The beginning of a new academic year at Greenhow University always meant the same thing: overpriced alcohol, questionable decisions, and parties that would inevitably become the subject of campus gossip before Monday morning.

And tonight was no exception.

The Alpha Phi and other Greek-life houses had barely finished welcoming the new students before the entire campus seemed to descend upon a massive party hosted at one of the fraternity houses. Music rattled the windows, colorful lights swept across crowded rooms, and the air smelled of expensive perfume, alcohol, and the faint sweetness of someone’s vanilla body spray. Red plastic cups littered every available surface, people shouted over the music, and strangers who had exchanged names barely five minutes ago were already dancing together as if they had been friends for years.

It was exactly the kind of chaos Bianca Hart adored.

At twenty-two, Bianca had already established herself as one of the most recognizable faces at Greenhow University. She was the president of Alpha Phi, a familiar name in campus gossip, and the sort of girl whose arrival at a party inevitably attracted attention. Tonight, dressed in a tiny pink skirt, a matching fitted top, and her favorite Juicy Couture accessories, she looked entirely at home amid the flashing lights and drunken laughter.

Her blonde hair cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, although several strands had already escaped their carefully styled arrangement. Her glossy lips shone beneath the warm lighting, and a delicate necklace rested against her collarbone. She had spent far too much money on her outfit to pretend that she hadn't intended to be noticed.

Not that she would ever admit it.

"Bianca, babe, you're going to regret mixing those drinks tomorrow," Naomi Brooks remarked, leaning against the kitchen counter with an amused expression. Her long, dark hair fell over one shoulder as she watched her best friend reach for yet another glass.

Bianca merely rolled her eyes, lifting the expensive vodka bottle as though Naomi had just suggested something utterly ridiculous.

"Oh, please. It's the beginning of the semester. If I wanted to make responsible decisions, I'd be sitting in the library right now, crying over case law." She poured herself another drink, the corner of her mouth curling into a mischievous smile. "Besides, I look too good tonight to go home early."

Sloane Mitchell, standing beside Naomi in a white outfit and gold jewelry, burst into laughter.

"God, you're insufferable." She leaned forward to steal a sip from Bianca's glass before the blonde could stop her. "And you're already flirting with people you swore you'd never speak to again."

Bianca glanced across the room, where a familiar dark-haired guy was laughing with a group of fraternity brothers.

"Correction, sweetheart. I said I'd never date him again." She took a generous sip of vodka, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "I never said anything about kissing him."

"You're a menace," Naomi muttered, although she was smiling.

"I'm a delight." Bianca punctuated the statement with an exaggerated little bow before slipping away from her friends.

She barely made it three steps before someone caught her attention.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite troublemaker."

The voice belonged to Mason Reed, a fraternity member she'd known since her sophomore year. Tall, broad-shouldered, and perpetually wearing the sort of grin that suggested he was always getting away with something, Mason was hardly a stranger. They had hooked up more than once, and neither of them had ever pretended their relationship was particularly complicated.

Bianca looked him up and down, then tilted her head.

"Mason." She dragged out his name, pretending to consider him. "I see they finally let you out of your cage."

He laughed, stepping closer.

"Missed me, sweetheart?"

"Like I miss a headache after it goes away."

"That's funny." His hand settled casually against her waist, and Bianca didn't bother moving away. "You were saying something very different the last time you were in my room."

Bianca let out a delighted laugh, briefly pressing her palm against his chest.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. I was drunk, and your room had air conditioning."

"Sure it did."

"It did!" She poked his chest with one manicured finger, narrowing her eyes theatrically. "And if you tell anyone otherwise, I'll have you expelled from the human race."

Mason grinned.

"Can I get a kiss before you destroy my entire existence?"

Bianca pretended to think about it. She glanced at his mouth, then back at his eyes, allowing the silence to stretch just long enough to make him impatient.

"One," she decided.

She leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn't a confession of affection or the beginning of some grand romance. It was simply Bianca being Bianca: impulsive, playful, and perfectly comfortable indulging in a little attention. Mason kissed her back, one hand remaining at her waist while her fingers briefly curled into the fabric of his shirt.

When they finally separated, Bianca wore a satisfied smile.

"Congratulations," she murmured, patting his cheek. "You can tell your grandchildren about this moment."

"You're unbelievable." Mason laughed, shaking his head.

"And yet, here you are."

She left him grinning after her, already distracted by something more interesting across the room.

---

That was how the evening continued.

Bianca drank, danced, flirted, and moved between familiar faces with the effortless confidence of someone who knew half the people in the house. She kissed a guy she'd hooked up with last semester, laughed in the face of another who tried to convince her to leave the party with him, and let an old acquaintance pull her into a brief dance before abandoning him the moment a better song came on.

There was no particular romance behind any of it. She knew these men, knew their habits, their jokes, and the kinds of messages they would send her the following morning. Some had been brief flings; others were familiar mistakes she occasionally enjoyed repeating.

Bianca wasn't looking for love tonight. She was looking to have fun. And, as far as she was concerned, she was doing a spectacular job. Unfortunately, expensive vodka had a way of making the passage of time feel suspiciously irrelevant.

By the time the music changed to a bass-heavy remix that sent half the living room screaming, Bianca had lost count of her drinks. Warmth spread through her body, her thoughts became pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, and the crowded house seemed to sway whenever she turned her head too quickly. She was still perfectly capable of talking, laughing, and delivering a devastating insult. Her sense of balance, however, had begun to negotiate its resignation.

"Bi!" Sloane called over the music, catching her by the wrist as Bianca attempted to weave through the crowd. "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere peaceful," Bianca announced, as though she were making an important public statement.

