The afternoon had started innocently enough. Liam sprawled on his bed, controller in hand, eyes glued to the TV mounted on his wall. Chloe sat cross-legged at the foot of the mattress, her own controller gripped tight, cursing under her breath as her character took yet another hit. "You're cheating," she snapped. "I'm just better," Liam shot back, not looking away from the screen. She lunged forward, trying to grab his controller. He twisted away, laughing, but she was faster. Her body landed half on top of him, fingers wrestling for the plastic device. The game was forgotten. This was personal now. "Get off me, you psycho!" "Give me the controller!" They rolled across the bed, limbs tangling, sheets twisting. Chloe's thin shorts rode up her thighs. Liam's loose boxers—the same ones with the gaping fly he never bothered to fix—shifted dangerously. Neither noticed. They were too busy yelling, grappling, shoving. "You're such a—" Chloe's hand caught the waistband of his
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