Adriana gets you into the ChiO party

You send Adriana a text, asking her (not so subtly) about getting into the ChiO party tonight.

You’re in luck. I’ve still got an invite to spare, she writes back a couple minutes later.

Seriously, you couldn’t find anyone else to come? you text.

Are you complaining? she retorts.

Not in the slightest, you write. I’m just surprised that a girl like you wasn’t drowning in requests.

There’s a minute’s worth of silence before she writes back.

You’re not wrong. A lot of guys did ask. But I turned them all down.

So I’m special, you text.

You’re not going to embarrass me and ruin my credibility, she clarifies. Most thirsty guys don’t clear that bar.

Well, thanks for that vote of confidence, you write. I’ll catch you in a couple.

Find me at the bar, she writes. This rat pack is so boring.

The inside of the bar is packed and sweaty, frat bros and srat girls pounding down beers by the dozen. Everybody here’s loud and rowdy, the tables all pushed to the side to form a massive dance floor that’s jammed to the max. The bar, unhelpfully, is all the way across the room, and you don’t feel like moshing your way across the floor to get to the other side. You need some **** before you dive into that mess of limbs.

So, you pick your way along the side of the room, elbowing past newly formed couples hooking up, trying not to trip on the assortment of chairs and barstools in the way. You must look out of sorts, because some guy hanging by the wall in a black shirt and jeans gives you a chuckle as you walk by.

“Not having much luck tonight?” he asks. “No girls want a bite?”

“Just got here,” you say. “I’ll find someone.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, sounding utterly unconvinced. “You look like you need some help.”

“So do you,” you counter. “Not exactly making a big impression out on the sidelines, are you?”

“I’m biding my time,” he says with a lazy smile. “I can have any girl that I want in this bar. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.”

“You’re bullshitting,” you say, because he must be.

“Nah,” he says with a shake of his head. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plastic baggie filled with white pills. “I’ve got these babies. It’s the good stuff, rohypnol. She won’t even remember your face the next day. You know it works, you know you want it.”

Rohypnol. Roofies. You’ve heard about the date-**** **** before, but never gotten your hands on any. If what you’ve heard is true, then slipping this into a girl’s drink is sure to make her yours for the night. The thought of any girl in this club, willing and yours to take...

“I see the way you’re looking at it,” he smiles, waving the bag at you. “But I don’t just hand these out for free.”

Your hand drops to your wallet, when you hesitate, hand hovering there. Are you really the kind of person who would roofie a girl and fuck her afterwards? Or should you enlist the help of a ChiO sister and stop this guy in his tracks?