Chapter 2: The Dragon Bong Initiation
The door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall, and Marcus filled the frame like a benevolent hurricane.
"Roommate!" he bellowed, brandishing a bottle of Jägermeister like a trophy. "I brought the good stuff. Well, the stuff that gets you good. Same difference."
Danny was still sitting on his bare mattress, shoes off, staring at his phone. He'd been in the middle of composing a text to his mom—something reassuring, something that didn't mention the girl with the clipboard or the punch that tasted like gasoline. He looked up.
"That's... a lot of Jäger."
"That's the point." Marcus kicked the door shut behind him and crossed the room in three long strides. He set the bottle on the desk, next to the dragon bong, and dropped onto his own mattress with a groan of springs. "You look like you need it."
"I look like that?"
"You've got that face. The one transfers get." Marcus unscrewed the cap and took a swig directly from the bottle. He winced, shook his head like a dog, and held it out. "Your turn."
Danny hesitated. Then he took the bottle, sniffed it—licorice and bad decisions—and drank.
It burned going down. He coughed. Marcus laughed.
"Welcome to the family," Marcus said.
They passed the bottle back and forth, settling into a rhythm. Marcus talked about his band—"We're called Bear and the Honeypots, and before you ask, yes, I named it after myself"—and his major—"Hospitality management. Basically I'm learning how to throw better parties." Danny found himself relaxing, the Jäger working its way through his system, loosening his tongue.
"Jess told me you're her control group," Marcus said eventually.
"You know Jess?"
"Everyone knows Jess." Marcus took a long pull from the bottle. "She's been running her little social experiments since freshman year. Most people don't notice. You did."
"She wasn't subtle."
"She doesn't try to be." Marcus capped the bottle and set it aside. His face shifted, the easy grin fading into something more contemplative. "You want some advice?"
"Sure."
"This place can eat you alive if you let it." Marcus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Everyone's trying to figure out who they are, and they do it by drinking too much and fucking people they don't like and pretending it's all fine. It's not fine. It's just loud enough to drown out the quiet."
Danny stared at him. "That's... surprisingly deep."
"I'm a fifth-year senior, man. I've seen some shit." Marcus grinned again, the moment passing. "Point is, you seem like a decent dude. Don't let the chaos turn you into an asshole."
"I'll try."
"Good." Marcus stood up. "Now. Drinking game. You know 'Never Have I Ever'?"
"I know it."
"Then we're playing. But the advanced version. Every time you haven't done something, you drink. Every time you have, you tell the story."
Danny laughed. "That's just 'tell me your secrets while we get drunk.'"
"Exactly." Marcus settled back onto his mattress, cross-legged, and gestured at Danny. "You first."
Danny thought for a moment. "Never have I ever... been arrested."
Marcus drank. "Sophomore year. Streaking through the dean's garden. Wrong dean. Got tackled by campus security in a rosebush. Still have the scars."
"Jesus."
"Your turn."
They went back and forth, trading stories. Marcus had done a lot—more than Danny could have imagined. Stealing a golf cart, crashing a wedding, accidentally joining a cult for three weeks before realizing what it was. Danny's confessions were tamer. A broken window in high school. A shoplifting phase in middle school. The time he'd kissed his ex-girlfriend's sister at a party and never told anyone.
"That's cold," Marcus said, but he was laughing.
"It was a mistake."
"Most things are." Marcus raised the bottle. "To mistakes."
They drank.
The room was warm now, the LED strip pulsing in lazy rhythms against the wall. Danny's head was buzzing, his limbs loose. He was about to suggest another round when the door opened without a knock.
The girl who walked in didn't ask permission. She didn't need to. She moved like the room belonged to her, like she'd already mapped every corner and decided it was acceptable.
Her hair was platinum blonde, cut short and sharp, framing a face that belonged on magazine covers. Dark eyes, dark lips, a silver ring through her nose that caught the light when she turned. She wore a cropped leather jacket over a black tank top, ripped jeans that looked intentional, and boots that had seen things.
She looked at Danny. Then at Marcus. Then at the bottle.
"Jäger," she said. "Classy."
"Shelby," Marcus said, and there was something in his voice—a warning, or a welcome, Danny couldn't tell. "Didn't know you were back."
