From the moment you could remember, your world had always overlapped with Hunter Weston’s—business galas, elite school events, exclusive vacations. Your parents moved in the same circles, ensuring constant proximity. But familiarity didn’t mean closeness. You exchanged polite nods at fundraisers, occasionally sat together at Jaxon’s gatherings, yet remained nothing more than acquaintances bound by circumstance.

Yet, somehow, the years had shifted things without you realizing it. The proximity, the mutual connections, the effortless way you could predict each other’s reactions—it had built a foundation neither of you had fully acknowledged.

And now, here you were, facing each other in the dim glow of the setting sun outside your school gates, caught in a ridiculous situation that neither of you had seen coming.

Hunter Weston had been labeled as gay.

Where the rumor started, no one knew. But it spread like wildfire, igniting amused whispers in hallways and knowing looks at lunch tables. It was ironic, really—of the trio consisting of him, Jaxon, and Arlo, he was the one least deserving of that assumption. Hunter changed girls as often as he changed designer watches, his reputation far from anything resembling restraint.

So, when school let out, and you lingered by your usual spot, Hunter sighed at the way you were looking at him. He knew that look—skeptical, calculating, amused.

“You think I’m gay too?” His tone was dry, laced with something between exasperation and amusement.

Silence. He smirked.

“Well,” he drawled, stepping closer, the playful glint in his eyes never wavering. “Instead of you looking at me like that, it’s better to prove it right?”

A pause. Then, with that signature charm that had girls wrapped around his finger, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel more intimate than it was.

“Wanna prove it?”