Jamie had a foolproof strategy: stay busy, stay unreachable, and—most importantly—stay Taylor-free.
After the café ambush, the park humiliation, and that stupid "spouse" comment, Jamie swore they were taking back control of their weekend. So when their coworker Priya (traitor that she was) texted an invite—"Game night at mine tonight, bring Taylor if you want!"—Jamie spent an entire five minutes considering crafting a complicated lie involving a sudden family emergency, a fake migraine, and possibly an escape via a conveniently appearing meteor.
In the end, they caved. "Sure, I'll swing by," Jamie typed, because apparently, the universe had a personal vendetta against them.
---
Priya's apartment was buzzing with laughter, the smell of takeout, and that faint tang of competitive energy that only board games could generate. Friends-of-friends crowded the living room, and a ridiculous pile of board games teetered dangerously on the coffee table.
"Jamie!" Priya greeted, waving like the hostess of a game-show. Then her eyes slid over Jamie's shoulder. "Taylor! Glad you could make it!"
Jamie's head whipped around. "You—how—"
Taylor was already standing there with that insufferable grin, holding up a bag of chips like it was a peace offering. "Priya invited me directly. Guess I'm popular."
Jamie's cheeks burned. "You hacked my social life."
"Correction," Taylor said, slinging an arm casually over Jamie's shoulders, "I upgraded it."
Jamie pushed the arm away, mortified, while Taylor's grin widened. "You're welcome."
---
The first game was Pictionary, and of course, Jamie and Taylor were paired together.
"We've got this," Taylor said, grabbing the marker with a flourish. "Our minds are basically one."
Jamie muttered, "God help me."
But Taylor's "mind" turned out to be surprisingly effective. A blob that looked vaguely like a potato? Jamie shouted, "Spaceship!" Correct. A stick figure with jazz hands? Jamie shouted, "Broadway!" Correct again.
The room erupted in groans and accusations of cheating. Taylor just smirked. "We don't cheat. We just communicate better than the rest of you."
Jamie tried not to let their heart race at the closeness, at the shared laughter, at the way Taylor's shoulder brushed theirs every time they leaned over the paper.
---
Priya switched the group to Truth or Drink, and Jamie wanted to sink into the floor. Adults didn't play this game. Not in front of coworkers. Not with Taylor sitting too close.
The first rounds were harmless: childhood embarrassments, weird eating habits. Then Taylor pulled a card: "Who in this room would you most likely marry?" Their gaze landed on Jamie, unwavering. "Do I even have to answer?"
The room cheered. Jamie's face burned hotter than the candle-lit pizza on the table. "Drink!" they barked, forcing Taylor to take a shot, all while staring at them like it was some kind of unfair cosmic joke.
Later, Jamie drew: "Who was your last crush?" Their eyes involuntarily flicked to Taylor before they could stop themselves. The room waited, buzzing with anticipation.
Taylor's brows lifted, their grin mischievous. "Oh, interesting."
Jamie panicked, swallowing the shot in record time. Their faces burned, their hands shook slightly, and Taylor laughed softly. Not loudly enough to mock, but just enough to remind Jamie they were completely—utterly—infuriating.
---
By the time the games ended, Jamie was exhausted. Their brain was a tangled mess of shame, delight, and confusion. Taylor, of course, was thriving, chatting, laughing, and making everyone feel like they were simultaneously the life of the party and the most insufferable guest.
On the walk home, Jamie tried to reclaim some dignity. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone."
Taylor shrugged, hands in pockets, gaze smug. "Correction: I told the truth. They noticed."
Jamie stopped walking. "Noticing what?"
Taylor met Jamie's eyes, serious for a heartbeat before breaking into that usual grin. "That we're…more than just friends."
Jamie's chest tightened. A moment passed. Silence. And then—just as quickly—Taylor winked, masking everything with a casual flourish. "We're also ridiculously good at Pictionary. So, priorities."
Jamie groaned, shoving them lightly, but their pulse betrayed them.
Taylor walked a few steps behind, voice teasing. "You know, deep down, you love me. Admit it."
Jamie didn't answer. Instead, they swung open their apartment door, muttered a vague threat, and disappeared inside, but the warmth in their chest lingered far longer than it should have.
Even later, lying in bed, Jamie couldn't stop replaying it—the way Taylor's eyes had softened, just for a second, that fleeting almost-seriousness that made their heart do something stupid.
They told themselves it was anger. Frustration. Ridiculous attachment to someone who had no right to matter so much.
Yet, deep down, a different, undeniable truth lingered: maybe they did love Taylor. Or at least, loved the idea of them. I loved how Taylor made every moment feel chaotic, electric, dangerous, and safe all at once.
And somehow, that was infinitely more terrifying—and more exciting—than anything else in their predictable little life.