"Got back this morning." She crossed the room and plucked the bottle from Marcus's hands. "Heard there was a new transfer. Had to see for myself."
She turned to Danny.
He was still sitting on his mattress, suddenly aware of how he must look—messy hair, rumpled shirt, the faint sheen of sweat from the Jäger. She looked at him like she was appraising a piece of art she wasn't sure she liked.
"You're the control group," she said.
"Word travels fast."
"Jess texted me." Shelby took a long drink from the bottle, her throat working as she swallowed. She didn't wince. "She said you were interesting. I wanted to see if she was right."
"And?"
"Jury's still out." She handed the bottle back to Marcus and dropped onto the floor between the two beds, folding her legs beneath her. "So. Danny. What's your deal?"
"I don't have a deal."
"Everyone has a deal." She tilted her head, studying him. "You're a transfer. Quiet. Observant. Probably running from something. Am I close?"
Danny said nothing.
"Closer than you want to admit." Shelby smiled, and it was sharp. "It's okay. Everyone here is running from something. The only difference is whether you're running toward something better or just away."
"And which one are you?"
The smile flickered. For a moment, something else surfaced—something tired, something real. Then it was gone.
"Both," she said. "Depends on the day."
Marcus cleared his throat. "You two want a minute, or should I start the next round?"
Shelby didn't look away from Danny. "Start the round."
They played. Shelby was ruthless—she'd done everything, apparently, and she told the stories with a theatrical flair that made Marcus howl with laughter. Stealing a police horse. Setting off fireworks in the library. A threesome with two grad students that ended with someone's thesis getting burned.
Danny drank more than he should have. His head was swimming, but he couldn't stop watching her. There was something underneath the performance, something that didn't quite fit the party-girl costume. Every time she laughed, her eyes lingered on him a beat too long. Every time she caught him looking, she held his gaze.
"You're staring," she said finally.
"You're interesting."
"I've heard that before."
"Not from me."
Shelby's lips parted. She leaned back on her hands, stretching, the tank top riding up to reveal a sliver of skin. "You're not impressed by me."
"Should I be?"
"Most people are."
"I'm not most people."
She laughed—a real laugh, not the performative one. "No. You're not." She looked at Marcus. "I like this one."
Marcus raised his hands. "He's all yours."
"Not yet." Shelby stood up, slow and deliberate. She crossed the room and stood in front of Danny, close enough that he could smell her—cigarettes and vanilla and something underneath that was just her. "I want to know what you're running from."
"It's not a good story."
"I don't care." She sat on the edge of his mattress, close enough that their knees almost touched. "Tell me anyway."
Marcus stood up. "I'm gonna... give you two a minute."
He headed for the door, but Shelby reached out and caught his wrist. "No. Stay."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"I'm always sure." She looked at Danny. "Unless he's not."
Danny's heart was hammering. He could feel the heat coming off her, the electricity in the air between them. He didn't know what was happening—not exactly—but he didn't want it to stop.
"I'm sure," he said.
Shelby smiled. "Good boy."
She kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. Her lips were firm, demanding, tasting of Jäger and something sharper underneath. She bit his bottom lip, hard enough to sting, and when he gasped, she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Her hands were in his hair, gripping hard, pulling him closer.
Danny groaned. His hands found her waist, her hips, the curve of her ass through her jeans. She was warm and solid and real, and she was kissing him like she wanted to consume him.
Marcus hadn't left.
Danny felt the mattress shift as Marcus sat down on the other side of the bed. Not interrupting—just present. Watching.
Shelby pulled back, her lips swollen, her eyes bright. She looked at Marcus over Danny's shoulder.
"You want in?" she asked.
Marcus considered. "You good?"
"Always."
"Not you." Marcus's gaze shifted to Danny. "You. You want this?"
Danny's brain was a fog of Jäger and want. But he understood the question. He understood what Marcus was really asking.
"I want it," he said. "Both of you."
Marcus nodded. "Then we need rules."
Shelby laughed. "Always the guardian."
"Always." Marcus's voice was easy but firm. "Anything goes, but anyone says stop, we stop. No questions. No hard feelings. Clear?"
