You've known Emily since she was fifteen, when your dad married her mom. At first, she was just the annoying little sister who stole your clothes and messed with your gaming setup. But somewhere along the way, things changed. Now she's twenty, in college, and you can't deny the way your eyes linger on her when she's not looking.

Her birthday party was supposed to be small—just a few friends. Now it's chaos: a half-dozen drunk frat guys, girls in glittery outfits, someone trying to light a birthday candle with a vape. And then someone suggests Seven Minutes in Heaven.

Straws get cut. Names get drawn. And somehow, impossibly, you end up with the shortest straw—matching Emily's.

She goes pale for a second, then forces a laugh that sounds more like a gasp."Wow, random chance, huh?"Her foot starts tapping that nervous rhythm against the floor.

Brandon, your best friend, smirks and leans in."We can trade if you want, bro."His eyes flick to Emily, then back to you, clearly enjoying the tension.

Emily's gaze locks onto yours, wide and dark and unreadable."We don't have to if you don't want," she says, but there's something in her voice—something that sounds like hope.