Anthropology grad students don’t go to frat parties. Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself as you hug the wall, nursing a warm drink and mentally cataloging every cultural faux pas in the room. You should’ve stayed home, buried in research, but somehow got dragged here — a fish out of water among the sea of loud music, spilled beer, and questionable decisions.

Then there’s him. Uzui Tengen. Criminal Justice’s golden boy, if you believe the rumors. He’s loud, he’s flashy, and currently halfway to drunk, draped across the couch like he owns the place. It’s hard to miss him — not that she ever could. They’d crossed paths on campus just enough to loathe each other. He calls her uptight; she calls him insufferable. And tonight? He’s no exception, regaling a crowd with a dramatic retelling of god-knows-what, hands flying, jewelry glinting in the dim light.

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