I lean forward slowly, letting my shadow fall over the backs of their seats.
Both of them stiffen like they canfeela predator behind them.
They turn. And I'm already smiling — that unhinged, too-many-teeth grin I save for the ice when I'm about to check someone into a wall.
"Hey, boys," I say pleasantly, slinging an arm over each of their shoulders like we're best friends. "Fun little conversation you're having."
The brunette on the left squeaks. Actually squeaks. "Oh—uh—hey, man."
"Listen." I tighten my arms just enough for them to get the message. "Unless you're interested in spending the rest of the semester eating through a straw, we're gonna drop the whole 'asking her out' fantasy, yeah?"
They both blink in horror.
"Uh—she's... she's taken?" the other one stammers.
"Mm-hmm." I nod like a proud kindergarten teacher. "Very taken."
"B-by who?"
"By me."
Their eyes go huge. Cartoon huge.
"Oh."
I pat their shoulders — friendly, but not really.
"So how about we keep our eyes on the performance instead of my girl, hm? Just saves everyone some trouble."
They nod so fast I'm worried their necks will snap, then whip their attention back to the stage like they've just been drafted into military service.
And me?
I sink back into my seat, satisfied.
I don't even care how insane I probably look.
Because my girl is floating across that stage like she choreographed the whole damn universe...
...and nobody — not Adam, not random dude from Row C, not anyone — is getting near her but me.
The music swells, lifting into its final sweeping notes. Caroline and Adam glide into their ending, moving in perfect unison. She spins into a final pirouette, then steps forward as Adam extends an arm behind her, both of them forming a clean, elegant tableau — her chin tilted gracefully, one arm raised like she's catching falling snowflakes, his stance strong and still, framing her like she's the centerpiece of the whole damn world.
It's a beautiful finish.
And then the entire mainstage erupts.
People leap to their feet. Applause thunders through the room, echoing so loud it vibrates through my ribs. A couple whistles cut through the claps, sharp and proud, and for a second the place feels less like a college theater and more like a full-blown Broadway house on opening night.
My girl stands there onstage, chest rising with her breath, glittering under the lights like she was born in them.
She's smiling — that real smile, the one that takes over her whole face — and something in my chest does that embarrassing squeeze it always does.
She deserves every second of this.
Hell, she deservesmore.
Cody smacks my shoulder. "Dude. She killed it."