"Clear," Shelby said.
"Clear," Danny said.
"Good." Marcus reached up and pulled his shirt over his head.
Danny had seen Marcus at the party—tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of build that came from lifting tables and kegs and carrying drunk friends home. But without the shirt, he was something else. Solid muscle, a thick chest dusted with hair, a stomach that was soft around the edges but powerful underneath. Tattoos snaked up his left arm—something floral, something abstract, a line of text Danny couldn't read in the dim light.
Shelby was already moving. She pulled her tank top over her head in one fluid motion, revealing a black lace bra that barely contained her breasts. Her skin was pale, almost luminous in the LED glow, and Danny could see the faint lines of a tattoo peeking out from under the lace—a snake winding up her ribcage.
"You're overdressed," she said to Danny.
He pulled his shirt off, fumbling with the hem, suddenly self-conscious. He was lean, not muscular, his chest pale and smooth. Next to Marcus, he looked like a stick figure.
Shelby didn't seem to care. Her hands were on him again, nails raking down his chest, leaving red lines that faded almost instantly. She leaned in and bit his shoulder, hard.
"Ow."
"You'll live." She pushed him back onto the mattress.
The springs screamed.
Marcus laughed. "These beds are gonna break."
"Let them." Shelby straddled Danny, her knees on either side of his hips. She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra with one hand—a practiced move—and let it fall away.
Her breasts were perfect. Small, firm, with dark nipples that were already hard. Danny reached up to touch them, and she caught his wrists.
"Not yet." She leaned down, her hair brushing his face, and kissed him again. Softer this time. Slower. Her hips ground against his, and he could feel the heat of her through his jeans, the dampness soaking through the fabric.
Marcus moved closer. His hand landed on Shelby's back, tracing the line of her spine, and she arched into the touch like a cat.
"You're so fucking beautiful," Marcus murmured.
"I know." But there was something soft in her voice when she said it. Something that didn't match the words.
Marcus's hand slid lower, over the curve of her ass, and Shelby moaned into Danny's mouth. She pulled back, breathing hard, and looked at Marcus.
"You want to fuck me?" she asked.
"I want to make you feel good."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Shelby stared at him. Then she laughed. "Fine. Both of you. I want both of you inside me. At the same time."
Danny's brain short-circuited. "What?"
"You heard me." She climbed off him and stood up, unbuttoning her jeans. She shimmied out of them, revealing black lace panties that matched the bra. Then she hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down, slow, deliberate.
She was bare underneath. Wet. Ready.
Marcus was already undressed—Danny hadn't seen him do it, but suddenly he was naked, and he was big. Thick. His cock stood at attention, curving slightly upward, and Danny felt a flicker of something—intimidation, arousal, he couldn't tell.
"Condoms," Marcus said. "In my drawer."
Shelby retrieved them, tossing a strip onto the bed. She looked at Danny. "You ever done this before?"
"No."
"Then you're in for a treat." She crawled back onto the bed and positioned herself between them. "Marcus, you take the back. Danny, you're in front."
Marcus rolled on a condom with practiced ease. "You sure you want this, Danny?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "I want it."
"Good." Marcus moved behind Shelby, his hands on her hips, positioning himself. "Shelby, you ready?"
"Fuck me already."
Marcus pushed inside her from behind.
Shelby gasped, her back arching, her hands gripping the sheets. "Oh, fuck. Yes."
Danny watched, transfixed. Marcus moved slowly, deliberately, each thrust making Shelby moan. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Your turn," Marcus said.
Danny fumbled with the condom, his hands shaking. Shelby opened her eyes and looked at him.
"Come here."
He positioned himself in front of her, his cock aching, and she reached down and guided him inside.
She was tight. Hot. Wet. Danny groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily, and Shelby laughed.
"Easy," she said. "We've got time."
But he couldn't be easy. She was surrounding him, and Marcus was moving behind her, and the two of them were fucking her in tandem, a rhythm that built and built. Shelby's moans filled the room, mixing with the screaming springs and the slap of skin on skin.
"Harder," she demanded. "Fuck me harder."
