Five minutes later, I hear the first signs of the party as the dull thud of heavy bass hits my ears. There’re so many more people at this party than the one in the woods and the throng has a tension-filled vibe that sets my nerves on edge. Sammy parks the cart at the end of the row and we climb out, holding hands so the dense crowd doesn’t separate us when we push into it.

The smell of body odor and weed fills the air and I wrinkle my nose. You’d think with this many rich kids in one area they’d be able to afford to buy decent deodorant, but apparently money doesn’t equal personal hygiene. Trying really hard not to touch anyone, I follow Sammy through the mass of people until we reach a row of kegs where a huge guy who looks more like he should be a bouncer rather than a student is standing with his arms crossed.

“Evening, ladies, cups are ten dollars each, you can refill as many times as you like, but if you lose your cup you have to buy a new one.”

Sammy and I shrug, then pull out money and hand it to the guy, who passes us each blue plastic cups with the Kingsacre logo on them.

“Kegs are tapped, always pump your own, don’t take a drink unless you fetched it yourself,” he warns.

“We will, thanks,” I say, offering him a smile for the safety talk, but not wanting to think about why he feels like he needs to warn us.

As we fill our cups, I feel like I’m at a real college party. The party in the woods with its cocktails and bartenders felt too rich kid to be a real college experience, but drinking beer from a plastic cup I just paid for feels much more authentic.

“Dancing or checking out the houses first?” Sammy asks. “The houses all decorate to a theme, this year it’s Hawaii so expect some sand, grass skirts and coconut bras.”

“Let’s dance a little first, get a few drinks into us, then we can check out the houses with a bit of a buzz,” I suggest.

Sammy smiles brightly then lifts her cup into the air, I tap mine against hers and we throw the foul beer back, turn and fill our cups again before making our way into the crowd to dance.

An hour later, I’m a little drunk and loving life. My hands are in the air and I’m dancing like I don’t have a care in the world. Sebastian has barely managed to enter my thoughts at all since that first beer.

“Shots time,” Sammy shouts, pulling a flask from her purse and waving it in the air giggling. Unscrewing the top she lifts it to her lips and takes a drink, grimacing slightly before handing it to me. I take a drink too, gagging when the sour hit of tequila coats my throat.

Some guys approach us and we’re all dancing when a large body moves behind me, not quite touching me but close enough that I can feel them. Glancing over my shoulder, I’m surprised to find Chase smiling at me.