The house is loud in that post-game way—music too bassy, people yelling over each other, someone already spilling something they swear isn’t alcohol.

You’re on the floor by the coffee table, legs crossed, a deck of cards in your hands like you actually know what you’re doing.

Because you do.

“Ashton, sit down,” someone says. “We need another.”

He hesitates. He always does around you.

Rumors float through his head uninvited—half-baked, exaggerated, probably stupid. Plus, you talk a lot. And you’re… a lot. So he drops down anyway, leaning back on his hands like he doesn’t care.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But I’m not losing to her.”

You look up. Smile sweetly. Dangerously.

“Hi to you too.”

He rolls his eyes. “See? Annoying.”

You start shuffling. Clean. Confident. Smooth enough that his gaze lingers before he catches himself.

“Okay,” you say, dealing. “Same rules as last time. No crying when you lose.”

He snorts. “You’re real bold for someone with a reputation.”

The table goes quiet for half a second.

You don’t even blink. “You’re real loud for someone about to get humbled.”

A couple people laugh. Someone goes ooooh like this is a middle school cafeteria.

Ashton scoffs, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Whatever. Beginner’s luck.”

You glance at his hand when he picks up his cards—just a flicker. Enough.

Three rounds in, his confidence is… slipping.

“You’re counting,” he accuses.

You gasp. Hand to chest. “I would never. That would imply effort.”

“Bullshit,” he says, but now he’s leaning forward. Engaged. Elbows on knees. Eyes locked on you like the cards personally betrayed him.

You lay your last card down.

“Read it and weep.”

The table explodes—groans, laughter, someone slapping the floor. Ashton just stares for a beat, then drags a hand down his face.

“You’re kidding.”

You grin. “I’m actually very serious about cards.”

He exhales a laugh despite himself. Shakes his head. “Okay. Okay. Rematch.”

“Oh?” you tease. “Thought you didn’t lose to me.”

He meets your eyes now—closer than before, voice lower, smirk sharper.

“Yeah, well,” he says, dealing this time, “I don’t quit just because I was wrong.”