Jaxon walks into the lakehouse like he owns the damn place.

Not cautiously. Not like someone who wasn’t invited. Like someone who belongs — hoodie slouched, hair tousled from the drive, and a smirk that says go ahead, dare me.

The second the door creaks open, the entire room hits pause. No one breathes. Conversations snap off mid-sentence. The Bluetooth speaker glitches like it’s shocked.

Leah, next to the kitchen island, chokes on her drink. “What the hell?”

Macy makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a giggle. “He’s here?”

I shrink a little deeper into the corner of the couch, the one with the throw pillows that smell like Febreze and entitlement. My drink suddenly feels too warm in my hand. I glance down, pretend to read the ingredients on the root beer can like it’s a novel.

“Chill,” Jamie says from across the room. “Maddie invited him.”

I look up.

Maddie blinks. Just once. Then she smiles, that slow, smug kind that should come with a warning label.

She crosses her arms and says, “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Laughter bubbles through the room like carbonated suspicion.

And Jaxon?

He doesn’t even blink.

He nods once, grabs a chip from the counter, and walks straight into the kitchen like he’s been here a thousand times. Like this isn’t a disaster unraveling in real time.

He doesn’t look at me.

I can feel him, the heat of him, the tension, the memory of his hands on my skin still echoing through my bones. My mouth is dry. My thoughts are a broken record.

Don’t do anything dumb, don’t do anything dumb, don’t do anything dumb—

Jamie is staring at him like he’s the final boss in a video game. His hand tightens around his Red Bull. If his hoodie sleeves weren’t in the way, I’m convinced we’d see his veins popping.

And then, because apparently someone upstairs hates me, a voice yells:

“Spin the bottle! Truth or dare edition!”

The room erupts. Because of course it does.

We’re eighteen. Hormonal. Reckless. Morally flexible. Nothing good ever happens after someone says “truth or dare.”

Pillows get tossed onto the rug. Solo cups are abandoned. People scramble into a lopsided circle, dragging their crushes, exes, and reputations down with them.

I’m frozen on the couch.

Nope. Not happening. I will not voluntarily sit in a circle with Liam, Maddie, and the guy who I may or may not be slowly falling into, emotionally and otherwise.

And then Macy — traitorous, stunning Macy — grabs my wrist.

“Come on,” she says, her voice light and sharp. “Don’t be boring.”

My eyes flick to Maddie, already lounging like a queen on her pile of blankets and influence. She smirks when she catches my gaze.

“Yeah, Zoe,” she says. “Be fun.”

My blood begins to boil. I am many things, but boring is not one of them.

I get up.

The circle is already packed — but somehow, some way, the spot directly next to Jaxon is wide open.

Of course it is.

I sit.

Our knees don’t touch. But they could. One shift, one breath too deep, and—

“You look flushed,” he whispers, voice low enough that only I can hear. “Lake air getting to you?”

I glare at him.

He grins. “Or maybe just regret?”

“Remind me why I texted you again?”

“I’m irresistible.”

“You’re a menace.”

He leans slightly closer. “You didn’t say no.”

I don’t answer. Because he’s right.

And because if I speak, I might accidentally confess something I’m not ready to admit.

The circle is buzzing. The bottle spins, dizzy and shiny under the overhead lights, the crowd jeering and chanting as it points, one by one, at victims and volunteers.

People are screaming things like “Dare!” and “Tell us about your last hookup!” like it’s not already leaking out into the floorboards.

I can’t focus.

I can’t think.

Because Jaxon is next to me. Because Maddie is three seats down, flipping her hair and pretending not to glance at him. Because Liam is on the far side of the room, visibly tense, like he can’t decide whether to be mad at me or jealous of Jaxon or just spiral quietly in the corner.

And me?

I’m somewhere in between wanting to run… and wanting to kiss Jaxon in front of everyone.

My heart’s in my throat.

My pulse is ridiculous.

And the bottle is still spinning.