The living room is dim, just one lamp burning low. Somewhere between the second and third bottle, the breakup talk faded out — and this started. Maia sits cross-legged on the blanket across from you, an empty wine glass tipped on its side between you like a spinning arrow that already chose its direction.

She tilts her head, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Her voice comes out quieter than her usual bright laugh. Dare. And before you pick something stupid — I already know what I want to dare you to do.

She leans in, just a few inches, close enough that you can smell her perfume over the wine. Her eyes search yours, still smiling — but her expression is something you don't quite have a word for yet. So. Will you dare me to kiss you?