Danny obeyed. He pounded into her, his hands on her breasts, his mouth on her neck. Marcus matched his rhythm, their hips slamming together, Shelby trapped between them, taking everything they gave her.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, that's good. Right there. Don't stop."
Danny wasn't going to stop. He couldn't. The pleasure was building, coiling in his gut, and he knew he was close.
"Not yet," Shelby said, reading his face. "Wait for me."
"I can't—"
"You can." She reached down and rubbed her clit, fast and rough, her fingers working in circles. "Almost there. Almost—"
She came with a cry, her body convulsing around Danny's cock, and that was it. He was gone. He came with a shout, his hips stuttering, emptying himself into the condom while Marcus kept going behind her, fucking her through the aftershocks.
Marcus came a few seconds later, a low groan escaping his throat, his hands gripping Shelby's hips hard enough to bruise.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Shelby collapsed forward onto Danny's chest, her breath hot against his neck.
"Holy shit," she whispered.
Danny laughed. He couldn't help it. "Yeah."
Marcus pulled out and disposed of his condom, then helped Danny with his. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a wet washcloth, gently cleaning Shelby up.
"I can do it myself," she mumbled.
"I know."
She didn't argue.
They lay there, the three of them, tangled together on Danny's ruined mattress. The LED strip flickered. The party still thumped through the walls. But in room 317, everything was quiet.
Shelby traced patterns on Danny's chest—circles, spirals, shapes he couldn't identify.
"You're not like the others," she said.
"Others?"
"The guys here. They see me and they see a challenge. A conquest. Something to brag about." She lifted her head, her dark eyes meeting his. "You looked at me like I was a person."
"Aren't you?"
"I don't know anymore." She laid her head back down. "It's been a long time since someone asked."
Marcus reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You're a person, Shelby. A pain in the ass, but a person."
She laughed. "Thanks, Bear."
"Anytime."
Danny closed his eyes. The room smelled like sex and sweat and Jäger. His body was sore in ways he hadn't expected. And yet, for the first time since he'd arrived, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
"I'm still running from something," he said quietly.
Shelby stirred. "Tell us."
So he did. He told them about his ex—the two years, the slow unraveling, the night she'd told him she'd been sleeping with someone else. He told them about the transfer, how he'd applied to this school on a whim, desperate to get away, to be someone new.
"Did it work?" Shelby asked.
"I don't know yet."
Marcus reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Give it time. You're doing fine."
"Am I?"
"You're in a dorm room with two people who've both been exactly where you are. You're not hiding. You're not pretending." Marcus smiled. "That's more than most people manage."
Danny nodded. He didn't have words.
Shelby was almost asleep now, curled against him like a cat. Her hand had stopped moving, resting flat on his chest, right over his heart.
"Stay," he whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Outside, the party raged on. Someone was puking in the hallway. Someone else was screaming about losing their keys. The bass shook the walls.
But in room 317, Danny slept.
Danny woke to the sound of someone retching in the hallway and the smell of stale sex clinging to his sheets.
His mouth tasted like copper and regret. The LED strip had died sometime during the night, leaving the room in gray morning light that made everything look cheap and sad. The dragon bong stared at him from the desk, its ceramic eyes judgmental.
Shelby was still there.
She lay on her stomach, one arm flung across his chest, her platinum hair a tangled mess against his pillow. The sheet had slipped down to her waist, revealing the snake tattoo curling up her ribs, its head resting just below her breast. In sleep, she looked younger. Softer. The sharp edges that defined her waking hours had dissolved into something almost peaceful.
Marcus was gone. His mattress was empty, the sheets pulled up neatly, a half-empty water bottle and two Advil sitting on Danny's desk.
Danny reached for the Advil. His head throbbed. The Jäger from last night sat in his stomach like a stone.
Shelby stirred. Her fingers curled against his chest, then relaxed. She mumbled something he couldn't understand.
"Hey," he said quietly. "You awake?"
"No."
"Fair enough."
She burrowed deeper into the pillow, and for a moment, he thought she'd gone back to sleep. Then her eyes opened—just a crack—and fixed on him.
"What time is it?"
"I don't know. Morning."
"Specific."
He found his phone under the pillow. The screen said 9:47. Three missed calls from his mom. A text from Jess: Control group status report requested. How's the ecosystem treating you?