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "You mean the bathroom?"

Bianca pointed at her with a look of exaggerated triumph. "See? This is why I keep you around. You're practically a genius."

"You're drunk."

"And you're observant. We all have our gifts."

Sloane burst out laughing while Naomi reached for Bianca's arm to steady her.

"Seriously, go drink some water when you're done. And don't start a fight with anyone on your way there."

Bianca looked offended.

"Naomi, darling, when have I ever started a fight?"

Both girls stared at her.

She considered the question for a moment.

"That's irrelevant."

With that, Bianca disappeared into the crowd.

Getting to the bathroom turned out to be considerably more difficult than she'd anticipated.

Someone had decided that the hallway was an excellent place to dance. Two guys were arguing beside the staircase, a couple was making out against the wall, and a group of first-years had gathered around a phone, screaming over a video that Bianca couldn't have cared less about.

She squeezed between two people, nearly lost her footing, and caught herself against the wall.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered, smoothing the front of her pink top. "Do any of you people understand the concept of personal space?"

A guy she vaguely recognized from campus turned toward her.

"Hey, Bianca! You look amazing tonight."

"Thank you. You look..."

She paused, squinting at him as though trying to bring his face into focus.

"...familiar."

He laughed. "That's brutal."

"Don't take it personally, sweetheart. I forget the names of people I actually like."

"Then maybe I should give you a reason to remember mine." He stepped into her path, smiling hopefully. Bianca looked him over, then let out an amused little hum.

"Bold strategy. Questionable execution."

"Come on, just one kiss?"

She glanced toward the bathroom door farther down the hall.

She really, really needed to pee.

But the guy was cute enough, and the attention was pleasant, so Bianca caught the front of his shirt and pulled him down for a quick kiss.

"There," she declared when she pulled away, tapping his chest. "Now you've got a story. Congratulations."

"That's all I get?" The guy didn't seem to have any plans to back down, and the rejection hurt his ego.

"Would you like a commemorative certificate, too?"

He laughed, but before he could answer, Bianca slipped past him. She was done socializing. Done drinking. Done with the music, the heat, the endless bodies pressing against one another, and every single person who seemed determined to occupy precisely the patch of floor she needed to cross.

She hitched up the hem of her tiny skirt, which had ridden higher than she'd intended during the dancing, and tugged it back into place with an irritated frown. A few loose strands of blonde hair had fallen across her face. She brushed them aside, only for them to slip right back again.

"Fantastic," she grumbled. "Absolutely fucking fantastic."

Someone bumped her shoulder.

Bianca whipped around.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry!"

"Try doing it with your eyes open next time!"

She turned back and continued toward the bathroom, weaving between partygoers with increasing impatience. When a couple standing in the middle of the hallway failed to move aside, she planted a hand against the guy's shoulder and nudged him out of her way.

"Excuse me. Emergency."

The girl beside him frowned. "Seriously?"

Bianca shot her a look over her shoulder. "Unless you want to explain to everyone here why I died in this hallway, I'd suggest letting me pass."

She didn't wait for an answer.

Finally, mercifully, the bathroom door came into view.

Bianca reached for the handle, pulled it open, and slipped inside. She shut the door behind her with a decisive click, letting out a long, relieved breath. "Thank fucking God."

The sudden quiet was almost startling. The music still thumped through the walls, but it sounded distant now, muffled by the closed door. The bathroom was lit by warm overhead bulbs, and the large mirror above the sink reflected the disheveled state of her appearance.

Bianca stared at herself.

Her blonde hair was a mess. Her lipstick had faded slightly, and there was a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the crowded house.

She leaned toward the mirror, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, honey," she whispered to her reflection. "You are a fucking disaster."

Despite the insult, she couldn't help smiling. "But still just as stunning, beautiful and definitely... Modest."

She reached for a loose strand of hair and attempted to tuck it behind her ear, then gave up halfway through. Her fingers weren't cooperating particularly well, and the room seemed to tilt just enough to make the simplest tasks unnecessarily complicated.

Okay, she made it to the bathroom.

Then she'd fix her hair, touch up her lipstick, find Naomi and Sloane, and make absolutely certain nobody had stolen her phone.

A perfectly reasonable plan.

Bianca turned away from the mirror, already reaching to adjust the waistband of her skirt.

And stopped.

Someone else was in the bathroom.

For a second, she simply stared, her blue eyes blinking slowly as her alcohol-softened brain attempted to process the unexpected discovery.

Then her eyebrows rose.

"...What the fuck?"

She straightened, or at least tried to, and folded her arms across her chest.

Her gaze traveled over the unexpected occupant before returning to their face. Recognition wasn't there yet; she was too drunk, too distracted, and far too irritated to immediately place someone she hadn't expected to see.

"Okay." Bianca tilted her head, studying them with open suspicion. "Either I'm significantly drunker than I thought, or you're in the wrong bathroom."

She paused, glancing at the door behind her before looking back.

Then, with a small, incredulous laugh, she gestured vaguely around the room.

"Actually, you know what? I don't even care. I've been trying to get to this fucking toilet for the last ten minutes, and I'm not leaving now."

Bianca stepped toward the sink, bracing one hand against its edge as she caught her reflection in the mirror again.

She squinted at herself, tried unsuccessfully to smooth her hair, and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Just..." She glanced sideways at the other person, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Give me a minute, okay? Pretend you don't exist, and I'll do the same for you."

She reached for the faucet.

Then stopped, looking at them again.

"Wait."

Her lips curved into a slow, suspicious smile.

"Have we met before?"