The drinks and steady stream of girls kept my blood pumping, sometimes.

Stress, in college, was a must to survive, it seemed, but the stench of alcohol, sweat and the mingling of perfumes drowned out the noise. The girls were a bonus. Call me self-adsorbed, but when women threw themselves at me from every other angle, it made me feel great.

Made me feel proud of the way I looked. Manipulation, when you were raised on using your looks against people, came easy.

I almost forgot that I brought Noah to the party. Noah and his new-but-not-new-girlfriend. That’s what it was now. Her and Noah, not Noah and Lincoln. No, I was pushed to the sidelines and had to watch Noah practically baby the woman.

He walked up beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder, “You alright, man?” He asks, and I un-clench my jaw. His other hand was on his girlfriend’s lower back.

I nod, “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, clearing my throat, spotting the next girl across the bar. She looked like a goddess, and I have a vague memory of her walking past me on campus.

“Great,” Noah says, “we’re going now, don’t stay up too late, and don’t get absolutely wasted.” He said, then squeezed my shoulder in a brotherly gesture, then disappeared through the crowd of people.

I walk over to the woman I spotted earlier, and she looks up at me with a raised eyebrow, a flash of recognition flashing through her eyes. Ah, so she does know who I am. Interesting. Despite that, her face was schooled into an expression of boredom.

I clear my throat, suddenly nervous, Odd. “Hey, there…” I say, pulling on my (hopefully) charming smile and sliding into the booth next to her. “Care for a drink?” I ask, but I’m already waving over the boy carrying the red solo cups.

She doesn’t answer me, and, for a moment, I think she’s seen right through me.