Triple Love Score by Brandi Megan Granett

without any lights on and ate without talking. They finished the plates and then made another round. “So tell me a story, Ronan,” Miranda said.
    “About what?”
    “How did you wind up here?”
    “Here? I stood by your car for a really long time, and then you invited me home, and we made love twice, and naturally we were hungry and so we ate in the living room because your dining room table is a little crowded with papers.”
    “We didn’t make love.”
    “Are we going to have that conversation again?”
    “We will if you keep saying love. This can’t be love. But that isn’t what I meant. I meant here, in the States.”
    “Nothing exciting. I followed a girl.”
    “A girl? Now I can ask you, do you still love her?”
    “Yes,” he said.
    Miranda felt her stomach flip a little.
    “My sister,” he said. “She was following some bloke, and my mother paid for my application to graduate school if I went, too. Chaperone kind of.”
    “What graduate school? You’re in my undergraduate section.”
    “There is more to me than meets the eye, Miranda. I wanted the structure of a workshop while I finish my thesis. I audit your class. It’s on the website.”
    She never looked at her roster on the college website. She figured if someone wanted to sit in on her class without paying for it, who would it hurt? Who steals poetry classes? “Oh,” she said. Then she brightened. “So you aren’t my student?”
    “I am not. See we should have talked first. It might have saved you some anxiety.”
    “I didn’t have anxiety.”
    “Really? I saw the way you scurried for your clothes.”
    “You still hungry?” she asked.
    “Changing the subject. But, ah, anyway. I need to go.”
    “It’s like two in the morning.”
    “Graduate student—this is when I get my best writing done. And after today I have a lot to write about.”
    Miranda felt herself blanche.
    “Don’t worry, non-guilty, non-anxious parties will remain nameless. I’m serious, Miranda, you don’t seem to want to hear that, but I am. I don’t just do this sort of thing.”
    “Neither do I.”
    “Good.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, bending down to retrieve his jeans from the floor where they had fallen so many hours ago. He slipped them on, found his hoodie, and left, again locking the door on his way out. Miranda stared at the door. She couldn’t tell if she was hoping for a knock and for him to come back and spend the rest of the night. She couldn’t tell if she wanted him to come back the next day. All she could tell was that she was confused. And tired. Very tired. She closed her eyes, but her mind wouldn’t let anything settle. Instead, she picked up the phone and dialed Danielle, her best friend from high school. With the time difference between New York and Turkey, Danielle was the perfect person to call in the middle of the night.
    “Guess what I just did?” Miranda said. She knew how Danielle would respond.
    “What or who?”
    Miranda relished that she could finally answer who. It had been many years since a who. “Who. A student.”
    “What? A student. Are you crazy? Is this Miranda?”
    “Well, not really a student, he’s auditing the class. But I didn’t know that until after.”
    “After?”
    “After the second time.” It felt good to finally have juicy details.
    “Okay, spill.”
    So Miranda did, telling her everything.
    “And you were like prepared for that. You had condoms just sitting around. Or did he bring them? And ewww—he brought more than one. What does that mean he thinks about you?”
    “Condoms. No, I’m still on the pill.”
    “Really? You let some random guy go bareback. You, Miss Straight and Narrow just said, ah, fuck it?”
    “Ah, well, not really. I wasn’t thinking about it.”
    “Are you thinking about it now?”
    “I guess so.” Miranda regretted this phone call. She wanted to go back to just being proud of herself for doing something that didn’t require a five-year