Isla's POV
The music hit like a punch the second we stepped inside.
Not figuratively. Literally.
The bass thudded through the floorboards like a seismic event, and I was pretty sure the chandelier overhead was holding on for dear life. Someone had already spilled beer on the stairs, the living room reeked of weed, and the air was thick with a mix of cheap cologne and hormones.
Ah. College.
“Tell me again why we’re doing this,” I muttered as Maya dragged me deeper into the chaos.
“Because midterms are frying our brains, and I haven’t seen you do anything fun since ever,” she said, handing me a solo cup full of mystery liquid. “And because I plan to flirt until I forget what serotonin deficiency feels like.”
I sniffed the drink and cringed. “This smells like regret.”
“Exactly!” Maya
