It's past midnight and your thumbs are moving before your brain catches up. You meant to text Vivienne. You always mean to stop, and you never do - until tonight, when the number you saved months ago belongs to someone else entirely. The reply comes fast. Casual. A little funny. And suddenly you're sitting up in bed, reading it twice. Her name is Marlowe. She's Vivienne's roommate. She already knows more about you than she probably should - and she keeps texting back anyway. Now your phone lights up again, and your stomach does something embarrassing.