That at least earns a laugh out of me. Even drunk, our resident know-it-all can’t resist getting in one of his nonsensical factoids.
There’s a bathroom off the dining room in the back of the house, but a line forms outside it. If I wait, it’ll take longer than my allotted time. And Natalie has my phone, so I wouldn’t be able to entertain myself by checking for baby photos of my sister Aileen’s eight-month-old daughter.
I turn away from the line. It’s a big house. Lakewood University’s off-campus student rentals have a tradition of naming their homes. This one’s no different. The name, The Six-Pack—as I’d heard explained—denotes the fact there are six bedrooms. A six-bedroom house should have more than one bathroom.
So I head upstairs, passing Rylie and Levi dancing in the living room. I pause on a step, watching them. Levi dips my friend so far back, strands of her short bob almost touch the floor. He gathers her up, and she shrieks with laughter. She’s unsteady on her feet, whether from the dip or drinking, I’m not sure. Levi holds her tight, until she looks up at him and he down at her, and through silent communication, they bring their heads to each other, mouths touching…
Don’t be a creep, Kennedy.
I shake my head, carrying up the rest of the steps. Luckily, one of the first doors I find leads to a large Jack and Jill bathroom, with two doors and two sinks and no line. I lock the door behind me, needing a moment to compose myself.
Ashton may have broken up with me months ago, but the pain still feels fresh. Especially in the face of others in love. Not that I begrudge Rylie. No, Levi makes her happier than anything in the world. Except maybe her art. Or cats. But…
I miss having someone look at me that way. Like when he opens his eyes, I’m the only thing he sees. All that he wants. That he would do anything to make me happy. I miss kissing someone comfortable and familiar. Movie nights and cuddling and falling asleep in each other’s arms.
I step up to one of the bathroom sinks, digging in my purse. I find makeup removing wipes and set my purse against the mirror. When I see my reflection, a mopey Kennedy stares back at me.
Sure, Ashton had stopped doing a lot of those things near our relationship’s end, but that only makes me miss them more. Miss him more. Because when he’d put effort into dating me, it had been good.
Don’t go down that road. You’ve been there before, and it’s a dead end.
Reflection Kennedy snaps out of it. Pulls out a wipe and smooths it over the strawberry smooches on her throat. She won’t cry in the bathroom, despite her watery eyes.
I grab a tissue, drying my eyes. When that blots my mascara, I heave a sigh. Well, it’s not like I need a full coat of makeup to go home. Intending to wash my whole face, I reach for another wipe…
…and then I hear it.
A moan. Low and purring, so quiet I don’t think I’m hearing correctly. Until it sounds again. Louder. Followed by a grunt.
I drop the wipe, jaw dropping as I stare at the door opposite of the one I’d entered the bathroom from.
There’s whispering on the other side. Another moan. Another grunt. The unmistakable rhythmic squeak of a rocking bed frame.
Reflection Kennedy’s face blossoms pink—curse of gingers everywhere.
The sounds from that room are nothing out of a wholesome romance flick. They’re categorically X-rated. Pornographic. How long had they been in there? How had I not noticed?
I should go. Ten minutes or no, I can’t listen to this. I reach for my purse—
And halt when the guy groans louder. A thick, throaty timbre. I grip the side of the sink, knees suddenly weak when a distinctive thrill zips down my spine. Looking at the closed door again, I grab the makeup remover wipe that I’d let go. I brush it over my lip, slowly, so I don’t miss a spot of lipstick.
And I stay rooted where I stand.
Here’s the thing: I’m not a perv. I have a vibrator and a tastefully curated collection of steamy romance novels on my e-reader. Both of which I use to scratch the itch, so to say, late at night when my housemates sleep.
But here’s another thing…
I miss sex. With another person. With a man. I miss having a guy who knows how I like to be kissed. Miss feeling a body move over mine. Miss a deep voice panting in my ear how much he’s wanted me.
And though he’d never made me moan like the girl in the other room, sex with Ashton had been special. Because we’d been in love. Until we weren’t. Or, at least, he wasn’t.
So I finish removing my makeup. And after the last bit of it is gone, I dig in my purse for that tube of Fresh Strawberry and reapply. Not that I need it. Because I’m leaving. I just have seven more minutes to kill, is all.
I mean, it’s not like they know I’m here. Listening.
No, whoever they are, they’re too wrapped up in each other. The girl, calling out how hard she wants it. The guy, giving it to her, grunting and groaning and the bed quaking and skin smacking on skin and—
She finishes. Right after, so does he. In one drawn-out, hoarse sigh that has me squeezing my eyes close and biting my tongue so I don’t gasp.
I don’t hear anything else for a minute. Then rustling. Soft whispers. A door inside the room opens and closes. It quiets again.
I release a breath. They’re gone. Back to the party. Back to booze and socializing and dancing—
Crap. What if that was Rylie and Levi?
I hold my lipstick aloft, cringing. Please don’t tell me I’d just drooled over two of my friends going at it like rabbits. How will I ever look Rylie
