“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
The chanting hits like a freight train. Twenty voices becoming one obnoxious demand, and I’m sitting here watching that stupid bottle point directly at Luca like it’s personally trying to ruin my life.
“Come on, Linwood!” Someone shouts. “Don’t be a pussy!”
My stomach drops straight to hell. This is it. This is how I die. Not from some noble cause or tragic accident, but from sheer social mortification in Jace Morrison’s living room.
Luca’s looking at me across the circle, and his expression is completely unreadable. No grin. No joke. Just those brown eyes locked on mine like he’s trying to solve some equation in his head.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, wiping my palms on my jeans. “This is actually happening.”
“Seems like it,” Luca says, and his voice is lower than usual. Rougher.
Jace is standing behind the circle now, arms crossed, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. “It’s just a game, right boys?”
The way he says ‘boys’ makes my skin crawl, but Luca doesn’t even glance at him. He’s still staring at me like I’m the only person in the room.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
Am I okay? My best friend—the guy I’ve been pathetically in love with for three years—is about to kiss me in front of twenty people because a bottle told him to. I’m the literal opposite of okay.
“Peachy,” I croak.
He shifts closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with whatever he’s been drinking. His knees bump mine, and the contact sends electricity straight up my spine.
“We don’t have to—”
“Just do it,” I interrupt, because the anticipation is actually killing me. “Before I pass out.”
Luca’s mouth quirks up at the corner. “Romantic.”
“Shut up.”
The crowd’s getting restless, someone’s making kissing noises, and I can hear phones being pulled out. Great. This disaster is about to be immortalized on social media.
“Hey.” Luca’s voice cuts through the noise. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “Look at me.”
I do. Big mistake. Because Luca’s eyes are soft and focused, like this isn’t just some stupid game. Like this actually means something.
“Still good?” he whispers.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Then he kisses me.
And holy shit.
It’s not a peck. It’s not some performative thing for the crowd. Luca kisses me like he means it—slow and sure and deliberate. His lips are warm and taste like whatever fruity drink he’s been nursing, and when he tilts his head slightly to deepen it, my brain completely flatlines.
I’m kissing Luca Reyes. Actually kissing him. And somehow, impossibly, he’s kissing me back.
My hand finds his shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing keeping me afloat. The crowd noise fades to white static. The room disappears. It’s just us, just this, just three years of wanting condensed into fifteen seconds that feel like forever.
When he pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“Fuck,” someone whistles. “That was actually hot.”
Reality crashes back like a slap. The crowd, the phones, the fact that I just made out with my best friend in front of half the school. My cheeks burn so hot I’m surprised I don’t combust.
“There we go!” Jace’s voice cuts through the moment like a knife. “Entertainment value delivered. Just a game, right Reyes?”
Luca’s hand is still on my face, thumb still tracing my cheekbone. He looks at me for a long moment before turning to Jace.
“Right,” he says, but there’s something in his voice that doesn’t match the word. “Just a game.”
Jace’s smile is sharp enough to draw blood. “Good to know. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
His eyes slide to me, and I see exactly what he’s thinking. That I’m pathetic. That this meant nothing. That I’m just another notch in Luca’s extensive belt.
“We should talk,” Luca says quietly, leaning closer.
Talk. About what? About how that kiss felt like everything I’ve ever wanted and nothing I can ever have? About how I’m so gone for him it’s basically a medical condition?
Panic hits like a tidal wave.
I can’t do this. Can’t sit here and pretend that kiss was casual when it just rearranged my entire molecular structure. Can’t listen to him explain why it didn’t mean anything. Can’t watch everyone else process the fact that Noah Linwood just tongue-wrestled Luca Reyes in public.
“I need air,” I mumble, scrambling to my feet.
“Noah, wait—”
But I’m already moving, pushing through the circle, ignoring the whispers and the phone cameras and Jace’s satisfied smirk. Someone laughs. Someone else makes a comment I don’t catch. My face is on fire, my lips are still tingling, and I can’t breathe.
“Where’s he going?” I hear someone ask.
“Probably to jack off in the bathroom,” comes the reply, followed by more laughter.
I don’t stop. Don’t turn around. Don’t acknowledge Luca calling my name.
I just run.
Because that’s what I do. When things get real, when the stakes get high, when my carefully constructed walls start crumbling—I fucking run.
I’m halfway to the front door when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Noah!”
But I’m already gone.