Living in a cheap college apartment means giving up your privacy. It means knowing how often your roommate brings a guy home, and what it sounds like when she does.

When a thunderstorm knocks out the power, the paper-thin walls are the only thing separating me from Mila and her newest hookup, Lucky Number Seven. The thud of the headboard. The flashes of lightning through the window. The muffled moans bleeding through the drywall. Surely, I won't just lie there and listen to them. Surely, I won't imagine exactly what's going on in the dark, envision myself as my roommate, and take matters into my own hands like I did for the other six guys.

Surely not.