The bedroom was a chaotic masterpiece, a perfect reflection of Mia’s wild spirit. Clothes spilled from an open dresser, tangled with crumpled sheets on the unmade bed, while a small desk in the corner groaned under the weight of textbooks, half-eaten bags of chips, and a rogue soda can. Sunlight filtered through a crooked blind, casting lazy streaks across the mess. Mia lounged on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge as she flipped through a glossy magazine, barely registering the images of airbrushed models. Beside her, Ethan sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh for the third time in five minutes.
“God, Mia, can we do something already? I’m dying here,” Ethan groaned, his voice muffled by his arm. “I didn’t come over to watch you drool over whatever celebrity’s abs are in that rag.”
Mia snorted, tossing the magazine aside with a flick of her wrist. It landed somewhere in the pile of laundry on the floor. “Oh, please, Ethan. If I wanted to drool over abs, I’d just make you take your shirt off. Though, let’s be honest, there’s not much to see.” Her lips curled into a wicked smirk as she propped herself up on her elbows, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder.
Ethan lifted his arm just enough to glare at her, his cheeks already tinged with a faint pink. “Ha. Hilarious. You’ve got the comedic timing of a brick.”
“Better than your personality, which is about as exciting as watching paint dry,” she fired back, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, let’s kill some time. How about a game of cards?”
Ethan rolled his eyes so hard it looked like they might get stuck. “Cards? What are we, eighty? I’d rather count the stains on your ceiling.”
Mia’s grin widened, and she sat up fully, crossing her legs with an air of authority. “Oh, come on, don’t be such a wet blanket. I’ve got a twist that’ll wake you up. Strip poker. You in or what?”
The room seemed to shrink as Ethan froze, his jaw dropping just enough to betray his shock. His face went from pink to full-on crimson in record time. “W-what? Strip poker? Are you insane?”
Mia threw her head back and laughed, the sound sharp and unapologetic. “Oh, look at you, blushing like a little schoolgirl. What’s the matter, Ethan? Scared little chicken? Afraid I’ll see your scrawny self and never recover from the trauma?”
“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck, his nervous energy practically vibrating off him. “This is a terrible idea. Like, epically bad.”
“Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me,” Mia teased, hopping off the bed with a predatory grace. She rummaged through the chaos of her desk drawer, pulling out a worn deck of cards with a flourish. “Gotcha right here. Don’t even think about backing out now, big bro. I’ll never let you live it down.”
Ethan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. Whatever. I’m gonna wipe the floor with you anyway. Just don’t cry when you’re down to your ugly granny panties.”
Mia arched a brow as she returned to the bed, shuffling the cards with the skill of a Vegas dealer. “Oh, honey, you wish you’d get that lucky. But let’s get one thing straight—I make the rules. Loser of each hand strips one piece of clothing. No chickening out. Got it?”
“You’re such a dictator,” Ethan grumbled, but there was a reluctant smirk tugging at his lips as he shifted to sit cross-legged across from her. His fingers tapped nervously against his knee, betraying the bravado in his voice.
“Damn right I am,” Mia shot back, dealing the first hand with a flick of her wrist. The cards slapped against the bedspread, the sound cutting through the thick air. “And I’m about to rule this game. Try not to make that pouty face when you lose, okay? It’s pathetic.”
Ethan picked up his cards, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep his expression neutral. “Says the girl who can’t bluff to save her life. I can read you like a cheap paperback.”
“Oh, really?” Mia tilted her head, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “Then why are your hands shaking, tough guy? Afraid I’ve got a royal flush already?”
The tension simmered as they played the first round, each of them tossing out playful jabs like they were throwing punches. Ethan’s attempts at a poker face were laughable—every time he thought he had a good hand, his left eyebrow twitched. Mia, on the other hand, was a fortress of smug confidence, her gaze flicking between her cards and his increasingly flustered face.
“Call,” Mia said finally, laying down her pair of queens with a triumphant grin. “Beat that, loser.”
Ethan’s face fell as he tossed his measly pair of threes onto the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Mia cackled, clapping her hands with glee. “Oh, this is too good. Shirt off, Ethan. Let’s see if you’ve got anything worth looking at under there. Come on, don’t give me those sad puppy eyes. Strip!”
“You’re evil,” he muttered, but there was no real venom in his voice as he tugged his faded T-shirt over his head, revealing a lean, if not particularly muscular, frame. He tossed the shirt aside with a dramatic huff, crossing his arms over his chest like he could shield himself from her gaze.
Mia leaned back, fanning herself with an exaggerated flourish. “Oh, my stars, Ethan, I’m swooning over here. Look at that scrawny little bod. What do you even do with yourself? Lift potato chips?”
“Shut up,” he snapped, though the corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed laughter. “Deal the next hand, you witch. I’m getting revenge.”
“Oh, I’m shaking,” Mia mocked, her voice dripping with faux fear as she shuffled the cards again. She caught him sneaking a glance at her, trying to gauge her expression, and her grin turned positively feral. “Eyes up here, champ. You’re not gonna figure me out that easily.”
The second hand played out faster, with Mia’s confidence only growing as she watched Ethan squirm. When she laid down a straight, his face crumpled like a paper bag. “No way. No freaking way.”
“Yes way,” Mia sang, pointing at his feet with a flourish. “Socks off, pretty boy. Let’s see those hobbit feet.”
“You’re a card-sharking witch, you know that?” Ethan grumbled, yanking off his mismatched socks and tossing them across the room with a huff. They landed somewhere in the abyss of her laundry pile. “This game is rigged.”
“Rigged? Sweetie, I’m just better than you,” Mia purred, leaning forward as she dealt the next hand. Her eyes glinted with mischief, the air between them thickening with unspoken tension. Every shuffle of the cards felt like a dare, every glance a challenge.
As the cards hit the bedspread, Mia’s voice dropped to a sultry whisper, her smirk never wavering. “Buckle up, Ethan. This game is just getting started.”
Ethan swallowed hard, his flustered expression betraying the storm of nerves inside him. The stakes felt higher than ever, and Mia knew she had him exactly where she wanted him.
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