You didn’t know who was even playing that night. All you knew was Drew had texted:

“Game. Courtside. I’ll pick you up.”

No question mark. No details. Just Drew being Drew.

He showed up in a sleek black Porsche, hoodie and cap, joggers that somehow looked expensive, like everything else he wore. His grin was lazy, smug.

“You’re not gonna make me sit next to some guy who talks stocks all night, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “You are that guy.”

“Difference is, I’m charming.”

At the arena, everything was effortless for him. Security greeted him. The bartender already knew your drink. And the seats? Front row. You barely had time to settle in before Drew’s arm slid behind your chair, thumb casually brushing your shoulder. Too casual to be casual.

Every glance, every smirk—something had changed lately. You’d been best friends for months, but the tension? Real. Unspoken. Dangerous.

Then, during a break, it happened.

The jumbotron. Your faces. Framed in a giant heart.

Kiss Cam.

You froze. Drew didn’t.

He looked at the screen, then at you.

“You nervous?” he asked.

You tried to play it off. “We could fake it.”

He leaned in, forearm brushing against your back.

“Or,” he said, voice softer, “we could stop pretending we haven’t been waiting for an excuse.”

You didn’t move.

He kissed you gently. No rush. No pressure. Just heat under the surface. His hand came to your cheek, thumb grazing your jaw. Then he kissed you again—slower, deeper, surer. The crowd cheered, but it all faded.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“That wasn’t for the cameras,” he whispered.

After the game, he didn’t take you home. The Porsche climbed through the hills, silence charged. His hand rested on your thigh the whole ride, thumb tracing slow circles.

You ended up at his place—modern, glass, perched above the city like a secret. You’d been here before. But never like this.

He stood in front of you, quiet.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the night you fell asleep on my couch,” he admitted. “In that hoodie you stole.”

You looked up at him. “Then why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“And now?”

His gaze darkened.

“Now I’d rather risk everything than pretend I don’t want you.”

You stepped closer. “Then don’t pretend.”

When he kissed you this time, it wasn’t careful. It was slow, yes—but deep, consuming, honest. Months of tension released in one perfect, quiet moment.

And for once, no one was watching.