"Kiss me," I blurted out.
I couldn't take take back the words that had already come out stupid and loud enough to make my own ears ring.
The room suddenly felt like a hot spot on a map. It was my turn in this endless game of Truth or Dare, and sitting two feet away from me was Scott Cruz, my best friend's older brother, my new roommate, and the absolute last person I should have picked.
He shouldn't even have been here. Scott was someone who belonged in a boardroom or running venture capital deals, not our messy apartment, surrounded by half-empty bottles and piles of clothe, playing a drinking game with me, Yvonne (his sister, my best friend), and two of our slightly drunker neighbors, but here we were.
Everyone else exploded into drunken whoops and laughter. But Scott didn't cheer.
He didn't even smile. He just looked at me. His face, unreadable, and suddenly the wine on my tongue tasted bitter.
Truth or Dare had started as Yvonne's dumb idea.
"It'll be fun, Maya, come on!" she'd said, giggling into her drink.
Now, two hours later, the air smelled like pizza, candles, and bad decisions.
Yvonne was sitting cross-legged on the floor, admiring her ridiculous neon nails she had painted few hours ago. Chuka and Nia, our neighbors, were already tipsy beyond dignity. I had already gulped down three glasses of something too sweet and too strong that Nia had brought in, and I was halfway through scrolling through my camera roll before the game started.
"Oh, damn, Maya!" she hollered, laughing into a pillow. "That's how you play the game! Go for the CEO!"
Everyone laughed louder. Except Scott.
His hazel eyes locked into mine. There was zero amusement in his gaze, only a heavy, unnerving seriousness. And for a moment, everything else in the room faded out; the music, the chatter, even the spinning in my head.
"C'mon, Maya," Yvonne teased, hiccuping between words. "You can't back out now."
My brain offered me two options:
Say something clever and kill the moment.
Or say the truth and let it wreck me.
I'd been pretending to be chill for weeks, moving in with Yvonne because rent in LA was a scam, and because her brother was "quiet, reliable, not a serial killer." Living with Scott Cruz had been a blur of awkward breakfasts and charged silences. He smelled like laundry soap and guitar strings, left notes that said things like "Coffee in the pot", and carried the kind of calm that made me restless.
"I dare you, Scott," I said finally. My voice didn't sound like mine. Unrecognizable.
Scott tilted his head slightly. He hadn't touched his beer.
"You sure about that, Maya?" he asked, low and even. It didn't sound like a question of consent, almost like a warning about consequences.
No, I wasn't sure. I was terrified. I'm also stone-cold sober and I want this too badly.
"Yeah, I'm sure," I said, bluffing hard, leaning forward just enough to make it look like an invitation. "It's just a kiss, Scott. Don't be a little bitch about it."
He didn't take offense. He just looked at me, in a way that made my pulse stutter. Then he moved.
My breath stalled in my chest. He didn't lean in fast, he closed the distance slowly, giving me every chance to pull back, to laugh it off, to ruin the moment. I didn't. I held his gaze until his lips brushed mine.
His hand hovered near my cheek and then curled into my hair, gentle and commanding, like he was reclaiming something he'd never owned. He shifted forward on the couch, resting one arm on the back of it behind my head. The air between us went heavy.
When his lips met mine it felt like I was pushed into a warm tide. His lips movement on mine was slow and deliberate. The feel was warm, firm, and surprisingly gentle. I let my eyes drift shut, sinking into the moment that had absolutely no right to exist. His hand tightened slightly on the back of the couch.
I couldn't think, I could only feel.
The kiss deepened just slightly, an intensified shift, just before he pulled away.
It couldn't have lasted more than five seconds. But it rewired something in me I couldn't name.
I opened my eyes, disoriented. Scott was still close enough for me to feel his breath. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. The brief silence that followed was thick.
Then the room came crashing back. The return of reality but my brain stayed static.
"Oh my god, you guys!" Yvonne shrieked, her laughter spilling over like bad champagne. Chuka swore, Nia screamed in delighted disbelief.