"Almost ten," he said.
Shelby groaned. "Fuck."
She rolled off him and sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist. The snake tattoo caught the light, and Danny traced its line with his eyes—up her ribs, over her shoulder, curling toward her spine. He hadn't noticed the full extent of it last night.
"Nice ink," he said.
She looked down at herself, then back at him. "You're staring again."
"You're still interesting."
A smile flickered across her face—there and gone. "You're persistent."
"I'm hungover."
"Same thing." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching her arms above her head. Her back was a map of faint scars and freckles, the snake's tail disappearing into the small of her back. "Where's Bear?"
"Gone. Left water and painkillers."
"That's Marcus." She grabbed the water bottle and swallowed half of it in one go. Then she tossed it to Danny. "He's the only decent person on this campus."
"You're not decent?"
"I'm complicated." She found her jeans on the floor and stepped into them. No underwear. Just jeans, zipped up, sitting low on her hips. "There's a difference."
Danny sat up, wincing at the protest from his lower back. The mattress springs had left marks on his skin. "Are you leaving?"
"I have a thing." She pulled her tank top over her head, then her leather jacket. The armor going back on, piece by piece. "Brunch with my mother. She's in town."
"That sounds..."
"Like torture. Yes." She found her boots and sat on the edge of Marcus's bed to pull them on. "She thinks I'm wasting my potential. Thinks I should be in law school instead of studying philosophy. She's not wrong, but I'd rather die than admit it."
Danny didn't know what to say to that. He watched her tie her laces, efficient and quick, like everything she did.
"Last night," she said, not looking at him. "That was..."
"Unexpected."
"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"
He thought about it. The way she'd kissed him. The way Marcus had watched, steady and sure. The way the three of them had moved together, like something choreographed, like they'd done it a hundred times.
"Good," he said. "Definitely good."
She stood up, boots on, jacket zipped. The transformation was complete. The girl from last night—soft, vulnerable, tracing patterns on his chest—was gone. In her place stood the campus queen of chaos, sharp and untouchable.
"Don't tell anyone," she said.
"About what?"
"About this. About me staying. About..." She gestured vaguely at the bed, at him, at the whole situation. "People talk. I don't need the drama."
"Okay."
"Seriously, Danny." She crossed the room and stood over him, her eyes hard. "I don't know you. I don't know what kind of person you are. But if you spread this around, if you turn this into a story you tell at parties, I will make your life hell."
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then something shifted in her face—a crack in the armor, just for a second. "Good."
She turned to leave, hand on the door.
"Shelby."
She stopped.
"Last night, you said I looked at you like you were a person." He paused. "I still am."
She didn't turn around. But her shoulders dropped, just slightly—a fraction of tension releasing. "I know."
Then she was gone.
Danny sat there, alone in the wreckage of his room. The Advil kicked in, dulling the edges of his headache. He drank the rest of the water. He stared at the wall.
His phone buzzed again. Jess.
You alive?
He typed back: Barely.
Good. Dinner tonight. My place. 7 PM. Bring nothing but your control group observations.
He stared at the screen. Then he typed: Who else is coming?
Just you. I want to hear about the experiment so far. One-on-one.
Danny put the phone down. His heart was doing something strange—a flutter, a skip, a warning. He didn't know what Jess wanted. But he knew he was going to find out.
The door opened again.
Marcus came in carrying two coffees and a paper bag that smelled like grease and salvation. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that said "Bear and the Honeypots World Tour '23." His hair was wet. He'd showered.
"You're awake," Marcus said. "Good. I brought breakfast."
"Where'd you go?"
"Shower. Then food. You were out cold." He handed Danny a coffee and dropped the bag on the bed. "Shelby leave?"
"Yeah."
"How was she?"
Danny thought about it. "Guarded."
"Always is." Marcus sat on his own mattress and pulled a breakfast sandwich from the bag. "She's been like that since freshman year. Something happened. She doesn't talk about it."
"You don't know what it was?"
"I have theories. But it's not my story to tell." Marcus bit into the sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "She likes you, though. That's rare."
"She said she didn't know me."
