Amy’s POV
The living room pulsed with loud music and glowing party lights, the kind that flickered between blue and red like we were inside a nightclub instead of someone’s suburban home. The victory party had started hours ago, and by now it was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with students from both schools. It didn’t make any sense why rival teams would party together after a game, but apparently, a win was a win—and drama, it seemed, was always invited.
James and I had agreed to stay out of the spotlight. We came in through the side gate and slipped quietly into the kitchen, where it was slightly calmer. I grabbed a fizzy fruit drink from the cooler while he hovered close behind me, tapping his fingers lightly on the counter to the beat of the music. His presence was easy, warm, and grounding—something I never thought I’d associate with someone like him.
“I still can’t believe I’m at a party with Louisville kids,” I muttered, sipping my drink.
He leaned in close so I could hear him over the music. “I still can’t believe I’m fake-dating the enemy cheer captain.”
I nudged him playfully with my elbow. “Correction. I’m the real cheer captain now.”
He gave me a slow, proud smile. “Damn right you are.”
We stayed close to the kitchen for a while, just talking, laughing, occasionally watching the chaos unfold around us. There was something almost peaceful about hiding in plain sight, like no one could touch the little world we had built between us. But peace never lasts long when Camilla is in the same room.
“Spin the bottle!” someone shouted from the center of the living room, and just like that, half the party started gathering around in a messy circle on the floor. Loud cheers and whistles filled the air. I started to pull James toward the hallway, ready to sneak away before anyone noticed us, but then I heard her voice.
“There you are,” Camilla said, appearing out of nowhere, like she had materialized from smoke and perfume. Her lips curved into a fake-sweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Leaving so soon?”
I didn’t answer. I just stared at her, already feeling my stomach tighten.
“Come on,” she said smoothly, motioning to the circle on the floor. “Let’s make it interesting.”
Before I could refuse, she grabbed my hand—hard—and dragged me toward the crowd. James followed, his expression unreadable but alert, like he was already calculating how this would go down.
We were pulled into the circle. A dozen people sat cross-legged, some sipping drinks, some laughing like this was the best idea ever. The empty glass bottle sat in the middle like a bomb waiting to explode.
Camilla took her place directly across from us, flipping her hair over one shoulder.
Then she spun the bottle.
It spun and spun, slower and slower, until it pointed right between me and James.
The room erupted.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” people chanted, clapping and hollering like they were watching a show.
I could feel my cheeks burning. My hand clenched around the plastic cup I was holding. James turned toward me, calm and steady, and raised an eyebrow like he had all the time in the world.
“Real or fake?” he asked me quietly, his voice low and just for me.
The alcohol in my system made everything feel floaty, like I was underwater but still somehow burning up from the inside. My heart was thudding in my ears. The room was spinning. Everyone was staring.
And I was done pretending I didn’t want it.
“Just shut up and kiss me,” I whispered.
He did.
The moment his lips touched mine, everything else disappeared. The music, the people, the noise—they all faded. His mouth was warm, sure, and when his hand found my waist, pulling me slightly closer, I let him. I melted into him like I had been waiting for this, like my body had known long before my brain ever caught up. It was electric. It was intense. And there was nothing fake about it.
I felt him breathe against me, like even he was surprised by how real it felt. I kissed him harder, my fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was dangerous. I knew the line between fake and real had already blurred.
Flash.
A bright white burst of light hit my eyes.
We both froze. The kiss broke, and I turned sharply toward the source.
That’s when I saw her.
Camilla.
She stood a few feet away, holding her phone up like it was a trophy. And she was smiling.
I could feel my heart drop into my stomach. Of course, it had to be her. The girl who always seemed to get a kick out of messing with me. She was holding her phone, the camera still aimed at us like she was just waiting for this moment—waiting for the perfect shot to ruin everything. I was dating the quarterback, the guy everyone loved to hate. People were already pissed about it, pissed that I was with him, pissed that I was somehow tangled up in this mess. But Camilla? She loved it. She loved having that picture, knowing it would only make things worse for me. Her smile wasn’t sweet—it was a smirk, the kind that said, I got you.