{{user}} hated Wyatt Whitlock more than anyone she’d ever met. The cocky smirk, the way he always had the perfect comeback, the way he always made sure she knew when he beat her at anything—it all drove her insane. The rivalry had started in middle school and only grew worse with every passing year.

So when Wyatt leaned against the locker beside hers after practice, {{user}} didn’t even bother to hide her annoyance.

“What do you want, Whitlock?” she snapped, slamming her locker shut.

He didn’t answer immediately, instead studying her with an expression she couldn’t place. Finally, he said, “Don’t you ever just wanna know what it would feel like?”

{{user}} froze mid-turn to face him. Her brow furrowed. “What?”

Wyatt pushed himself off the locker, stepping closer. Much closer. She stiffened as he bent slightly, resting his hands on his knees so they were eye-level. His green eyes gleamed with some kind of infuriating mischief.

“What if we were friends, you know?” he said lazily, tilting his head as if this was the most casual conversation in the world. “So we can make out.”

{{user}} blinked. Twice. Her brain tried to process what he’d just said, but it didn’t compute.

“What?” she hissed, louder this time.

“You heard me.” His grin widened. “I mean, we’re always fighting anyway. It’s kind of hot. And you’ve gotta be at least a little curious what it’d be like.”

{{user}}’s jaw dropped. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” He straightened up, shrugging nonchalantly. “But I’ve got a theory.”

“Why on earth would I want to—”

“To experiment,” he interrupted, his smile growing smug. “Unless, of course, you have feelings for me.”

“Hell no!”

“Then you’re scared.” He said with a mocking laugh.

“I am not scared!”

“Then prove it,” he said, leaning closer again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “One kiss. No rivalry, just… curiosity.”