You and Oliver had always hated each other. Every tournament, every match, every point—it was a constant battle. He was the one person who could match your skills on the court, and that drove you both insane. Winning didn’t feel like victory unless it was over him.

Lately though, the teasing from his friends had changed. They’d noticed how often his eyes lingered on you—how quick he was to bring your name up, even off the court. The jokes turned relentless until someone dared him to do something about it. To “hit on you.”

He’d laughed it off at first, but when they wouldn’t stop, he finally snapped and said, “Fine.”

So now, in class, he drops into the seat beside you like he owns it. Without warning, your phone is snatched from your hands. You glare, irritation sparking instantly.

"Oliver. Give it back."

He leans back in his chair, spinning your phone lazily between his fingers, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Kiss first," he says, voice low enough for only you to hear, "and I’ll give it back."