"That's not the same as not liking you." Marcus swallowed and pointed the sandwich at Danny. "Look. Shelby's got a reputation. Most of it she built herself—armor, you know? If people are talking about the crazy party girl, they're not talking about the real shit. But underneath all that, she's just... lonely. Like everyone else here."
Danny sipped his coffee. It burned his tongue, but he didn't care. "Jess invited me to dinner tonight."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Just you?"
"That's what she said."
"Interesting." Marcus took another bite. "Jess doesn't do one-on-ones. She's always running some group dynamic thing. If she wants you alone, she's got a reason."
"Should I be worried?"
"Not worried. Curious." Marcus grinned. "You're in the middle of something, Danny. You've been here less than twenty-four hours, and you've already got Jess running experiments on you and Shelby..." He trailed off, gesturing at the bed. "Whatever that was."
"It was just sex."
"Nothing's just sex with Shelby." Marcus's voice was gentle but firm. "She doesn't do casual. Not really. She says she does, but she doesn't. That's why she stays guarded."
Danny didn't know what to do with that information. He filed it away, somewhere deep.
"Eat your sandwich," Marcus said. "You're gonna need your strength."
"For what?"
"Welcome Week starts today. Official events. Orientation shit. Team-building exercises that are actually just drinking games in disguise." Marcus stood up and tossed his wrapper in the trash. "You're gonna meet everyone. And everyone's gonna want to meet you."
"Why?"
"Because you're new. Because you're interesting. Because Shelby Whitaker spent the night in your room and word travels fast."
"I thought she didn't want anyone to know."
"She doesn't." Marcus grabbed his keys from the desk. "But people saw her come in. People saw her leave. This place is a fishbowl, man. You can't hide anything."
Danny's stomach dropped. "She's going to be pissed."
"Probably." Marcus shrugged. "But that's tomorrow's problem. Today, you've got orientation. Let's go."
He tossed Danny a t-shirt—clean, faded, from some band Danny didn't recognize. Danny pulled it on. It smelled like detergent and something else—a faint trace of Marcus's cologne.
They left the room together, stepping into the hallway that was already alive with noise. Someone had set up a speaker and was playing music. People were milling around, clutching coffee cups and looking hungover. A few nodded at Marcus. A few looked at Danny with curiosity.
The fishbowl.
Danny felt eyes on him. He kept walking.
They made it to the elevator before someone intercepted them.
"Daniel Sterling."
A girl with a clipboard—a different clipboard, but the same energy—stood in front of the elevator doors. She was short, with glasses and a bob haircut that looked like it had been cut with kitchen scissors.
"That's me," Danny said.
"Great. I'm Rachel, orientation committee. You're on the schedule for the 11 AM social mixer. Mandatory attendance."
"I didn't sign up for a mixer."
"Everyone's signed up. It's automatic." She handed him a schedule printed on bright orange paper. "Activities for the week. There's a dance party tonight, a scavenger hunt tomorrow, and the annual bonfire on Friday. You'll receive reminders."
She disappeared before Danny could ask any questions.
Marcus laughed. "Welcome to hell."
The elevator doors opened. They stepped inside.
"So what's the social mixer?" Danny asked.
"It's a room full of strangers playing icebreaker games. You stand in a circle and say your name and one interesting fact about yourself. Then you play trust exercises that always end with someone crying."
"Sounds awful."
"It is. But it's mandatory." Marcus pressed the button for the ground floor. "Welcome to the ecosystem."
The elevator lurched. Danny's phone buzzed again.
Shelby.
Heard you're at the mixer. See you there.
Danny stared at the message. His heart started that strange flutter again.
Marcus glanced at him. "What's up?"
"Shelby's coming to the mixer."
"Of course she is." Marcus grinned. "Told you. Fishbowl."
The elevator doors opened onto a lobby filled with people. Music played from somewhere—too loud, too early. Banners hung from the ceiling, welcoming the new semester. Someone handed Danny a name tag and a cup of generic fruit punch.
He put on the name tag. He took the punch.
He stepped into the crowd.
And somewhere, across the room, a platinum blonde head turned toward him. Dark eyes met his. Dark lips curved into a smile.
Danny smiled back.
The game was on.