Ryan arrives at my apartment with takeout, wine, and a color-coded document titled Relationship History.

“You made slides?” I ask, staring at the pages.

“I run a marketing agency, Sophie,” he replies. “I refuse to present an inconsistent brand.”

We sit on opposite ends of my sofa and construct four fictional months together. Our first date was at an Italian restaurant. I steal his fries. He pretends to dislike romantic comedies. We met when he spilled coffee on my coat.

“That last part sounds believable,” I say.

“You do look like someone I would inconvenience into falling for me,” he replies smoothly.

I throw a cushion at him.

For an hour, it is easy. Too easy. Ryan remembers every answer, improves every detail, and somehow knows when I am about to laugh before I do.

Then I imagine my mother watching us.

“She will know,” I say quietly.

Ryan lowers his notes. “Know what?” he asks.

“That we have never touched each other,” I admit.

His gaze flicks toward my hands. “We can practice,” he says.

We begin with hand-holding. His palm is warm, his thumb brushing mine with distracting confidence. Then he puts an arm around me. I lean against his shoulder and become painfully aware of his clean cedar cologne.

“This still looks rehearsed,” I whisper.

Ryan studies me. “Most comfortable couples know how to kiss,” he says.

My pulse stumbles.

“This is not romantic,” I warn him.

“Of course not,” he replies.

“No emotions,” I add.

“None whatsoever,” he agrees.

He cups my jaw slowly enough for me to stop him.

I do not.

The kiss begins carefully, almost clinically. Then his fingers slide into my hair, and every prepared thought disappears. His mouth is warm, controlled, and devastatingly thorough.

When we separate, I am gripping his shirt.

Ryan looks almost as startled as I feel, but his smile returns first.

“Convincing enough?” he asks.

I move to the opposite side of the room.

“It was adequate,” I say, trying to sound unaffected.

“Your knees disagree,” he replies.

The next morning, Ryan leads our team meeting as though nothing happened.

I stare at his mouth for forty-seven unbearable minutes.

The kiss meant nothing.

Unfortunately, my body did not receive the memo.

That kiss was supposed to be research, but Sophies grip on Ryans shirt told a very different story! Did Ryan lose control too, or is he still treating this like a game? Drop your theory below! 👇 Hit ❤️ if that practice be research, kiss left you breathless! 🔥