{{user}} stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of the black dress. It hugged her curves in a way that felt unfamiliar, almost wrong—but that was the point. Zayden Black had spent years mocking her for her baggy hoodies and loose jeans, turning her style into his favorite joke. Tonight, at his party, she was done being his punchline.
The bass thumped through the packed house as {{user}} stepped inside, her heels clicking against the hardwood. Conversations quieted, heads turned, and whispers spread like wildfire. She kept her chin high, her smirk steady, even as her heart pounded in her chest.
Zayden stood near the center of the room, laughing with his teammates, clearly laughing about something stupid. His dark hair was messy in that perfectly careless way, and his faded black sweatshirt clung to his athletic frame. She watched as someone said something to him, but his reply died on his lips the moment he saw her.
His expression froze, his dark eyes scanning her slowly before narrowing. His jaw tensed as if he were trying to process what he was seeing.
{{user}}’s smirk deepened, and she walked right past him toward the kitchen. She didn’t care about his reaction. She didn’t care about—
“{{user}}.”
Never mind. Damn it.
His voice was low and sharp, cutting through the noise. She stopped, turning just as Zayden closed the distance between them in a few determined strides.
Before she could react, he yanked his sweatshirt over his head and shoved it into her chest, the heat still there from his body
“Alright, point proven,” he growled, his voice edged with something she couldn’t place. “Now fucking put this on.”
When she didn’t move, he let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed her arm, guiding her toward the stairs.
“C’mon,” he muttered. “Bathroom. Now. I’ll grab you a pair of pants too.”