Bree – Four months earlier “You can do this, Bree,” I whispered to myself, hoping to God that it was actually true, that I wasn’t just gaslighting myself into believing something that could never happen. “He’s just a guy, just a regular guy.” Which, of course, wasn’t true at all—but it was something I needed to say in order to muster the courage to follow through. The truth was, he was Oliver Camden. The Oliver Camden. The most popular guy at school. Star quarterback. The kind of person who made the world stop spinning for a second when he walked into a room. The kind of person everyone either wanted to be or wanted to be with. He was on track for a full-ride scholarship and, judging by the scouts always lingering around the games, possibly a fast-track ticket straight into the NFL after graduation. The truth was, he was almost painfully attractive. Like, knock-the-breath-out-of-you attractive. And every girl at school had a crush on him—hard. Including me. Oliver was flawless, the kind of flawless that didn’t even seem real. He looked like he had stepped straight out of one of my dog-eared romance novels. His brown hair was always slightly tousled, in that effortless way that made it look like he’d just rolled out of bed and still looked like a magazine ad. His blue eyes were full of mischief and warmth, dancing with humor and, occasionally, a kind of intensity that made your heart trip over itself. His physique? Let’s just say it wasn’t built in a day. Broad shoulders, sculpted arms, and abs so defined that every girl—and probably half the guys too—could imagine eating their lunch right off them. Just like every other lunch period, Oliver was holding court. The cafeteria practically glowed around him. He sat perched right on top of the lunch table—like he owned it, like it was a throne—his long legs stretched out comfortably, his feet resting casually on the bench. He was speaking animatedly to his circle of friends, gesturing wildly as he told some story. Laughter exploded from them in waves, like he was their personal entertainer. Everyone was trying to get in a word, all of them eager for even the smallest scrap of his attention. It was a scene that played out daily, yet somehow it always managed to feel cinematic. I stared at my shoes. My toes curled nervously inside my slightly worn white Reeboks, like they were already bracing for the wave of secondhand embarrassment that was surely coming. But I had to do this. I had to. It was now or never, and the thought of wondering what if for the rest of senior year was far more terrifying than the possibility of rejection. “Move,” I whispered under my breath, the command aimed squarely at myself. People around me were probably giving me weird looks, and honestly? Fair enough. I probably did look a little unhinged, standing in the middle of the cafeteria whispering to my own shoes. But then again, preparing to ask Oliver Camden to a dance was hardly the act of a stable person. By some miracle, my toes uncurled. I willed my legs to move. I took a breath that felt like it scraped the bottom of my lungs and started walking—one shaky step at a time—toward the guy I had loved from afar for what felt like my entire life. They didn’t notice me at first. Not one of them even glanced up. I stood right there, barely three feet away, invisible in plain sight. And then I saw him laugh. Really laugh. His head tipped back, his mouth open, the corners of his eyes crinkling. For a brief, shining moment, I just stood there and watched, letting myself drink it in. This was the feeling I had dreamed about. Being near him. Being a part of his world. Being seen. “What do you want?” Brandon Chen, another football player, asked, his eyebrow raised in amused irritation. Oliver finally noticed me then. His blue eyes met mine, and something jolted inside me. They didn’t linger long. I felt his gaze travel down my body, and just like that, my face went up in flames. My stomach fluttered violently, like a thousand butterflies had been launched into orbit. “You were asked a question,” Chris Willum added, clearly unimpressed, his voice edged with sarcasm. “Actually,” I began, my throat suddenly desert-dry. “I wanted to know, Oliver, if you would…” I glanced down again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear in a useless attempt at composure. I had practiced this a hundred times at home. In the mirror. In the shower. Even out loud, to my cat. “If I would?” Oliver echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching in what looked like amusement. “Well,” I rushed on, “I heard that you hadn’t asked Jenna to the dance—or at least not yet—and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?” I forced the words out quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. “As my date,” I added, in case there was any doubt about my intention. Silence. A beat of stillness. Then, laughter. The whole table erupted. Everyone thought it was hilarious. That the nerdy girl had walked over and actually asked the Oliver Camden to a dance. Maybe it was funny. Maybe it was ridiculous. Maybe I was insane. But even through the laughter, I noticed something important. Oliver wasn’t laughing. He just sat there, still and watchful, his eyes never leaving my face. He looked at me—really looked—and for a moment, I forgot where I was. There was something in his gaze, something bright and curious and… kind. It froze me in place, stopped me from bolting like I wanted to. “Oh, please,” Brandon said between wheezing laughs. “Why would he ever agree to that?” “I’ll do it,” Oliver said calmly. Just like that, everything stopped. The laughter, the talking, the entire cafeteria seemed to grind to a halt. My heart slammed against my ribcage. Did I hear that right? He stood, the movement slow and almost cinematic. His frame was tall, broad, solid—and suddenly looming right in front of me. I tilted my head back to meet his eyes, trying not to drown in them. “You want me to take you to the dance, Bree?” he asked, one brow arched in challenge. “Yes, please,” I replied quietly, my voice barely audible, my mind spinning. He grinned, and up close it was lethal. His white teeth were perfectly straight, and his lips—God, his lips—were a soft, perfect pink. “I’d be happy to take you,” he whispered, just