The bottle was set in the middle. An old glass bottle of Coke, sand dusting its sides.
Someone spun it.
It spun fast, catching firelight, scattering off reflections, the crowd leaning in breathlessly.
Then it slowed.
Slowed.
And stopped on…
One of the girls who’d greeted Riley like he personally wrote her love letters. The one who’d touched his arm earlier. The one who looked like she’d been waiting to pounce on him since birth.
Her squeal nearly shook the sand.
She picked dare instantly.
Someone from across the circle, some guy with a beer and a death wish, shouted:
“Since Riley’s playing for the first time ever, he deserves a welcome! She should kiss him!”
The crowd roared in agreement.
The girl practically levitated. “Gladly.”
Riley looked at the guy who’d shouted like he wanted to drag him into the ocean and drown him, but at the same time, a slow, dangerous grin spread across his mouth.
Of course he didn’t care. Of course he wasn’t flustered. Of course he wasn’t bothered that half the crowd wanted to watch.
He sat there like a king on driftwood, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with challenge.
The girl stood, smoothing her hair, heart in her smile, and walked toward him. Every step was a victory to her.
She stopped in front of him.
Riley didn’t move.
He just tipped his chin up slightly, dominant, effortless, infuriatingly sure of himself.
She cupped his face and leaned down.
And then she kissed him.
Gasps. Cheers. Waves crashing behind the noise.
She kissed him like she wanted to swallow the air between them, hungry, eager, worshipful.
And Riley?
Riley kissed her back.
Slow at first, controlled… then deeper, with a sudden intensity that made the crowd erupt.
The bonfire crackled like it wanted to climb into the sky.
People laughed, shouted, clapped. Someone yelled, “GET IT, RILEY!” Another shouted, “Daaamn!”
The girl made a small, breathy sound that sounded a little too triumphant.
