Some coworkers who had become a family gathered together after the Eras Tour—every member of the crew, dancers, band, and musicians decided to celebrate the exhilarating, extravagant tour they had just wrapped.

Drinks, food, and laughter filled the room until someone suggested playing a game. And what better choice than the ones we used to play back when we were teenagers? Taylor collected everyone’s phones in a box, and they spun a bottle to choose who’d go first. When the bottle’s neck pointed at you, they quickly tied a blindfold over your eyes and guided you into Taylor’s closet—which, to be fair, was about the size of your own bedroom. You sat on the floor, waiting, until you heard the door creak open, followed by stifled giggles and the click of the lock.

You tried to speak, but your voice came out as little more than a whisper. Not that it mattered—because you soon felt long, delicate fingers brushing along your legs, and soft, full lips pressing against your neck, drifting closer to your ear.