The dorm room was packed, warm with the buzz of cheap alcohol and too many bodies crammed into a small space. Someone had put on a playlist that kept switching and the air smelled like a mix of snacks, spilled beer, and the faintest hint of weed from the guys down the hall.

You were wedged between your best friend and Matthew on the floor, legs crossed, a half-empty cup of something vaguely fruity in your hand. The bottle in the center of the circle spun wildly, the whole group watching it with their entire attention.

It slowed.

It stopped.

And it was pointing right at you.

Your stomach did a weird little flip, your brain catching up with the fact that the person who had spun it was none other than Matthew.

Your best friend’s boyfriend.

The room erupted in laughter and whistles, everyone immediately looking between you, Matthew, and your best friend to see what would happen.

Matthew blinked, then grinned. “Uh-oh.”

You turned to your best friend, feeling nervous. "This is your call.”

She waved a lazy hand, entirely unfazed. "It’s a dumb game. Who cares? Kiss him.”

Your lips parted. "You sure?”

She laughed. "Oh my God, just do it!”

This was weird.

And yet, before you could overthink it, Matthew leaned in, close enough that you could smell the hint of beer on his breath, the warmth of his skin brushing yours. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up, waiting.

It was just a game.

So you kissed him.

You weren't sure what you expected —maybe something quick, lighthearted, barely there-but that wasn't what you got. Matthew kissed like he did everything else, with an all-consuming kind of intensity. His lips were soft, careful at first, but the second he felt you melt into it, his hand held your cheeks, anchoring you there.