This happened many years ago back in college with a now ex-girlfriend named Gina. She was shorter, maybe 5’5”, with light brown hair and green eyes. When she smiled, she did it out of one corner of her mouth, and she was always down for an adventure of any sort. We were out at party with a group of friends in a student housing complex right next to the campus – one of those pre-COVID parties where everyone shares one giant tub of jungle juice and miraculously nobody got sick.
The night went on as normal. Drinking, beer pong, meeting random people and becoming best friends before promptly forgetting about each other the next day. Somewhere around 1 am, we all decided to call it quits, and walk back to our respective apartments. She actually lived in the same complex as the party, while I, and the bulk of the rest of the group, lived in the complex across the street. Gina said that she’d rather go back to her place instead of mine. I said of course, assuming she just didn’t want to walk further than necessary that late at night. Our group got to an intersection and we all split up, saying good bye and making plans to get bagels in the morning. Gina then took my hand and led me in the opposite direction, toward her apartment. “We’re not going home,” she whispered. Before I could ask what she meant, she took a hard right turn, right toward the pool house.