Slapshot (Moo U # 2) by Rebecca Jenshak



Living in the dorms as a junior is torture. There’s the cramped closet, the shared bathroom, ancient furniture, and dingy walls. And, of course, the total lack of privacy.

It’s especially terrible when you’ve already lived on your own and know the joys of independence and a quality mattress. All those things would be reason enough to miss my old life, complete with apartment, but I also have a roommate issue. An awful, unspeakable, truly shocking roommate issue.

She’s sleeping with my ex-boyfriend.

Listening to your ex have sex with anyone else, let alone your roommate, should be grounds for a transfer to another room.

It isn’t. I checked.

My RA was very understanding. She used those exact words several times. “I completely understand.” And then she suggested ear plugs or sitting down with my roommate and having an honest conversation about how I was feeling.

A decent suggestion if I had any desire to speak to my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend. I do not need to add humiliation to the long list of emotions the situation has thrown at me. Anger, sadness, jealousy, to name a few. Moo U was supposed to be a fresh start, not more lessons on coping with heartbreak.

“How long are they going to keep that up?” my friend Vivian asks with an impressed smile on her pink, glossy lips. She sits on my bed, staring at the wall separating mine and Chastity’s bedrooms.

“Judging by the moans, we have another few minutes until they finish.” I don’t look up from my laptop where I read through my notes for my content marketing class. We have a test tomorrow, and I am struggling to focus.

“I don’t know whether to be disgusted or turned on. Are they always this loud?”

“Disgusted and always.”

And here comes the name calling.

“Dylan. Oh, Dylan.”

This is when I usually blast my music to drown them out. I could almost pretend it was someone else if it weren’t for the talking. Is it too much to ask that they do it at his place? Or use a ball gag?

There may be a wall between us, but a floor, or twelve, wouldn’t be enough. Last week I caught a glimpse of Dylan, my now ex, coming out of the shower naked. He’s not at all hard to look at, and it just made me angry and sad all over again about how things went down between us.

When I got to Burlington University, not so affectionately known as Moo U for the bull mascot, I thought it was a stroke of good luck that I got paired with Chastity as a roommate.

We have absolutely nothing in common, but her hunky best friend was the first look of something good I’d had since I was kicked out of my last college and shipped off to freaking Vermont.

Turns out he was a mirage, and I was too tired and thirsty from crawling through hell to realize it until he was breaking promises and running off for long weekends to hang with his friend Chastity. I’ve learned the hard way that you can’t rely on things that seem too good to be true.

“Wow. You’d think with the wall between you, it’d muffle it somewhat. But it’s like they’re in the room,” Vivian whispers. I don’t know why. They obviously aren’t worried about people overhearing. “I think I can hear him spanking her ass.”

“She’s slapping the wall,” I supply. It super annoys me that I know their whole sex routine. They don’t vary it up much—though they sound utterly content refining the one routine. A perfect ten from both judges if I’m going by the screaming orgasm followed by silence.

“Lunch and a show. I think I need a jolt of caffeine after that. Do you want to hit the coffee shop before class?”

“Please. I can’t listen to any more of that.”

“There’s more?”

“Give it five minutes.”

“I’m sorry,” Vivian catches herself. “That has to be awful. You know you’re welcome to crash at my place any time.”

“Thank you. I’ll survive.” Whatever this year throws at me, and it’s thrown a lot, I will manage. There’s no other option.

I tuck my laptop into my backpack, and we trek from my dorm to the student union on the other side of campus. For all the ways my time at Moo U has been disappointing, the campus has exceeded my expectations.

My last college in New York was all money and prestige. Just one of many colleges in a big city. Tall buildings crammed together so close to others that it was hard to tell where one campus ended, and another began.