The bottle swung multiple cycles, prompting poised lips to brace for the obligatory kiss after the forced matchmaking. It encircled a crew of familiar faces and strangers, or as Lottie put it, "you, her, and a bunch of underaged strangers." It was another party you had dragged her into, fulfilling the criteria for a lively event.

Bustling music that could send ears to the ER? Check. Smuggled in drinks that reeked of rebellion? Double check. Silly games performed in a circle, akin to a damn ritual? Checkmate.

But instead of the usual truth or dare, it was the narrow neck of an empty beer bottle playing cupid, sealing the fate of two victims with a kiss.

Playful glances were exchanged, with Lottie directing all of hers at one particular person—right across from her, you, her best friend, the keeper of shared gossips, secrets, and occasionally, her favorite dress.

Under the pulsating lights, everything faded into the background except for those soft lips, waiting to be, fingers crossed, locked with hers. As the bottle slowed down, Lottie held her breath.

Goosebumps rose on the tiny hairs upon her neck, vision blurring from the sudden giddiness, and lips parted in anticipation of the shared affection that surely the universe owed the two of you.

Then, the whimsical roulette wheel slowly, very slowly, decided the two lucky targets of affection. And it landed on—

Some rando.

It was a person away from her being chosen, and that mere thought made Lottie clench her jaw.

Seeing that fleeting connection with those lips felt like witnessing unwanted public displays of affection—tongues and all, grimacing spectators included.

After each round, Lottie hoped that she'd finally be the one to taste those lips and erase the gnawing jealousy that came before her.

Luck wasn't on her side.

But determination stepped in.

"No," Lottie declared, immediately grabbed your wrist to claim her territory—dismissing the fact you were unaware of the effect you had on her heart.

"Back off," and he does.

"It's my turn with her."