I somehow manage to sleep incredibly well Sunday night. Something about a day of traveling knocks me out. I feel a sort of warm tumbling inside my stomach when my alarm goes off at six A.M. Carter’s words ring in my ear.

Just a little kids’ summer camp, eh?

I’m not sure if he’s just messing with me, or if he truly doesn’t think I can dance any more.

Here’s the thing about dancing professionally. If you’re twenty-five like me and you haven’t made it yet, most people will write you off. Especially when you failed your last audition two years ago, and you’ve been out of practice for the same amount of time.

I was lucky I got this spot for the summer camp. They called me last Friday, when one of the forty dancers who was supposed to take part in Georgina’s tryout had to drop out. My name was first on the waitlist, so I took the spot.

As a result of the last second opportunity, I thought I could stay with my boyfriend for the duration of the tryout since he was conveniently located in Chicago.

And hence, he broke up with me, leaving me in this desperate situation, forced to stay with Carter. I guess I am lucky in a way that our moms are such good friends. If I couldn’t stay with him, I have no idea where I would have ended up. I probably would have had to hole up in a low-grade hotel and run up more credit card bills.

I walk to the the theatre on State Street in downtown Chicago, where we’ll be practicing.

I smile at the marquee lights as I walk by. Some day, I will perform in a big theatre like that.

Hopefully in New York. My dream city. Something about the place calls out to me.

Morning coffee in hand, I head into the the practice studio, where I’m greeted by a host of dancers sprawled over the floor, stretching before class.

I notice that in between the women, there’s a man with long, brown hair, in black tights and a tight white T-shirt, who could give Carter a run for his money as most sculpted man of Chicago.

Carter. Why do I still think of him like that? Why does my roommate have to ooze as much sex appeal as two men normally have? I shake my head.

And then I realize I’ve been staring unthinkingly into the mirror right at this other man.

Apparently, I have a problem.

“Hi Honey,” the man says with a giant smile. “You can’t just stare like that and not introduce your sexy ass to me.”

My jaw drops, and I raise my voice. “Excuse me?!”

He rolls his eyes and his neck, then circles the gaze of his blue-grey eyes back to me. “Please don’t get all uppity on me for commenting on how beautiful your form is.”

Smiling, he reaches out a hand. Oh. I should have been able to figure this out. But my gay-dar isn’t as good as it was in college. I suppose being isolated in a small town will take you a little off your game.

“I’m Lance,” he says as I awkwardly stare at him.

“Lacy. Pretty early to be commenting on our form, isn’t it?”

I take a sip of my coffee.

“That’s where you’re wrong, honey. It’s never too early . . . at least for me. And I’m sorry if you don’t like me commenting about your body. It’s just that,” he looks around and leans in. We’re out of earshot of everyone else. “You have a magnetic energy. And yes, I am only into guys.” He winks. “Just thought we could get that one out of the way.”

I smile, and relief pours through me. “That’s good to know. I’ll be honest, I haven’t had the best luck with men lately.”

He shakes his head vigorously. “You and me both, sister! Tell me, have you ever figured out why most men are such assholes? I can’t, for the life of me.”

I laugh. “Lance, I think we are going to be friends.”

The room quiets down when a woman in her forties enters. She’s got a mix of black and grey hair, and is in fantastically good shape.

“That’s Ms. Georgina Fleming,” Lance whispers.

My eyes widen. “She’s the one who makes the decisions about the final cut, right?”

Lance nods. “She’s ruthless.”

Georgina clears her throat, and you could hear a pin drop. This is going to be an interesting day.

Class is intense. I get to know some of the girls as well as Lance.

“Want to grab a drink?” he asks me as we leave the studio at the end of the day. “I’m parched.”

I shrug. “One glass. I guess.”

I intend to stay focused while I’m here. But something tells me I’d do well to make a new friend on my first day.

Lance and I head to a nearby happy hour, and I learn some things about him. He’s from southern Illinois, came out when he was twenty-four, when he moved to Boystown in Chicago. At age twenty-nine, he’s in a similar situation to me. In dancer years, we’re on the older side. He needs to win the spot with the Blue Illusion or, he says, he’ll probably never make it.

He asks who I’m living with.

“An old friend. Kind of.”

Lance narrows his eyes. “Kind of? What’s that mean?”

“Well, we’re from the same small town. Our moms are friends. But we don’t get along, to put it lightly.”

“Why don’t you get along if your moms are friends?” he asks after taking a swig of my drink.

I hesitate, and he senses it.

“Personal?” he asks.

“I don’t feel much like getting into it right now. Anyways, we’ve got another early class tomorrow, and I’ve got to pick up some things from the grocery store tonight. Lance, so great to meet you though. I feel like I have my first city friend.”

“Anything you need, you sexy bitch,” he winks, and I chuckle loudly.

It feels nice to know there’s at least one man out there who is in my corner.

I get a bag of groceries, and I’m shocked as I check my watch riding up the elevator. It’s almost nine o’clock.

