Page 6 of The Scout

For a split second, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then, without another word, she slipped into her car and shut the door.

I watched her drive off, the tail lights fading into the Charleston night, and knew I should be relieved.

But all I felt was restless.

3

ISABEL

“That sucked,” I said dramatically as I burst through the door of my apartment and tossed my clutch onto an easy chair.

No response.

I sighed, kicking off my heels and rolling my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension from the night. The air inside was thick, warmer than it should have been, and just as I was about to call out for my roommate, Pia Paige, a sound filtered through the apartment—one that made me freeze mid-step.

A rhythmic, breathy moan.

“Oh—fuck, Ben?—”

My face went hot. No, no, no.

The sounds only got louder. The distinct creak of Pia’s bed, the low rumble of her boyfriend’s voice, the breathless gasps that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, mortified.

It wasn’t the first time Pia had brought Ben over—hell, he practically lived here—but they usually kept it behind closed doors. Apparently, not tonight.

Moving fast, I inched toward my bedroom, hoping to make it there before?—

“Oh, God, yes?—”

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I slammed my door shut behind me, pressing my back against it, eyes squeezed shut like that would somehow erase what I’d just walked into. My heart was pounding—part from secondhand embarrassment, part from the fact that I had zero experience with anything remotely close to what Pia and Ben were doing.

Sure, I’d kissed guys. Had a few fumbling, forgettable moments in college. But that? The kind of raw, uninhibited need I’d just overheard?

I didn’t know that. I wasn’t that.

I could still hear them. Less now, muffled by the thin walls, but enough that I knew they weren’t stopping. I buried my face in my hands, debating my options. I could blast music, leave the apartment, or die of sheer mortification.

Before I could decide, a sharp knock sounded against my door.

“Izzy?” Pia’s voice was high-pitched, sheepish.

I sighed. “You realize your door is wide open, right?”

A long pause. Then—“Shit.”

I heard hurried whispers, movement, the rustling of sheets, a door finally slamming shut. I dropped onto my bed, shaking my head, my face still burning. Of course, this was my life.

A minute later, my door creaked open. I peeked up to see Pia standing there, flushed and disheveled, wearing one of Ben’s t-shirts.

She winced as she piled her long blonde hair into a knot. “So, um … how much did you hear?”

I shot her a flat look.

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