid that I’ll grow hard and that she’ll think I’m doing this for me. This is for her. Only for her.

It’s so quiet I can hear every breath she takes, each contented sigh. But then the unmistakable sound of wailing fills the room, and I jerk my hand out of her pants as if I’ve been scalded.

“Oh God,” Solange says, pulling the pillow out from under her head and covering her face with it.

“Jesus, it’s like we’re right there with them.”

She turns toward me and peeks out from under the pillow. “I know.”

“I think I can get them to stop,” I tell her.

“How?”

“Well, if they heard us, maybe they’d realize how thin the walls are.”

Her eyebrows snap together. “Good try, buddy, but no. I’m not having sex with you so they can listen to us.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll just fake it like Sally.”

She draws her head back and leans up on her elbows. “Who?”

“You know. Harry. Sally. When she faked an orgasm.”

“Oh, Lord,” she says, raising her gaze to the ceiling. “This, I must hear.”

“It won’t embarrass you?”

She gives me a deadpan expression. “You know me better than that.”