Scott leaned back, clearing his throat.
"Jesus, you two really committed to the bit," Yvonne wheezed. "Alright, Scott — your turn. Truth or dare?"
But he didn't answer. He looked down on his lap, rubbed the back of his neck, stood, and muttered, his voice almost strained, "I'm out. Need some air."
The sliding door opened, the night breeze rushed in, and then he was gone.
I sat there, frozen, the ghost of his mouth still on mine, while Yvonne, blissfully unaware of the seismic shift that had just happened, shrieked, "What the hell was that, Maya? You turned him into a damn statue!"
I needed to breathe.
--------------------
(TWO WEEKS EARLIER)
The decision to move into Yvonne's two-bedroom was purely economical. After my old place went condo, I was scrambling. Yvonne, bless her chaotic soul, offered the spare room in her brother's house. Scott's house.
"He's never here, Maya," Yvonne had assured me over a frantic FaceTime call. "He's always in Seattle or New York doing 'CEO stuff.' He literally only uses the place to change clothes and run on his fancy treadmill. You'll barely see him."
I'd met Scott twice: once when he drove Yvonne back from university for Christmas break, and once when he silently paid for our sushi dinner. He was older,about thirty. He always carried the intimidating silence of a man who dealt exclusively in things that cost millions and billions. A very attractive force of finance.
The day I moved in, Scott was actually there. Of course he was.
I was sweating my ass off, dragging a box labeled "FRAGILE" up the world's longest flight of stairs.
Los Angeles heat is the kind that makes you question every life choice that brought you to step foot outside. My hair was stuck to my neck, my tank top was damp, and I was pretty sure one of my flip-flops was about to snap.
"Need a hand?"
The voice came from behind me — low, smooth.
I turned around, and yep — there he was.
Athletic shorts. Plain white T-shirt that hugged his shoulders. He was holding a bottle of water, leaning against the rail, looking like he didn't even sweat in this 90-degree weather.
He wasn't supposed to be real. Or this hot. Or standing this close.
"Uh—sure," I said, trying to sound casual and definitely failing. "Thanks."
He grabbed the box from me with one hand, like it weighed nothing, and walked it up the last flight. His arms flexed. I may or may not have stared.
Inside the apartment, he set the box down like a pro and looked around. It was small; two bedrooms, one bathroom , tiled kitchen floors. Cozy, you would say, if you were being polite.
"You're Yvonne's friend," he said finally, turning back to me.
"Yeah," I said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Maya. I'm, um… the new roommate."
His brows lifted slightly. "Oh."
Just that — oh. No "welcome," no "nice to meet you." Just a one-syllable surprise that somehow made me feel like an uninvited guest.
"Yeah," I added, forcing a smile. "Surprise?"
He looked at me for a second too long, then nodded once. "Right. Make yourself at home."
And then he walked away. No small talk. No questions. Just... gone.
I stood there for a beat, staring at his back.
"Cool," I muttered under my breath. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Sunshine."
Yvonne showed up about ten minutes later, balancing takeout and a loud grin.
"Maya! You made it!" she said, kicking the door closed. "You met Scott?"
"Oh yeah," I said. "He's… very tall. And very talkative."
Yvonne laughed. "Yeah, he's like that. Don't mind him. He's harmless. Just smells like money and old ambition."
"Harmless," I muttered, dragging my second box in. "Right."
---------------------
By the end of first week, I'd memorized every creaky floorboard in that apartment.
Scott left early, came home late, and barely spoke two full sentences to me. Yvonne, on the other hand, was a walking megaphone, constantly blasting music, doing her TikTok dances in the kitchen, and introducing me to half the building.
That's how I met Chuka and Nia, our neighbors from 3B.
They were a couple in theory, but in reality, they fought every two days and made up every three. Nia was a freelance makeup artist, loud and flirty; Chuka was a film student with a tragic addiction to energy drinks. Together, they were chaos personified.