before leaning down and brushing his lips lightly against mine. And me? I was gone. Completely and utterly, hopelessly, beautifully in love. ** Oliver – Present time “You should have seen her face, man,” I laughed, the sound bouncing off the locker room walls as the rest of the guys joined in, their laughter echoing right along with mine. “There’s literally nothing she won’t do for me.” “Try getting her into a threesome or something like that,” Brandon chimed in, his grin wide and smug like he’d just hit the jackpot. “Why the hell would he wanna do that with you, though?” Chris fired back, jabbing Brandon in the ribs, laughing hard at the offended expression he got in return. I shook my head, chuckling as I reclaimed the spotlight. “I mean, she might’ve been a virgin a few months ago—hell, she didn’t even know how to kiss right—but damn if I haven’t trained her perfectly now.” I’d been dating Bree for around four months—if you counted from the day she asked me to the dance in the middle of the cafeteria. That moment had come out of nowhere, this bold, awkward girl marching straight up to me while I was mid-story with the guys. At the time, I hadn’t planned on going to the dance. Jenna and I were going through one of our classic breakups, and I was still riding the emotional rollercoaster of being done—but not really done—with her. But when Bree showed up, asking with those big eyes and that shaky voice, the opportunity landed in my lap like a gift-wrapped present from the universe. Make Jenna jealous? With the school nerd who suddenly had the guts to shoot her shot? Hell yes. Why not? And the thing was—Bree was actually okay. I liked her. She was smart, and not in an annoying way either. She had this quirky kind of humor that snuck up on you and made you laugh before you even realized it. She saw the world differently—like everything was still possible—and that was kind of refreshing. Being with her wasn’t miserable or anything. It was fun. She made me feel like some kind of hero. But she wasn’t it. You know? That feeling—the one you get when you’re with someone who really belongs beside you, who completes the picture of the future you want? Bree didn’t give me that. Jenna did. Jenna always had. And that was exactly why I kept Bree around—to make Jenna see what she was missing. To remind her that I could move on, even if I didn’t really want to. “So f*****g desperate,” Chris said, laughing as he slapped his locker shut. “I still can’t believe you got the nerdy girl to jump your bones on the first night.” That wasn’t entirely accurate, but it wasn’t totally off either. The night she asked me to the dance, I took her out right after school. We went to the movies—something low-effort, but enough to make a statement. Jenna had been fuming the second she saw the photos on social media. Mission accomplished. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell you what movie we saw. Bree and I spent the whole two hours making out in the back row. And she was surprisingly good at it, for someone who’d started off so inexperienced. Better than expected, even. Prom night? That was when she gave it up. Gave me everything. Her virginity. Her trust. The whole package. I could tell it hurt her—of course it did; it always does the first time—but she tried to act like it didn’t. And eventually, it seemed like she started to enjoy it. I didn’t mind it either. It was actually… nice. Soft. Sweet in a way that Jenna never was. Physically, Bree was built differently than Jenna. Jenna was petite and delicate—easy to toss around, the kind of girl who looked like she belonged in someone’s i********: feed. Bree had more curves. More weight to her. But she had a killer ass, and her t**s—well, let’s just say she had Jenna beat there without even trying. “I should’ve done something like this a long time ago,” I said, laughing again, stretching out like I was made of pure confidence. My life had become this insane cycle of s*x, attention, and ego boosts. Bree was obsessed with me, Jenna couldn’t stay away, and I was riding high on both. I had told Jenna it was over, that I was with Bree now, that my heart belonged elsewhere. And Jenna? She responded by pulling me into the supply closet and bending over like it didn’t matter what I’d said. Like the words meant nothing if I could still have her body. And I could. Meanwhile, Bree would be waiting out by my truck, smiling up at me like I’d hung the damn moon, ready to thank me for a ride home with her mouth or something even more intense. She was insatiable now, eager to please, doing anything to keep me interested. Life was good. No, scratch that—life was perfect. All I had to do was ride this out until college, keep everything balanced just right. Then, when the time came, I’d let Bree go and tell Jenna she was the one. Easy. “I gotta show you guys this,” I said, chuckling as I pulled my phone from the locker. I cleared my throat dramatically, drawing everyone’s attention. “Good night, star player,” I read aloud, my voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I cannot believe that this is actually happening, that we’re together, that we’re gonna build a future together.” Laughter roared around me, guys slapping knees and shoulders like this was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. “I love you with all of my heart,” I continued, trying not to gag at the words. “I hope this new month will be just as amazing as the last. I can’t wait for your kisses, your hugs, everything else. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Apparently, yesterday had marked our four-month anniversary. A fact I forgot every month, without fail. But I had replied. Sent her a sweet little text back—something believable, something cute. Not that I’d ever admit it to the guys. Some things, you keep to yourself. “You should try and get anal,” Chris suggested, grinning like he’d just discovered fire. I rolled my eyes, but the smirk tugged at my mouth anyway. “Please,” I said, cocky as ever. “As if I even have to ask.” Another round of laughter exploded through the locker room, echoing off the tiled walls. And as I leaned back against the metal lockers, arms crossed and heart thumping with smug satisfaction, I couldn’t help but think: this—this—was what winning looked like.