Page 40

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking—”

“For God’s sake, Ira—”

I chuck the plastic fork at his head. “You’re allergic to everything fun-coded. You’re the anti-fun police.”

“We—” He gestures between us on the bed, his voice dropping to a whisper. “—are more notorious than fucking Bonnie and Clyde. Yeah, what we’re—” More gesturing. “—doing is a crime.”

“Anti. Fun. Police,” I repeat, slower this time. “I’m buying you a badge next Halloween. Give me my fork back.”

Beckett throws it over, and it pings off my forehead before falling onto the comforter covering my lap. I unearth the ramen again and hold the half-melted cup carefully.

It’s quiet for the first time in hours.

The kind of quiet that makes me smile, and appreciate life. Ten-cent sales at our grocery store. Polaroids. Conversation hearts. The fact that my roommate is actually my best friend, and we can talk about everything under the sun without losing ourselves.

I watch him finish his food and throw the empty cup into the trash can on his side—it hits the edge, tips back and forth, then falls to the floor with a sad little thmp. He groans but doesn’t get up to fix it. The back of my head leans against the wall, and I lift another forkful of noodles.

Then I hear… something.

The room joined to ours on this side is a single, and it’s always dead silent. I put the ramen on the nightstand and press my ear against the wall. Nothing. Quiet again. Then another noise: bed springs creaking. A girl’s moan followed by a dude’s. I almost burst out laughing again.

“What?” Beckett asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Come here.”

He climbs closer, his chest pressed against my back, as he puts his ear on the wall too. We stay frozen, like two kids with a glass against a neighbor’s window, listening to a free porno.

“Oh my God, right there,” the girl moans.

Are you kidding me?

This chick’s getting her back blown out, and she can’t be quiet?

I get out one giggle before Beckett’s hand clamps over my mouth. His chest shakes against my back, silent laughter vibrating my shoulder blades.

“Oh my God, right there,” he mimic-whispers in bad falsetto.

My cackle nearly breaks free, but his palm presses even harder until my teeth cut into my lip. I taste blood and vanilla lotion.

“Inside voice,” he hisses. “You’re going to get us caught.”

The bed springs squeak louder. The dude grunts something I can’t make out, and the girl’s moan turns into a goddamn scream. He shifts against me, and I feel his cock press against my lower back through his jeans. My ear’s still against the wall, but I’m only half listening.

Okay, buddy. Laugh it up.

Only one of us is getting turned on listening to people fuck.

The girl next door shrieks something about God, and Beckett’s whole body convulses against mine—laughter or something else, hell if I know. His hips shift again, and he’s the one making me horny. Not them. The way his chest is moving, fast and hard, he’s probably imagining himself on the other side of the wall.

I’m not sure if it’s the funniest thing ever or if I’m jealous. Jealousy and me are not even acquainted.

I move his hand off my mouth and swallow copper. “You want to fuck me?”

The only answer I get is the bed squeaking faster in the other room.

Looking up, I watch his red face go through seventeen different expressions in three seconds—shock, cringe, something that makes my dick twitch against my leg, then his eyes narrow.