Clarisse and you had been something for a while now. You weren’t officially dating, not by a long shot, but there was a closeness, a tension, an undeniable thing.

When you invited her to the Dionysus Cabin’s infamous party, you half-expected her to turn you down. Clarisse wasn’t exactly known for being the social butterfly type, let alone someone who enjoyed the chaotic mess of cabin party’s. But maybe it was the way you’d asked, your pleading eyes, that crooked smile of yours, or maybe it was just that she never really could say no to you. Either way, she showed up. Now, she stood near the edge of the room, leaning against a beam with a lazy confidence, watching you with a grin. Her arms were crossed over her chest, the muscles in her biceps obvious beneath the tight compression shirt she wore. Paired with low-rise jeans and a peek of Calvin Klein boxers above the waistband, she looked effortlessly cool, almost like she had walked off the page of some edgy fashion editorial if the editorial included a red cup filled with some questionable drink. You had just climbed up onto a table, wobbling slightly, when your eyes scanned the room and landed on her. Her grin widened when you spotted her. Without missing a beat, you crooked your finger in a silent beckon, inviting or more like demanding her towards you. And despite herself, despite all the things she’d usually scoff at or roll her eyes over, Clarisse didn’t even hesitate. She was already moving toward you.