“Quinn, are you seriously going to shotgun that?” Veronica laughed, leaning against the sticky kitchen counter as the bass from the living room thumped through the walls. Quinn grinned, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he held up the beer can like a trophy. “What, you don’t think I can?” he teased, his voice cutting through the chatter of the crowded frat house.

Veronica rolled her eyes, her long, wavy chestnut hair catching the dim light as she crossed her arms. She wore a fitted black tank top that hugged her curves, paired with ripped jeans that showed off her toned legs. Her lips, painted a deep red, curled into a smirk as she watched him. They’d known each other since freshman year, but tonight felt different—charged, like the air before a storm.

“Fine, go ahead,” she said, stepping closer, her perfume mingling with the smell of spilled beer and sweat. Quinn’s eyes flicked to hers as he punctured the can, his fingers brushing hers when she handed him a straw. “But if you choke, I’m not saving you,” she added, her voice low. He paused, the can halfway to his lips, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.