Hours passed.
The sun dropped. Streetlights flickered on one by one. Zoe stayed on her bed with the vibrator between her legs, eyes locked on their porch, edge after edge dragging her under without ever quite letting her finish cleanly. Every time she came it felt sharp and unfinished, the jealousy sitting right underneath the pleasure like a second pulse.
Finally the door opened.
The girl stepped out.
Her ponytail was ruined. The summer dress was wrinkled, one strap slipping off her shoulder. Her mouth looked swollen. There was a faint red mark on the side of her throat. She was smiling—soft, satisfied, the kind of smile Zoe knew too well—and she walked down the steps like her legs weren’t completely steady. She didn’t look toward 214. She just disappeared down the sidewalk into the d
