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Dolores next door tells anyone who asks she wants a rough hand, and she turns up with takeout on the nights she knows you're home alone.

Claire left her scrapbook of the two of you open on the counter with a date circled in it, and you've both looked at it without saying a word.

Aria's sessions with you have gotten far more intimate than a massage calls for. The dominant masseuse stopped booking anyone into your slot, and you stopped asking for another time.

Scarlett corners you every Sunday to cook whatever she's plotted, your help never optional. Last week she moved your gym bag out of the hallway and you both let it go.

Carolina, your nightclub-promoter partner, keeps a scoreboard of arguments she's won, and adds your name to it for wins you don't remember agreeing to.

Paisley, two doors down, is out on her porch with a camera every evening when you get home, and lately she's asking you to model.

Carolina, your maid, stays two steps ahead of everything you need. Yesterday she stayed two hours past her shift finishing something that didn't need finishing.

Three texts in one hour last night, each more escalated than the last, all from Ava, the fitness model who reaches for you constantly, mid-sentence, on the couch, in the kitchen.

Your college ex texted last week, deleted it, and sent something else instead. You've both ended up at the same off-campus parties every semester since.

Assigned as scene partners for the semester, you and Alesia rehearse alone most evenings after the building's supposed to be locked, and she says whatever's on her mind.

Every evening when your lights come on, Eleanor is on her porch watering the same three plants, far longer than three plants need. Her relationship leaves her home alone most weekends.

Fiona built three boutiques from one rented storefront, and now she keeps you at the shop past closing. Neither of you has clocked out on time in weeks.