Time to go to bed already. I’m actually a little relieved I won’t have to spend time lounging around Carter’s apartment, since I’m trying my best to avoid him while I’m here.

I turn the key in the lock, and I notice a faint noise coming from inside the apartment. A faint tune of some kind. Is Carter singing, possibly?

When I open the door, I recognize the noise, and it’s all I can do not to drop my bag of groceries.

The noise is clearly coming from Carter’s room.

It is not singing.

Well, not how most people define ‘singing.’

It is a woman screaming.

Not even moaning.

Screaming.

With every ounce of her being.

I hear a few, slightly inaudible words said as I stand frozen next to the refrigerator.

“Oh that’s good,” she says. And then, “I’m coming again,” and some others.

I put the the groceries away angrily, dumbfounded.

I slam the refrigerator door.

I grind my teeth and just stand there a moment. Listening.

I’m as much in awe as I am curious.

Who needs to scream that much during sex, anyway? What is she, putting on a show?

My nails bite into my palms, heat flushing through my body.

I try not to picture them, but Carter’s body pops back into my mind’s eye.

I don’t even have to imagine how good he looks with his shirt off.

But the thing that gets to me the most isn’t even that he’s with this other girl right now. Or how pretty she probably is. I bet she’s one of those air-headed brunettes like the other ones at class today.

No, the thought that really consumes me is that no matter how hard I try to deny it, my stomach is hardening right now. My breath is shortening.

Heat concentrates between my legs.

The fucking asshole.

My skin tightens, and I get the sensation that my flesh is crawling.

I pick up the phone and dial Lance’s number. “Hey you sexy thang,” he says. “You looking for a booty call already? I told you, I can’t help you.”

I smile. “No, it’s just, ah, can I come crash at your place tonight? I have a bit of an, ahem, situation in my apartment.”

“Sure thing Sugartits,” he says, and I love the fact that he doesn’t even ask me why. Just says yes.

The corner of my mouth turns up in a smirk at his little nickname for me. He texts me his address. I grab a few of my things and call an Uber.

Lance’s jaw might as well be on the ground. “No she was not!! Who actually screams like that?! That’s like, porno bullshit screaming.”

“I know. Ridiculous, right?”

“That’s like, beyond ridiculous. Here’s the sphere of what actually happens.”

He draws an imaginary circle in the air with his finger, then points outside the circle. “And here is a girl screaming like that for twenty minutes non-stop. ‘Oh your cock is so big.’ Please. I’ve seen plenty of cocks. And most guys are all talk.”

I sink further into his couch, feeling a little better.

Lance wrinkles his nose. “Tell me more about this guy, aside from the fact that you went to high school with him, your moms are best friends, and you hate each other for reasons unmentioned. What does he look like? What does he do?”

I purse my lips, slightly agitated that Carter is still the topic of conversation.“Uh. His name is Carter.”

“Carter . . . who? Maybe I know him.”

“Carter Flynn.”

Lance spews out the water he’s been drinking, and his eyes go wide.

“Carter. Flynn. The basketball player?”

I nod. He gets up and starts dancing around his room. I roll my eyes a little, but I can’t help but smile.

“No! You. Are. Living. With. The city’s sexiest man. Like literally, he was voted Gentleman of the year last year in Boys’ Magazine’s ‘guys we wish played for our team.’”

I frown. “He is—objectively—attractive, yes. And unfortunately I think that may have given him a huge ego boost yesterday in addition to his huge . . . never mind.”

Lance practically goes cross-eyed as he walks back to me on the couch.

“Uhm what?! You can’t just ‘never mind’ me like that. Have you actually seen it? How big is it? Spare me no details, Lacy. I can take it.”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I saw him in a towel yesterday. But who knows. I’m trying to block him out of my mind. Sorry, but do you mind if we talk about something else?”

Lance crosses his arms, and nods somberly. “I would think living with the world’s sexiest man would be amazing. I guess the grass is always greener. Well, you’re welcome to crash on my couch as often as you want.”

“Thanks.”

He narrows his gaze. “Even if it’s his house, super loud sex past nine P.M. is a dick move. So what are you going to do to get back at him?”

“I’ll think of something,” I say.

“I have an idea, if you’re up to it. It might be a little crazy for you though.”

I arch an eyebrow. “I can do a little crazy.”

He waves me closer to him and cups my ear.

“Are you seriously whispering? Isn’t this your apartment?”

“Shhh,” he says, and whispers his idea into my ear.

“Ho-ly shit,” I say. “That would teach him a lesson.”

He winks. “I’ve had enough of these stupid cocky assholes, too. Let’s get him back and see how he likes it.”

My heart races at the thought of Lance’s plan.

“It’s Monday. You’re thinking . . . tomorrow already we can do that?”

He nods, and puts his fingers together like he’s Mr. Burns from the Simpsons.

It’s not the sort of thing I would have ever come up with. It’s absolutely diabolical.

And it’s definitely going to help me teach Carter a lesson he’ll never forget.