"Welcome to the building, Maya!" Nia had said the first time we met, thrusting a glass of rosé into my hand. "We usually hang out Friday nights; open invite. You're coming."
It wasn't really a question.
That night, Scott had come home to find us sprawled on the couch, laughing over some dumb reality show.
He gave us a single look, that mix of confusion and mild disapproval only older siblings can perfect, and disappeared into his room.
"Does he ever chill?" I asked Yvonne, watching his door shut.
"Not really," she said, popping a chip into her mouth. "He's allergic to fun."
---------------------
The following Friday, Yvonne banged on my room door just as I was halfway through brushing my hair.
"Party time, bitch!" she yelled.
I poked my head out, holding my brush like a weapon. "What party?"
"Our party," she said, as if that explained everything. "Chuka and Nia are coming over. We're doing drinks and games. Maybe movies after. You in?"
"Games? Like Monopoly?"
She smirked. "More like Truth or Dare."
I groaned. "We're not teens."
"Exactly," she said, winking. "We're grown-ups with tequila. It's different."
I laughed and shook my head.
When the doorbell rang an hour later, I didn't expect Scott to be the one opening it. He'd come home early for once, barefoot, in sweatpants and a dark T-shirt, hair still damp from a shower.
Nia froze in the doorway, her eyes practically darting up and down.
"Oh my God, Vonnie," she whispered not quietly enough, "you didn't tell me your brother was this hot."
Scott's lips twitched, barely. "You guys need the living room?"
"Yes," Yvonne said before I could blink. "Stay if you want."
He hesitated, just a second, then shrugged and grabbed a beer.
And that was how the game began.
-------------------
(PRESENT)
When the noise finally died down, I slipped away from the chaos under the excuse of "needing water." No one noticed.
I shut myself in the kitchen, pressing both palms against the cold counter, trying to breathe.
The faint hum of the refrigerator rhyming with my breathing and heartbeat.
It was just a dare. Just a stupid game.
The sliding door creaked. I turned.
Scott was there, just a few feets away from me, leaning against the doorway that led to the balcony, one hand still gripping his half-empty beer. His face was unreadable still, caught somewhere between restraint and regret.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. Cars horned faintly from outside, leaving a dull hum beneath the tension hanging between us.
"You good?" he asked finally, his voice low.
I laughed,a small, nervous sound. "Define good."
He looked at me for a long moment, then set the beer down on the counter. "It was a game, Maya. Don't overthink it."
His tone was calm, measured, but his eyes didn't match.
"I'm not overthinking," I lied.
He gave a short nod, like he didn't believe me but didn't want to argue. Then he started to walk past me toward the hallway.
I should've let him go. I really should've.
"Scott," I called before I could stop myself.
He paused, his back still turned.
I swallowed hard. "You didn't… have to kiss me."
He went still, completely still. I sensed his body stiffen. Then, after a beat, he said quietly, "Yeah. I know."
And he walked away.
My chest felt like it had been split open.
I stared after him until his door clicked shut, then exhaled the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. My fingers brushed my lips, tracing them. They still tingled.
Yvonne's laughter echoed from the living room, Chuka and Nia arguing about who cheated in the last round. The normalcy of it all felt cruel.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap just to have something to do with my hands.
From his room down the hall came the faint thump of a door locking.
"Just a game," I whispered to myself. But even I didn't believe it.
I stood in that kitchen longer than I should have, replaying every second of that kis, the warmth of his mouth, the weight of his hand, the quiet way he said "Yeah. I know."
I'd meant for it to be a dare. A stupid, harmless dare.
But now it felt like something had shifted between us—something that couldn't be undone.
When I finally walked back into the living room, Yvonne was on the floor with her head in Nia's lap, half-asleep and giggling about nothing. Chuka was snoring into a throw pillow. The room was a mess of empty bottles and dying laughter.
I smiled faintly, pretending everything was still normal. But as I slipped past them and into my room, one thought pressed against the back of my mind.
It was him.
And no matter how much I tried to deny it. Something had just unlocked.