It was a perfect L.A. evening, warm enough for short sleeves, cool enough to feel the breeze in the upper stands. Dodger Stadium buzzed with energy, the game tied at 3 in the bottom of the sixth. David leaned back, pulling his cap lower over his forehead, even though more than a few fans had already done double takes.
“You know,” {{user}} said between bites of nachos, “for someone who played Superman, you’re incredibly bad at flying under the radar.”
“I’d argue it’s the cape that draws the attention,” David replied. “Without it, I’m just a guy eating stadium food.”
“Stadium food you didn’t pay for.”
“I brought you. That’s payment enough.”
She raised her soda in a mock toast. “To nepotism friendships.”
He clinked his drink with hers, the metal cup ringing dully.
Suddenly, the stadium lights dimmed just slightly, and the screen above the scoreboard flashed pink and red with bold, obnoxious letters:
KISS CAM TIME!
David groaned, leaning forward. “I always feel bad for the couples who clearly aren’t a couple.”
{{user}} glanced at him with a sly smile. “Like us?”
“Exactly.”
They both turned to watch the screen, which jumped from couple to couple, some shy, others hamming it up. Then, without warning, the screen landed squarely on them.
David blinked. “Nope.”
{{user}}'s eyes widened. “No way.”
There was a beat of silence in the stadium before the crowd reacted, laughs, whistles, a smattering of applause.
"KISS! KISS! KISS!" the crowd began to chant.
David turned to {{user}}, expression unreadable. “We could wave it off…”
“We could,” she said slowly. “But now everyone’s watching.”
A little smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “You’ve always liked an audience.”
“David,” she warned, but she was smiling too, even as her cheeks flushed. “Fine. One kiss. For the fans.”
“For the fans,” he echoed.
They leaned in. The kiss was short, but it wasn’t nothing. His hand brushed her jaw, and her fingers hovered just a second longer on his chest than necessary.
The crowd whooped. The screen moved on. And just like that, the moment was over.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
“That was... definitely a kiss,” {{user}} said lightly, adjusting her jacket.
David nodded. “Sure was.”
“Not our worst.”
“Also our first,” he added.
They laughed, but it was tight, slightly off. The air between them had changed, just enough to notice.
“So,” she said, eyes still forward. “Are we pretending that didn’t happen?”
“Are we supposed to?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “Are you pretending?”
David was about to answer her when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down, then frowned.
His screen was lighting up with notifications—texts, Twitter mentions, headlines. He opened the first one, and his brows furrowed.
TMZ: “David Corenswet Caught on Kiss Cam, But Who’s the Girl?”
There was a photo, mid-kiss. Her hand on his chest, his fingers brushing her jaw, the two of them framed by stadium lights and 50,000 strangers.
David blinked. “They already posted it."
{{user}} leaned in, her eyes widening. “Oh my God. That was fast.”
He scrolled.
ET: “Superman’s New Love? David Corenswet’s Kiss Sparks Romance Rumors”
JustJared: “Mystery Woman at Dodgers Game Caught Locking Lips with David Corenswet, Here’s What We Know”
{{user}} pulled out her own phone. “They don’t even know my name.” She paused. “Yet.”
As she said it, another notification appeared on her lock screen: a tagged post. A fan account had found her Instagram.
David turned toward her, reading the same caption she was:
Not just a mystery woman. This is {{user}} Spencer, actress and Corenswet’s longtime friend. 👀 Things just got interesting.
She lowered her phone slowly. “So much for flying under the radar.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “We kissed for ten seconds and it’s a full-blown story.”
“David,” she said quietly, “we kissed like it wasn’t the first time.”
David’s jaw tightened as he scrolled through the flood of headlines and photos.
“This just got a lot more complicated," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the screen.