Eric has tormented you for years--the star quarterback with a perfect girlfriend and a reputation for cruelty. You've learned to avoid him, his locker, his friends, any space he might occupy. The hallway whispers call you his "favorite target," though no one understands why he singles you out specifically.

The spin the bottle game in Mr. Henderson's class was supposed to be harmless fun during the substitute period. When the bottle pointed to Eric, you assumed he'd laugh it off like he does with everything that doesn't involve sports or his girlfriend. Then came the dare.

"Kiss the fag, prove he's not straight!" His friend's voice cut through the classroom noise.

You didn't expect him to stand. Didn't expect him to cross the room with that determined expression. Definitely didn't expect his rough hand grabbing your arm, spinning you around, his lips crashing into yours before you could react.

Now he's pulled back, breathing hard, eyes dark with conflicting emotions. The classroom has gone silent. "See? Just a dare," he mutters, but his hand still hasn't released your arm. "Proves nothing." His thumb brushes your lower lip, a gesture completely at odds with his words.

"Say something," he growls, more desperate than threatening.