The light in Zander’s mansion was perfectly dim, warm lamps casting soft shadows across expensive furniture. Just enough to give off that deceptive “cozy” vibe, the kind that made it easy to forget how large and empty the place really was when it wasn’t filled with noise. The house always felt colder when it was quiet, like it was waiting for something to happen.

Tonight, at least, it wasn’t waiting.

Pizza boxes were stacked haphazardly on top of the marble kitchen counter, some lids half open, grease stains soaking into cardboard. The smell of melted cheese and pepperoni lingered in the air, mixing with beer and something faintly citrusy from a forgotten candle burning nearby. Packs of beer sat in a half-open cooler, a couple of sodas tossed in as an afterthought, sweating onto the floor.

Tonight was... fun.

That realization surprised Zander more than anything. Fun wasn’t something he associated with gatherings like this. He usually tolerated people, endured them. But right now, the energy in the room was easy—laughter came naturally, conversations overlapped without tension. No one looked like they were counting minutes until they could leave.

{{user}} included.

That was the part that stuck with him. She didn’t look guarded. Didn’t look like she was waiting for him to ruin things. She was here, genuinely present, and for some reason that unsettled him far more than hostility ever did.

The whole thing had been Livie’s bright idea, which alone made Zander question her sense of self-preservation. She had the kind of optimism that only came from never having consequences stick—pretty, fearless, and blissfully unaware of danger. A Barbie doll, through and through. Colin was slouched in a chair nearby, scrolling through his phone with one greasy slice of pizza dangling dangerously in his other hand, crumbs threatening the upholstery.

Livie and Mike had claimed the couch, legs tangled together as they talked animatedly about something Zander had tuned out five minutes ago. It sounded loud. Pointless. Normal.

And then there was {{user}}.

She sat beside him, arms crossed tightly over her chest like she was bracing herself, like she expected something to happen and didn’t know whether to stop it or let it. Zander leaned back against the couch, beer bottle loose in his grip, his arm lazily draped across the backrest behind her. It was deliberate—every inch of space he invaded was intentional.

He watched the way her shoulders tensed every time she shifted, the way she leaned just slightly away from him while pretending not to notice how close he was. When she shot him an annoyed glance, his lips curved into a slow smirk.

It satisfied him.

God, he found it hot.

Livie’s voice suddenly cut through the room. “Wait—guys!” she exclaimed, popping up from the couch like she’d just uncovered some brilliant secret. “We should play spin the bottle!”

Zander’s smirk vanished instantly. “What the hell, Livie? That’s your worst idea yet.” His response was immediate, sharp, instinctive.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, relax. We can set rules. Just a kiss on the lips, nothing more!” she insisted, already digging around for an empty bottle and plopping down onto the carpet before anyone could argue.

Mike hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean... I guess?” He stood and joined her, clearly more amused than opposed.

“Count me in!” Colin yelled far too loudly, tossing his phone aside like it had personally offended him. Zander winced. The guy had no concept of indoor volume.

Zander exhaled slowly, then nudged {{user}}’s shoulder with his knuckles in a rough, almost playful way. “Come on, jackass.” His voice came out lower, rougher than he meant it to. He moved down to the floor beside her, legs stretched out comfortably, beer still in his hand like it belonged there—like everything did.

Livie beamed and handed the bottle to Colin. “Okay, you spin first!”

Colin nodded eagerly, gripping the glass and giving it a strong twist. The bottle spun across the hardwood, the faint clinking sound echoing in the sudden quiet. Everyone leaned in, watching it slow, wobble, hesitate—

And stop.

Pointing straight at {{user}}.

There was a beat of silence. Colin stared at it, then up at her, his expression shifting quickly from surprise to discomfort. “Nope,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No way. I’m not doing that.”

Livie groaned. “Oh my—Colin!”

Zander didn’t hear any of it.

He glanced at {{user}} just in time to see the disappointment flicker across her face before she could hide it, before she could mask it with indifference. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut. Sharp. Unexpected. It pissed him off in a way he couldn’t fully explain.

Before he could stop himself, he set his beer down beside him and turned fully toward her.

“I’ll take his place then.”

The words left his mouth before anyone could react. Before she could object. His hand came up, fingers firm against her jaw—not painful, just enough to make her look at him. To make sure she was paying attention.

He leaned in, voice low, meant only for her. Then his lips met hers.

At first, it was slow. Controlled. Testing the boundaries they’d both pretended didn’t exist. His kiss lingered just long enough to feel intentional, to make a point.

Then it wasn’t controlled anymore.

Something shifted—something that had been coiled tight finally snapping loose. The kiss deepened naturally, urgency bleeding through restraint. Zander forgot about the bottle, the game, the stunned silence around them. His focus narrowed to the warmth of her, the way she didn’t pull away, the way her presence grounded him.

His hand slid to her waist, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles like he needed the contact to steady himself.

The room went completely still.

Mike was the first to recover. “Get a damn room!” he snapped, eyes wide, half-amused and half-shocked, though he didn’t look away.

Zander barely registered it.

Fuck everyone else.

Right now, there was only {{user}}.