The bar is packed, music pounding bass through your chest. You sit at the counter — second whiskey, maybe third, doesn't matter. She slides onto the stool next to you.

Crimson hair tousled, green eyes direct. Freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Smile promising trouble.

"Whiskey?" Orders the same, clinks glasses with you. "I'm Alisa."

You talk. You tell her something — about work, the city, weather. She listens, elbow propped on the counter. Nods. But doesn't look at your eyes.

Looks at your lips.

Her knee touches yours under the bar. Doesn't pull away. Presses slightly harder.

Mid-sentence, she leans in and kisses you.

Taste of whiskey on her tongue, bitter and sweet at once. Lips soft but movement hard — she bites your lower lip, pulls. Hand slides up your thigh, fingers squeeze your hardening cock through jeans. Warmth of her palm felt even through fabric.

Three seconds. Five. She pulls back an inch, looks into your eyes. Pupils wide, almost black. You're drowning... Her gaze intoxicates more than whiskey, arouses...

"Let's go."

Grabs your wrist — grip firm, hot. Pulls you through the crowd of dancing bodies.

Bathroom. Women's. She checks stalls — empty. Last one. Door slams, latch clicks.

Presses you against the wall, back to cold tile. Kisses again — deeper, more demanding. Teeth scrape your lip, tongue slides inside, insistent and hot. Hand slides under your shirt, palm hot, burning. Goosebumps run across your body.

Her other hand already unbuckling your belt — fast, impatient. Button. Zipper. Hand slides into underwear and wraps around your cock — tight, at the base. Squeezes.

"You want this?" Whispers right in your ear, breath scorching skin. "Say it."

Her dress already hiked to hips. She takes your hand and guides it between her legs. Panties pushed aside. Hot. Wet. Her hips thrust against your fingers, demanding.

Presses full body — skin to skin, heat to heat. Nipples hard even through thin bra fabric press into your chest. Smells of her perfume mixed with dance sweat, something floral and salty at once.

Someone knocks on the stall door.

She laughs — low sound in her throat. Bites your neck, tongue "scratches" tender skin.

"Ignore them."

Student party in full swing — music loud, beer flowing, someone already dancing on tables. You stand by the wall with plastic cup in hand, watching chaos from safe distance.

Across the room you notice her immediately. Crimson hair stands out even in this crowd.

Alisa dances with some girl, laughing, head thrown back. Turns — and catches your gaze. Freezes mid-movement. Smiles that same smile.

Walks toward you through dancing crowd, unhurried. Each step — hip sway, shoulders relaxed. Stops so close you feel warmth of her skin through thin dress fabric. Smells of her perfume mixed with dance sweat — sweet and salty at once.

"Hey." Leans against wall next to you, shoulder touching yours. "You stalking me or is this fate?"

Laughs, drinks from cup. Her hand slides up your forearm — light touch, fingers leave trail of warmth on skin.

"Remember how I fucked you in that bathroom?" Says it so easily, like discussing weather. "Or was it so long ago for you it's already forgotten?"

Music shifts to slower track. She steps closer, her hip presses against yours. Hand still on your forearm, thumb drawing circles on skin.

"Want a sequel? There's tons of empty rooms upstairs. Or are you one of those who prefers dinner and a movie first?" Grins. "Though we already skipped that part, so..."

Leans closer, lips by your ear.

"What do you say, baby?"

Morning. Sun breaks through cheap blinds, stripes of light fall on dorm room floor. You wake to warmth of another body beside you.

Alisa lies on her side facing you, completely naked. Sheet slipped to hips, exposing breasts and stomach. Crimson hair tousled on pillow, freckles on shoulders brighter in morning light. She's not asleep — watching you, smiling lazily.

"Good morning." Voice hoarse from sleep. Stretches, arches, her nipples harden from cool air. "Your roommate snores like a tractor."

On the other bed a guy really is sleeping — came home drunk last night, collapsed without undressing.

Alisa sits up, sheet slides off completely. She's not embarrassed at all, reaches for your t-shirt from floor, sniffs it.

"Smells like you." Pulls it on, shirt barely covers thighs. "Can I keep it?"

Gets out of bed, walks to window barefoot. Opens blinds wider, light floods room. Turns to you, leans against windowsill. Shirt rides up, visible there's nothing underneath.

"Hungry." Stretches again, arms overhead. "You got anything edible? Or should we go to cafeteria like this?" Laughs quietly, not to wake roommate. "Though I don't care. Do you?"

Walks back to bed, sits on edge. Her hand lands on your chest under blanket, fingers slide down your stomach.

"Or prefer breakfast later?"

A month flew by unnoticed. You've been seeing each other almost daily — parks, movies, parking lots, her room, yours. Short meetings, passionate, hot. Every time like the first.

Today you walk into café near campus — need coffee before lecture. Stop at threshold.

Alisa sits at window table. Next to her a guy — tall, blonde hair, sports jacket. She laughs, head thrown back, her hand rests on his forearm. He says something, she leans closer, touches his knee under table.

Turns her head — and sees you.

Face lights up with smile. Waves hand.

"Hey! Come here!" Voice joyful, sincere. "Meet Mark!"

Guy turns around, nods friendly. Alisa pats empty chair next to her.

"Mark, this is that guy I told you about." Looks at you, smiles that same smile. "Sit down, baby. We just ordered."

Her hand still on Mark's knee. She doesn't remove it. Looks at you expectantly, absolutely naturally, as if sees nothing strange in situation.

Two months. You still see each other almost daily, but now it's not just sex. Evening park walks, dinners at cheap diners, late-night talks on dorm roof. Something changed. Became more.

Now you sit on roof — your place. City below hums with cars, sky pinks at sunset, painting her crimson hair copper. She's in your hoodie, legs pulled up, head on your shoulder.

Silent. Just sitting. Her breathing warm on your neck.

She lifts her head, looks at you. Long. Green eyes serious, without usual spark. Her fingers find yours, intertwine.

"I think I fell in love with you." Says it quietly, slowly. No smile.

Pause. She looks away at sunset, then back. Swallows.

"I need to tell you something." Exhales, her hand squeezes yours harder. "I'm not like most people. Can't be with just one person. Tried before — felt suffocating. Like wearing same clothes every day, you know?"

Shakes head, hair falls on face. Tucks it behind ear.

"Doesn't mean I love you less. Opposite." Her thumb draws circles on your palm. "Sun shines on everyone, baby. Doesn't make its light for you any less warm."

Looks into eyes, doesn't blink.

"I want to be with you. But not only with you." Voice quieter. "Understand?"

Waits. Her breathing quickened, fingers tremble slightly in yours.

"Say something."