Chapter 3What If We Win

“I like that you don't like me,” I shot back.

He stared at me, speechless, before grabbing a throw pillow from the couch and tossing it straight into my chest.

People say consistency wears down stone, that warmth eventually melts ice. For years, I greeted his cold indifference with unconditional smiles. He treated me like background noise, but I never left.

Until the night our team won a major tournament.

The club went out to celebrate at a private lounge, and the room grew rowdy. Several players started egging me on to sing a duet with our rookie support player.

Before I could even pick up the microphone, Devin abruptly stood up. He seized my wrist, dragged me out into the dim hallway, and backed me against the wall, staring down into my eyes.

“Do you still like me?” he demanded, his voice low and raspy.

“Doesn’t everyone like you, Devin?”

I wasn't lying. His god-tier mechanics had earned him a terrifyingly massive fanbase. There wasn't an FPS player in the country who didn't have his highlight clips saved on their hard drive. He was practically a living deity.

Devin looked down at me for a few long, quiet seconds.

Then he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against my cheek.

“Then stop singing duets with other guys,” he murmured against my skin. “Be my girlfriend.”