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"Next question! Who wrote the screenplay for Mean Girls?" I asked Renee with a grin, leaning back on the couch. Tonight was game night, a tradition we started as soon as we became roommates. Every Sunday night was a showdown, and whoever lost tonight did the dishes for the entire next week. It was serious business. And while Renee and I were competitive by nature, we both loathed doing the dishes. So, these games? They were nothing short of intense.
Renee squinted at me, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger, pretending to think. "Hmm, let me guess... Lindsay Lohan?"
I let out a loud laugh. "Oh, come on, seriously? You think I'm going to let that one slide? I'm not giving you any hints!"
She smirked, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Fine, fine. Tina Fey. But I swear you're making these way too easy for me."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, we'll see about that. You've got one point, but don't get too cocky. I've got a tough one lined up for you."
"Oh, I'm shaking," she teased, leaning closer to me with a mischievous glint in her eye. "But seriously, Billie, are you sure you can handle losing? I'm not sure if you're ready for the dish duty."
"You wish," I shot back, nudging her shoulder with mine. "I'm just warming up."
Renee gave me a mock-pout. "I just hope you're prepared to see me in all my victorious glory."
I chuckled, but the banter was starting to feel different, a little charged with something we hadn't acknowledged yet. The room felt warmer, and not because of the competitive heat. I shook off the feeling and refocused on the game.
"Alright, let's get serious. Your next question is going to knock you off your high horse," I said, holding up the card with a smirk.
"Bring it on, Billie. I'm ready for whatever you've got," she replied, but there was a softness in her eyes now, a flicker of something that made my heart skip a beat.
