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plan she never uses. The subscription to Netflix, high-speed internet, and an entire digital library of books and magazines at her disposal are enough to keep her preoccupied on an entertainment budget.
    Shoving large chunks of cookie in her mouth and chasing them down with her sugary latte, Thessaly returns a few emails to vendors. She then scrolls through Facebook and replies to a few messages on The Hive’s business page, deleting the ones that ask for money or sex.
    After devouring the second cookie, Thessaly stands from the yellow, velvet sofa and dusts the crumbs into her hand. She tosses her garbage and the crumbs, and then removes her clothes, dropping them somewhere near a laundry basket on her way to the elevated bedroom. Living in an L-shaped studio provides a tenant with room for creativity. So last year, after waiting six months for approval, Kip and Thessaly’s dad built a platform structure to house her queen-size bed. Constructed four feet from the floor and painted in a glossy white, the base features a built-in bookcase and dresser drawers. Thessaly refers to it as her stage – but unless she’s performing a one-woman show, that stage is rarely used for anything but sleep.
    Fishing out an old Duke T-shirt she stole from Mason, Thessaly quickly changes and lumbers to the bathroom. She washes her face, brushes her teeth, lathers on some Clinique face cream, combs her loose curls, and then heads back to the couch. She scoops her laptop and phone in one hand while flipping off the lamp with the other. Climbing the five steps to her stage, Thessaly crawls into bed, wishing she had remembered to turn on the fan.
    “Goddamn it,” she bursts, kicking the striped duvet off her legs.
    Following her nightly bed routine, Thessaly sets her alarm for the following morning, checks her emails, and then opens Instagram to scroll through Mason’s photos. He apparently had a busy weekend in the Hamptons as his most recent additions are cozy pictures of exotic women on a yacht. Skank . He was never attracted to brunettes – Mason loved Thessaly’s fair skin and light hair, but now his photos are a collection of women with olive skin and brown hair. And no filters.
    Skank. She’s pretty. Skank.
    A glutton for salting the wounds, Thessaly moves to Facebook to reread their last interaction from a few days ago. It’s one of many inside jokes shared between them – started during a road trip in which they imitated Peter Brady’s impersonation of Humphrey Bogart across three states. Nostalgia is a fickle bitch.
    Mason Andrews > Tess Sinclair
I had the best pork chops.
    Tess Sinclair – And applesauce?
    Mason Andrews – Yes. Dinner was swell.
    Lonely and tired, Thessaly’s fingers hover close to the screen as tears fall from her eyes. She types several comments and erases them all – the easiest way to purge one’s feelings without any consequences.
    Tess Sinclair – I want you.
    Tess Sinclair – I need you.
    Tess Sinclair – We were supposed to get married.
    Tess Sinclair – One more fuck? LOL
    Tess Sinclair – You have my heart. And my tennis racket.
    Keeping it casual but with a slight push into a deeper conversation, Thessaly finally presses enter.
    Tess Sinclair – I miss you.
    And then she waits.

“I don’t know what’s more discriminating – getting the apartment because we told the board we’re partners, or being asked to decorate the lobby for Chanukah.”

Chapter Three
    {Oh, nice . . . oh, God, Meg. Mmm, yeah . . . suck it. Oh, shit . . . your mouth . . . deeper, mmm, deeper. Taste it. Oh, fuck . . . lick my balls, dirty slut. Want more? Beg me . . . mmm . . . beg for my cock, Meg, you like it. Mmm, I’m close, so close. I’m fucking your face. Mmm, ah, yes, yes, ah . . . }
    “Get up, asshole. You’re moaning.” A scratchy voice coughs, and then emits a sound that can only come from a throat full of phlegm.
    Awakened from his dream, Seth rolls off the bottom bunk, his