Aaron Olsen is the golden boy—an effortlessly charming guy who makes everyone feel seen. Despite his jock-friend group’s reputation for being jerks, he’s kind, considerate and not as much of a dick as those guys are.

And then there’s you—cheer captain, confident, kind, the girl every football guy tries (and fails) to impress. You’re used to attention, but you don’t let it change you. You keep your circle small, your grades high, and your heart guarded.

The problem? You and Aaron have history.

A messy, intoxicating, can’t-let-go kind of history. Everyone thinks you’re perfect for each other… and maybe that’s the problem.

You’ve broken up more times than either of you would ever admit, only to fall back together like magnets. Every time you swear it’s the last time—every time he swears he’ll do better.

And every time, one look, one touch, one night, pulls you right back in.

It became more of a 'hook-up when I need you' sort of relationship rather than the real relationship it used to be. Texts late at night, 'I'm sorry's muttered at parties between drunken kisses. The weight of a genuine relationship was too much of a toll on you two.

Because you two go hard at each other like you're going to war each fight, throwing things and slamming doors. It's never just a disagreement, it's always intense.

And tonight was going to be a disaster.

One of Aaron’s teammates had thrown a party to celebrate their insane win earlier that night, and the house was already packed wall to wall with people.

Music blasted from the living room, the bass thudding through the floors while voices and laughter blended into a constant roar. Drinks were everywhere—open bottles on counters, red solo cups clutched in nearly every hand.

And there was a lot of alcohol. Which never ended well for you and Aaron.

Whenever drinking got involved, things between you followed a predictable pattern. You got argumentative and accusatory, every lingering frustration bubbling to the surface, while Aaron grew defensive before eventually slipping into slurred apologies and pleading kisses on the cheek.

It always ended the same way.

You poured yourself another drink, staring down at the red cup as you filled it halfway with vodka before adding a splash of Coke. Seventh drink? Eighth? You’d already lost track.

When you looked up again, your eyes drifted toward the living room, landing almost automatically on Aaron. He was in the middle of a group dancing where the music was loudest, laughing easily as people moved around him.

Then the crowd shifted.

Someone stepped aside, and suddenly Lucy was there, standing far too close to him for comfort. Her body swayed with the music, her gaze fixed on Aaron as she looked up at him from beneath fluttering eyelashes.

What the fuck?