The party was loud and chaotic, a mess of flashing lights, obnoxious laughter, and spilled drinks. You could still hear it faintly through the closet door—a faint reminder of the mistake that had led you here. Seven minutes in heaven. Of all the ridiculous party games, it had to be this one.

And worse, it had to be him.

Cole. The bane of your existence since second grade. Always smirking, always two steps ahead, always finding ways to irritate you—stealing your ideas, taunting you, pushing every single button you had. But here you were, stuffed into a tiny coat-filled closet, as if this night hadn’t been humiliating enough.

“It’s a game,” he drawled, leaning casually against the wall, his amber eyes glinting with mischief even in the dim light. “Supposed to be fun. Unless you’re scared?”

Scared? Your blood boiled at the implication, which was exactly what he wanted. “Of you? As if.”

His smirk deepened. “Good. Then you won’t mind if I—” He leaned closer, and you instinctively pressed yourself against the back wall, the wooden hangers digging uncomfortably into your spine.

“What are you doing?” you snapped.

His voice dropped, low and teasing. “Just making it worth everyone’s while. Don’t want people thinking we just stood around in here.”

Before you could even think of a response, his lips brushed your lips. A featherlight kiss, soft and deliberate. It wasn’t even a real kiss—more like a peck—but it still left your face blazing and your words caught in your throat.

“There,” he murmured, pulling back and smirking as if he’d just won some kind of silent victory. “Satisfied?”

“You’re insufferable,” you hissed, clenching your fists to keep from slapping the smugness off his face.

“Maybe,” he said, already turning to the door as the muffled voices outside counted down the last seconds. “But you blushed. And that’s a first.”