Dalton groans. “They’re gonna break another countertop.”
Riley claps Kieran’s shoulder. “Sounds like they need you.”
Kieran sighs. “Can’t you two take care of it?”
“Nope,” Dalton says cheerfully. “They only stop when you yell.”
Kieran turns back to me, jaw set. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Aubrey’s with me. Go prevent kitchen homicide.”
Aubrey salutes. “I’ve got her.”
He leans in, brushing his thumb over my hand, voice dipping warm. “If I lose you in this crowd, I’ll lose my mind.” He says it lightly, but his hand tightens on mine. “If anything feels off, you grab me.”
“Don’t worry,” I say easily. “I’ll wait for you here.”
His mouth curves. “Good. I’ll be just a minute.” He grins, backing toward the kitchen with Riley and Dalton.
Aubrey exhales, half laugh, half sigh. “Okay. I get the hype.”
I laugh, but my chest gives a small tug, already tracking where he went.
“You should see him on the ice,” I say. “This is the toned-down version.”
“Terrifying,” she murmurs, but she’s smiling.
Movement on the far side of the room catches her eye. Mine too.
Theo is wedged near the end of the couch, red Solo cup in hand, head tipped toward whoever’s talking to him. The sound around him feels muted, steady graphite gray against all the neon noise. There’s a girl practically draped over the armrest beside him, blonde waves and perfect eyeliner.
Isabelle.
She leans in, laughing too hard at something he said,fingertips skating up his forearm in a move so practiced it might as well be choreographed. Theo blinks down at her hand like it’s a piece of equipment he doesn’t remember ordering.
“Here we go,” Aubrey mutters.
“What?” I ask.
“Her Majesty over there.” Aubrey tips her chin toward them. “She’s been trying to breach Theo’s firewall all semester.”
Isabelle says something low and flirty, squeezing his arm. Theo smiles politely, then shifts his elbow just out of reach as he pulls his phone from his pocket, angling the screen toward her—graphs, if I’m seeing it right.
Isabelle’s smile freezes for a split second before she rebuilds it.
“Syntax error.” I chuckle quietly.
“More like permission denied,” Aubrey says, wicked amusement curling her mouth. “It’s honestly my favorite slow-burn tragedy on campus.”
The quad flashes through my mind—her sharp French, the precision of it.
That hadn’t been random.
That had been territorial.
It settles all at once, heavy and sudden. Isabelle isn’t just orbiting Kieran and the hockey team. She’s orbiting Theo. And from the looks of it, with not much to show for it.
“Bathroom,” Aubrey says a beat later, squeezing my arm. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
