The Beta house was one of the nicer fraternities on campus and had the reputation of being the realm of the legacy boys. The furnishings showed it-leather couches and wood-paneled walls where pictures of Beta boys from years past in suits and tuxes smiled All-American smiles, and trophies from members' various sporting and academic accomplishments filled the bookshelves. The decor was at distinct odds with the house music, which filled the space with a persistent, pulsing beat so loud I was surprised the pictures didn't rattle right out of their frames.

"First stop: keg," Melanie announced, and we got in line near the kitchen. "Wonder if Jon's here tonight."

"Oh my God," Elaine said, rolling her eyes and pulling out her phone, "I can't believe you're still into him. You know he only trots you around to make his parents nervous."

Melanie tugged on her eyebrow piercing. "Yeah, but I don't care. I like making parents nervous. I give mine heart attacks."

Elaine laughed and nudged her friend. "Mine, too."

"Me, E? If they knew the truth about you, they'd fall over dead." Melanie turned to me. "What about you? Have your eye on anyone in particular?"

"Not really," I said. "Frat boys aren't usually my type."

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," said Melanie.

Elaine made a face. "Next time, I pick the activity, guys, and I promise you frat boys will not be a part of it."

"Let me translate that for you," Melanie shouted over the music. "She means we'll be watching ladies' field hockey."

"It's the skirts," Elaine said, looking wistful.

"I have to agree," said the guy standing behind me. "The skirts are nice. Sorry, couldn't help but overhear. I'm Chris." He stuck his hand out.

"Tess," I replied and shook it. Chris was half a head taller than me, with close-cropped sandy brown hair and broad shoulders. "Give us a break. The music's so loud, you had to do some serious eavesdropping to follow that conversation."

"Are you kidding me?" Chris asked. "Gorgeous lesbians? How could I live up to the stereotype of a frat boy if I didn't listen in?"

"Only one lebsian, thank you very much," said Melanie with a coy smile. "Jury's still out on me."

"Intriguing," said Chris. "And you, Tess?"

"Boringly straight."

"Me too," he said. "So dull, right?"

I rewarded Chris with a chuckle, and he grinned at me.

By this time, we'd reached the front of the line, and Melanie took charge of passing out the SOLO cups.

"So what are you doing at this party if you don't like frat guys?" he asked as Melanie held out her cup to the brother manning the keg.

"I'm here for the beer pong," Elaine said. "I'll kick your ass at it."

"She's telling the truth," Melanie added. "She had to get good because she can't hold her liquor at all."

"You don't drink, you don't like guys-I'm not sure we've done the right advertising for this party," Chris said to Elaine.

"But I did bring hot friends," Elaine said to reassure him. "And they're both single, too."

"Fair enough," Chris replied. "You've earned your keep."

I stuck my cup out next but as soon as the brother turned on the tap, foam spluttered onto my hand.

"Sorry," he said. "Kicked." A moan went up from the line behind me.

Chris nudged me. "Let's not wait. Come on, I have a secret supply."

I followed him down the hall to a door marked Brothers Only. He knocked in some weird pattern on the door, which opened a crack. He held up two fingers and was rewarded with two cans of beer. "Cheers," he said, handing me one.

I popped the top. "Membership has its privileges."

We made our way back to where we'd left Melanie and Elaine, but by the time we'd arrived, they'd vanished.

"I'm guessing the beer pong table?" I suggested.

"Probably." He didn't seem in any hurry though. "So, what year are you?"

"Junior," I said automatically. "Wait, no. Sophomore."

"Um...?" He gave me a side-eye.

I was instantly transported back to high school, when we were the townie teens crashing frat parties. "I just transferred in, and I lost some credits, so technically I guess I've still got four semesters to go after this."

"I see." He looked relieved. "Where'd you come from?"

"State. But the Bio-E program here is way better."

"Bio-E?" He whistled through his teeth. "I had no idea I was in the presence of a genius."

I rolled my eyes and took a drink of the beer. "What are you studying?"

"Art history," he said with a shrug. "But the pertinent point, if you ask my parents, is that I'm pre-law. Going to Columbia next year."

"Nice."

"Thanks. Just heard last week."

"Cheers." I clinked my beer can against his and we both drank, but when I lowered the can this time, I caught sight of Dylan.

He was here. He was staring at me. I almost choked on my beer. Holy heaven, he was something. We were at a frat party and there were plenty of hot guys around, but Dylan... Dylan. There was something about him. Always had been. Every mitochondrion in every cell in my body seemed to get up and can-can whenever he was near.

"Hey, Chris!" Another brother swooped in. "Can I get you to give me a hand for a minute?"

"Sure." He turned to me. "You going over to beer pong? I'll catch up with you there."

I dragged my eyes away from Dylan. "Yep."

"Okay. I'll meet you there. Don't leave until you see me." He left with his friend, and Dylan and I...floated together. I don't even remember walking. We were just suddenly standing across from each other, so close I could smell him, touch him, kiss him if I wanted.

"Hey," Dylan called over the music. How was it I could spend all evening with him in a lab and when he showed up at a party, in that same sweater and jeans, it was like I hadn't seen him in months? I soaked up every detail, the errant curl flopping down over his temple, the blue eyes, bright as beacons, the dark crew-neck sweater soft enough to dive into...

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to ignore the heartbeat-skipping going on in my chest. "I thought you had to study."

"Too distracted."

"By Hannah?"

"By you," he admitted. "By the fact that you went to a frat party. By what you wore tonight."

Beer or no beer, my mouth went dry. We were in public. I lowered my voice until it was barely audible over the music. "You know, Dylan, you don't always have to tell the truth."

"I've spent almost every day since you got here pretending I don't want you back," he replied in that same soft tone. The heavy beat of the music rushed over and through me, as warm as the words falling from his lips. "I've spent years telling myself that. I'm done lying, to you, to myself, to everyone."

