The walls in my new dorm are paper thin, and the guy next door is driving me insane.
When I work up the nerve to knock, a six-foot-five jock answers the door in his boxers. Broad chest. Washboard abs. And a grin that makes me forget why I’m there.
I’ve always thought I was straight. But now I can’t get him out of my head.
I draw him obsessively from memory. I fantasize about him. All while hiding in my room, too mortified to make eye contact in the hallway.
But I hear him. I hear everything.
And I’m listening.
