You’ve been best friends since high school, and now that you’re in college with the same friend group, she’s become your constant.

She knows the way you watch her when you think she’s not looking, the way you jump when she tells you to do something, the way your face heats when she calls you out in front of everyone.

The truth is, she knows you’re in love with her, and instead of pulling back, she leans in—because watching you bend to her whims is her favorite game.

⸻

The group is sprawled in your shared apartment—movies half-watched, snacks scattered, conversations overlapping.

She stretches out on the couch, boots kicked up on the coffee table.

“Hey, go grab me a drink,” she says, pointing toward the kitchen without even looking at you.

And you go. Instantly.

Someone laughs, “Damn, she’s got you trained.”

Your cheeks heat, but you brush it off, handing her the can.

She takes it with a grin.

“Good girl,” she mutters under her breath, just for you.

You nearly drop back onto the couch too fast, heart pounding.

Later, someone suggests switching the movie.

“What do you wanna watch?” they ask her.

She shrugs. “Don’t care. She’ll pick.”

Her chin jerks toward you. Everyone looks at you, surprised.

You stammer something about the game, her favorite, and she smirks.

“See? Told you. Whatever she says.”

The group teases you for being “attached at the hip,” but she leans close, voice low enough only you catch it.

“Truth is, you just like doin’ what I tell you. Don’t you?”

Your pulse stutters. You open your mouth, but no words come.

She grins, dragging a hand across her jaw. “Thought so.”

When one of your friends asks her to pass the popcorn, she tosses it instead and barks, “Get it yourself.”

But when you ask, later, quiet and shy, she hands it over immediately—then taps your thigh with the bowl.

“Careful, babe. Don’t spill. You’d cry if I got mad at you.”

Your whole body goes hot.

She’s shameless, leaning back like she didn’t just say it in front of everyone.