"Dylan!" I whispered harshly. "Stop. Anyone could hear you."

"I don't care."

I knew that wasn't true. He didn't want to hurt Hannah, and if this got back to her, with what she was going through... "Come here." I tugged the sleeve of his sweater, then turned and walked off.

I wasn't sure where we were going. I left my mostly untouched can of beer on a random table. I passed hallways, sitting rooms, a library, a bathroom-to judge by the line of people waiting outside-alcoves with couples entwined around each other, locked doors and open doorways filled with people...

"Here," I said, opening one narrow door and slipping inside. Dylan trailed in after me and I slammed the door shut, plunging us both into darkness.

Inside the closet, the music was muffled, little more than a background beat. I could hear him breathe, hear the blood rushing in my head. The space was slightly musty with the scent of winter coats. I could feel the edge of a pair of skis near my elbow, the curve of a lacrosse stick behind my hip.

"A closet?" Dylan's voice came from near my ear. Heat poured off him from inches away. I could smell him-soap and wool and something woodsy and wild. "This is less like a frat party and more like a middle-school sleepover."

"Dylan, we have to be careful." My voice came out like I was pleading with him.

He was silent. "Why is it you seem to care more about protecting Hannah than even I do? Am I that callous?"

No, he just wasn't practiced in deceit. "I don't know how you can say that when you spent all morning taking her to her biopsy," I blurted. "There are boyfriends who don't want to break up with their girlfriends that wouldn't bother doing that."

"I find that difficult to believe."

Did he really? I thought about my dad not coming to see me that time I was in the hospital. It was too dangerous for his reputation. And though appendectomies were rarely lethal, I was still an eight-year-old girl who could have used her daddy.

Dylan didn't strike me as the kind of guy who cared about appearances. It was people who mattered. And I loved him for it.

I loved him. It rose in my throat, almost escaped my lips, a safe soft sound in the closet, but he spoke again.

"I wish her friends were as sweet to her as you're being. I wish you two could be friends."

The bubble popped. "Not going to happen."

"I know." He sighed. Maybe so, but he had no idea why such a thing was so impossible. "I'm sorry I came here tonight."

I wasn't. He was right here. I imagined electrons leaping across from him to me, arcing tiny, microscopic connections between our bodies, invisible to the naked eye but stronger and brighter than steel. We could touch. Atomically, we already were. I could pull him to me right now. I balled my hands against my thighs.

"I could have lived without seeing you flirt with that guy."

What guy? I couldn't remember ever having talked to someone else. I didn't think I had ever set foot out of this closet. Dylan was a black hole, and I was falling in.

"I know I don't have the right to be jealous. I know. I know, but..." There was a soft thump on either side of my head and I jumped. His hands.

He laughed, low, little more than a breath. "You can't see me, can you?"

I shook my head ever so slightly.

"That's funny. I can see you." As if to prove it, he traced a finger down the side of my face.

I let out a shuddering breath.

"I can tell your eyes are wide, your pupils dilated."

"You imagine it, you mean." But I was pretty sure he could hear me panting. Was there a radiator or something in this closet? I was going to die from the heat.

"You're biting your lip."

I was. I stopped. "You're just listing stuff that happens when I get turned on." Shit. I just admitted I was turned on.

He chuckled. "Is it weird that I have worse eyesight than you, but better night vision?"

"More like I'm back here and you're getting some light shining on me from the crack in the door."

"Shhh." His thumb reached my chin and he tilted my head up. "Stop being rational."

He was going to kiss me. He was going to kiss me less than two days after we'd agreed we couldn't be together right now. I turned my head to the side and his face hit my hair.

"Tess, Tess..." His words were hardly audible, but they hit my soul like a distress call. He leaned against me, pushing me back to the closet wall, chest to chest, hip to hip. I stumbled and clutched his shoulders for balance, taking a wider stance on my spiky-heeled boots. His sweater was soft but scratchy. This was right but so, so wrong. I felt his cheek stubble graze my jaw. His knee nudged between my parted thighs.

I moaned-just for an instant-then clamped my traitorous mouth shut. I was not that girl.

He brushed my hair off my neck, and I felt the soft whisper of his mouth on my skin, right where my throat met my collar.

For a second, neither of us moved, each waiting for the other to come to our senses and stop.

But there was no being sensible in the dark. We weren't in a real place, this wasn't a real time, and nothing counted. He pressed against me, his leg rubbing between mine, turning the crease of my jeans into the most delicious friction. I bit back another moan and my hands migrated to his hips, pulling myself closer until I was almost resting my full weight on his thigh. Oh, yes.

The music was far away, the party was in another galaxy, but I could hear the rhythm, pounding, pounding. My hips moved, ever so slightly, to the beat, a fraction of an inch-press, tilt-not enough, of course. Not even close, but it felt more necessary in that moment than breathing. He moved closer, too, pressing in opposition. Press, release, press, release, until I thought I'd explode.

The back of my head thunked against the wall near his hands. As I arched my back, I felt the tip of his nose trace the line of my throat, his lips a millimeter away from my skin, a path of wet heat from my pulse point to my chin. The ache between my legs deepened, throbbing to the beat of that far-away music. He leaned over me, his sweater brushing against my breasts, and I longed for his hands on them, but he wouldn't, he couldn't. That would make it too real, too concrete, too obvious that we were actually doing this.

The bargaining continued as he braced his hands on the wall above my head and breathed harshly against my ear, as lost as I was, as desperate to go on. It's okay, I wanted to tell him. It doesn't count. We're not even kissing.

Like whores do.

The thought fell like a sheet of ice between us. My hands dropped to my sides and I slid off his leg. "Stop. Stop, Dylan. Stop."