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My whole body clenches. I slap one hand over my mouth.

Me: That was mean.

Dalton: Did it work?

I stare at the screen. Then give him the truth.

Me: Yes.

Dalton: Are you wet?

I squeeze my thighs together.

Me: Yes.

Dalton: Are you touching yourself?

Me: No.

Dalton: Do you want to?

I look toward Simone’s door again. Still closed.

Me: Yes.

Dalton: Then do it.

My hand slips under the blanket, beneath the waistband of my shorts. I’m so sensitive I almost gasp at the first touch. I bite my lip hard.

Me: I am.

Dalton: Slowly.

I move my fingers lightly, trying to keep my breathing even. It doesn’t work.

Me: I’m trying not to make noise.

Dalton: Then don’t wake Simone.

Me: You’re impossible.

Dalton: You’re touching yourself on her couch.

My fingers falter. A hot, embarrassed laugh almost escapes me.

Me: I hate you a little.

Dalton: No, you don’t.

He’s right. I hate that too.

Me: What are you doing?

The answer takes a moment.

Dalton: Thinking about you.

Me: That’s not an answer.