The Lakers game was packed—screaming fans, flashing lights, the pulse of music vibrating through the arena. Drew Starkey leaned back in his courtside seat, legs stretched out, sipping from his drink with that usual quiet confidence. He wasn’t there for attention, but people noticed him anyway. Fame had a way of doing that.

Beside him, you were mid-laugh, head tilted back, your dark red lips catching the light every time you smiled. You looked good—too good for just “a friend.” You had on a cropped leather jacket over a fitted Lakers tee and tight jeans that had turned more than a few heads on their way in.

“I still don’t get how you got these seats,” you said, bumping his knee with hers.

“I have my ways,” he replied, smirking. “Being hot and famous has its perks.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. “And here I thought you invited me because I’m charming company.”

“I mean, that too,” Drew said, eyes lingering just a little longer than necessary.

By halftime, the game slowed for the usual entertainment segments—mascots dancing, fans on the jumbotron. Then came the unmistakable saxophone music and floating red hearts.

“Oh no,” you said, already sensing what was coming.

The Kiss Cam panned through the crowd, landing on a sweet elderly couple, then two awkward teenagers—and then them.

Right there on the jumbotron. Drew and you Front and center.

Your jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The crowd started to cheer. Some whistled. A few fans near them turned and started chanting: “Do it! Do it!”

Drew turned to you, expression unreadable at first. “So… what’s the move?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you dare pull that ‘friendly kiss on the cheek’ move. You’re Drew Starkey. They’ll boo you.”

He leaned in just a little. Close enough for her to smell the hint of his cologne and feel the heat off his skin.

“You sure you don’t want me to kiss you?” he asked, voice low—half teasing, half something else.

Your heart kicked up a notch, but you raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a kiss, right?”

His gaze dropped to your lips. “Sure. Just a kiss.”

And then he kissed you.

Not a quick peck. Not some camera-friendly joke. It was slow, confident, just long enough for the crowd to go wild. You felt his hand slide to your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek lightly, like they were alone in a room instead of under the gaze of thousands.

When they pulled apart, you blinked.

“You’re such an ass,” you whispered, breathless.

Drew leaned back in his seat, looking infuriatingly smug. “But you liked it.”