Page 13 of Heartland

They’re fighting aboutme, and I want to die. I clutch the V of skin above the first button on my PJs, as if I could undo the evening’s fashion blunder.

That topwastoo revealing. Obviously. I wanted to be nonchalant and sexy. But I achievedsluttyinstead. Slutty and drunk.

Except... It wasn’t Dylan who thought I looked slutty. He doesn’t notice me the way I want him to. It was Kaitlyn who noticed. And Kaitlyn who didn’t like it very much.

Maybe I’m a mean drunk, because this idea makes me smile in the dark.

Now Dylan’s voice goes low and soft. I can’t hear their words anymore. They’ve probably moved away from the window. I should get up and close mine, but my comforter is warm, and I’m lazy.

I’ve almost drifted off when a sound from next door floats me back up to the surface of consciousness. It’s a keening moan.

My eyes flip open in the dark. I listen. It takes a few seconds, but then I hear it again. “Ohhh.” Kaitlyn moans. “Yes.”

I’m instantly, catastrophically awake.

It all unfolds within earshot—the terrible, wonderful sounds of Dylan making love to someone who isn’t me. At first, I only hear her whimpering moans. They soften her, actually. Eachmmmandahhhis full of unselfconscious need.

But then? I hear a low growl. The hairs on my arms stand up at the sound of Dylan’s voice. I can’t understand the words, but her response is a hot gasp. My heart begins to pound. I flatten myself onto the mattress, ears straining.

He murmurs to her again, and the hungry timbre of his voice reverberates inside my ribcage. I’m holding my breath now.

And then it really begins—the rhythmic sound of the bed rocking against the wall.

I break out in a sweat. He grunts, and I shiver. Every little noise he makes is gold. I close my eyes, and I could almost be the one underneath him. My heartbeat syncs to his rhythm.Inside.Straining.More. Yes.

“Please,” she moans. “Please.”

Her begging is the soundtrack of my life.Please, Dylan. For once she and I are in perfect agreement. I clench my legs together against the ache. And then I do it again.

I’m a sinner. I’ve always been a sinner.

Pressing myself into the mattress, I spread my legs, and I imagine his body over me. His hot skin against mine. His tongue in my mouth. His low voice in my ear. My pulse pounds, and my ears strain, and I keep forgetting to breathe.

“Grab the bed rail,” Dylan growls. “With both hands.”

Then the wall practically begins to shake as the rhythm rises. It doesn’t stop until a rich, satisfied moan comes from the other room, chorused with my roommate’s.

And now I know what he sounds like when he comes.

I don’t move a muscle. If I got up to close the window, I might be overheard. If Dylan knew I was listening, I’d die of embarrassment.

But nobody is thinking about me at all right now. I hear only the low murmured voices of lovers speaking to one another from very close range—the closest range there is.

I lay still and try to think of other things. But I’m turned on and lonely, and the room is spinning gently.

It takes a long time to fall asleep.

Five

Dylan

“Hey, morning.”I plunk a tray down on the dining hall table and slide into the chair across from Chastity.

“Morning,” she says, her voice a squeak. She glances up at me for a split second, looking mildly embarrassed.

Ah. Must be the hangover. “How’s your head?”

She blinks. “Oh. It hurts.”