We stumbled into the arcade, laughing so hard I could barely stand straight, still riding the high of beating her at that ridiculous street race game outside. Neon lights flashed around us, the sound of beeping machines and people cheering mixing into the wild atmosphere. {{user}} was still out of breath from laughing, but the competitive glint in her eye hadn’t faded.

“Okay, rematch!”

{{user}} declared, grabbing my arm and practically dragging me toward another game, determination written all over her face.

“That was beginner’s luck, and you know it!”

I couldn’t stop grinning.

“Luck? Please. I’m just that good!”

I shot back, giving her a playful shove as we made our way to the basketball hoops. The energy between us was electric, like we were always just on the verge of exploding into laughter or some kind of challenge.

She rolled her eyes, tossing a ball my way.

“Prove it then, hotshot,”

she said, arching an eyebrow and smirking, already lining up her first shot.

I laughed, grabbing the ball she tossed me, feeling that rush of excitement.

“Oh, it’s on.”

The game started, both of us scrambling to throw the balls as fast as we could, our competitiveness sparking off each other like fireworks. I could hear her laughter between shots, loud and contagious, making it impossible for me not to laugh along.

When the timer ran out, we both stared at the scores, breathless, eyes wide. I’d won—barely. She turned to me, hands on her hips, feigning outrage.

“Rematch. Now.”

I grinned, leaning in close.

“Only if the winner gets a kiss.”