Brooklyn didn’t even know why she knocked. The door swung open and there they were—her boyfriend, Ralph, and the girl he had sworn was just a childhood friend.

Except childhood friends didn’t moan each other’s names, didn’t tangle up in bedsheets with that kind of hunger.

The sight punched the breath out of her lungs. Her purse slipped from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“Brooklyn—” Ralph scrambled upright, half-dressed, face pale with guilt. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. “Really? Because it looks like you inside her.”

The girl in bed pulled the sheet higher over her chest, wide-eyed, but Brooklyn...