CHAPTER 22: WRONG GAME, WRONG GIRL

Sunday was supposed to be quiet.

Keyword: supposed to.

I’d barely finished brushing my teeth when I heard the knock.

Marina.

She walked in like it was her apartment, plopped on my couch, and ruffled my hair like I was five.

"Did you shower or do you still smell like guy tears and anime?"

"Shut up."

"Wow. The virgin’s feisty today."

"Marina..."

"Yeah yeah, I know. You’re dating Satan’s brat. Doesn’t mean I can’t still bully you."

I sighed. But I didn’t kick her out.

Because that was the thing with Marina — she was the only person who could talk to me like that and not give me a stress rash. She was familiar. Easy. She was like a brother... you know, if she didn’t wear crop tops and eyeliner.

We played chess.

Because yes, we’re nerds. Judge us.

It was going fine, until she casually said, "Hey, go grab me that soda from the kitchen. Bottom shelf, purple can."

I gave her the look. "Why do you always wait until mid-game to get thirsty?"

"Because I’m winning and bored. Go!"

I went.

But when I got back, something felt... off.

I stared at the board then stared harder.

"Did you move my bishop?"

"No," she said too quickly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Marina."

"What? Are you accusing me of cheating? Wow, I’m hurt."

"You moved it. And my pawn."

"Did not."

"I literally remember—"

She lunged as I reached to adjust the piece. "Touch it and you lose your turn!"

"Says who—?!"

We wrestled. Over a bishop, over honor.

The board flipped. Pieces flew. I stumbled.

And somehow — I swear I don’t even know how — we ended up on the floor. Her on top of me. Still laughing.

Until we weren’t.

She looked down at me, breathless. Her hand still on my chest.

I wasn’t breathing, neither was she.

Her eyes flicked to my lips.

And for some reason — dammit Celestia

— all I could hear in my head was:

She loves you.

My chest tightened. I don’t even know why.

We pulled apart fast. Both of us pretending it didn’t happen.

She stood, brushing herself off.

I sat up, scratching the back of my neck like it itched, like my brain was overheating.

"For a second there," she said with a nervous laugh, "you looked like... nah, never mind."

She didn’t finish.

I didn’t ask.

She stayed a few more hours. Talked about random stuff. Watched me attempt to cook and judged me silently. Then loudly.

Then she left.

No hugs. No hair ruffles. Just a quick wave and the weird kind of smile that didn’t feel like her usual smirk.

The second the door closed, I flopped on the couch, brain scrambled.

What the hell just happened?

And why couldn’t I stop thinking about it?

---

My phone buzzed.

Video call.

Celestia.

Because of course.

I answered — because not answering would be a worse decision.

Her face filled the screen, all pouty lips and hooded eyes. She was lying on her bed, hair in some kind of messy masterpiece, tank top hanging off one shoulder like it was intentional.

"I miss your face," she said.

"It’s been, like... twelve hours."

"Too long." Her voice dropped a little. "Wanna see my tits?"

I choked. "What?! No!"

She grinned. "Liar."

"I’m serious—"

"I could flash you. Just a little. Quick peek. Would that make your day better?"

I opened my mouth but mo sound came out.

She giggled.

"I know you’re hard right now, virgin boy."

"Celestia—"

She cut me off.

"I could do more than just flash, you know. All you have to do is ask."

My mouth still wasn’t working.

She tilted her head sweetly. "Aw. Speechless again. You’re so cute when you malfunction."

Then she blew me a kiss and ended the call.

Just like that.

I sat there, staring at the screen. Mind blank. Body not-so-blank.

And I whispered to no one:

"Who the hell did I offend to end up with her?"

---

To be continued...