“There’s so much grunting, and the banging… ugh. It’s like some deranged drum pounding into my skull.”
“It’s just gross,” another girl adds. “Like, we’ve already said something. How many more times do we have to tell her before she stops letting him come over and, well, comeall over her?”
I take in a sharp breath, trying my best to stay still because the humiliation stings worse when it’s overheard.
“I think she’s doing it on purpose.”
“Why would she do that?”
You know what? Maybe I should stop listening. It might not be about me. They haven’t said my name. No one has. Maybe this is about someone else, and I’m just being paranoid.
“Because she wants to gloat that she’s got QB1 wrapped around her little finger.”
My stomach drops.
“For now.” The other girl laughs. “Did you see the picture Sarah sent him last week? Wonder if he’s responded yet.”
“I’m sure we’ll hear about them breaking up soon enough, and can you imagine how delicious her crying alone is going to sound?”
“Still won’t make up for everything we’ve had to put up with. Honestly, it’s just disgusting. No one wants to hear her screaming.”
My cheeks are hot. I wasn’t screaming. I couldn’t because there were freaking panties in my mouth. She’s making it up for effect, and my heart races because somehow I’ve made a name for myself without trying, which is the exact same thing that happened in high school.
What’s wrong with me?
Why are girls always waiting for me to fail?
The only people who can seemingly stand to be around me here are Zach and his teammates. Even then, I think the only reason they’re nice to me is because they have to be.
Would it have been different if I went to Southern Collegiate with Olivia? At least there I wouldn’t just be Zach Evans’ girlfriend—a title people whisper like it’s both an accomplishment and a sin. There, no one would know my name, and maybe I could figure out what I want to do in peace.
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh because let’s be honest, Southern Collegiate wouldn’t have been a fresh start either.
Not with Jamie there.
My ex, my boyfriend’s cousin’s baby daddy, and my own personal reminder that I was cheated out of a life I couldn’t even decide if I wanted becausehedidn’t.Hischoice was always the default. Not mine.
I lean against the tiles and take a deep breath as I wait for the girls to leave before I dare peek out of the shower. When I’ve confirmed it’s empty, I sneak back to my bedroom, only to be met with a small, pink Post-It note stuck to my door.
“The room of Honey Sanderson. The ultimate Pick Me.”
I stare at the words, and shame pulses through my cheeks like I’ve just been slapped.Pick Me.The same thing they used to say in high school when Jamie cheated and everyone assumed it wasmyfault for being the type of girl someone cheats on.
I guess they think Zach’s the same kind of guy, too.
I crumple the Post-It in my hand and toss it to the floor.
Screw them.
Zach isn’t a cheater. I know it. I know him and I won’t let them define our relationship like that.
Shutting the door behind me, I blow out a breath and lean against it, letting the same questions run through my head. I’mstubbornly refusing to move in with Zach, but is it wrong? If I were living there, would things be different? Would I be friends with those girls instead of the afterthought in their group chats?
No.
Because then I wouldn’t just be the girl who sleeps with him, but the one who has him. The one who lives with him, wakes up to him. That kind of closeness? That would’ve been even worse.
At least here, I get to pretend I’m just another girl in a dorm room, even if no one believes it.