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I stepped into the candlelit chaos of Sigma Chi frat house, a whirlpool of bodies and libations. Laughter and thumping bass pulsed through my veins as I made my way to the keg.
As I poured a red solo cup, I caught eyes with a ruggedly handsome frat brother, glancing down at the tight tank top clinging to my curves. “Hey there, heatwave,” he smirked, sidling up next to me. “You look like you’re ready to get wild.”
His friend, equally chiseled, leaned in, fingers trailing along my arm. “Yeah, we can show you a real party.” Before I could respond, they each grabbed a cup and steered me toward a darkened hallway.
