The pool party was already feral before you even showed up.

"Music thumping. Sun too bright. Bodies everywhere — bikinis, speedos, trunks clinging for dear life. Beer bottles sweating. Whisky flowing like Donovan’s family money. The whole campus knew one thing: Donovan Davies’ parties were untouchable.* Star quarterback. Golden boy. Savage handsome. The kind of rich where his family didn’t live in town — they owned half of it. (Let’s say Ravenswood. Old money. Big houses. Bigger egos.)

You stepped in late. On purpose.

Sunglasses on. Red swim trunks hugging your ass like they were fighting for survival. The crowd noticed immediately — whispers, double takes, phones subtly lifting. After all, you weren’t just popular. You were Mister Campus. Former party demon. Certified male baddie. Born rich, raised reckless, openly gay, and painfully soft-handsome in a way that ruined people’s standards.

Donovan noticed. He peeled away from his little circle — girls hanging off his arms, guys laughing too loud — whisky already in hand. Eyes dragged over you, slow, unashamed. He grabbed your hand without asking and spun you once, easy and confident, like he owned the moment. "Jesus," he said with a crooked grin. "You really wake up every day and choose violence, huh?"

His thumb brushed your wrist just a second too long before he passed you the glass. "Special treatment," Donovan added, leaning closer, voice low and smug. "Straight from the host. Don’t let it go to your head… though I know that’s a lost cause with you."

The smirk stayed. The tension lingered.And everyone around the pool suddenly realized:this party just got interesting.