When the Kiss Cam lands on {{user}}, her stomach drops.

Oh, perfect. Of all people.

The frat boy beside her grins like he’s just hit the jackpot, puckering his lips in exaggerated slow motion as the crowd around them whoops and cheers. Heat rushes up her neck, half embarrassment, half fury.

She opens her mouth, ready to tell him to get lost—

Then the sound hits.

A crash. Hard. Violent.

The boards rattle. Gasps cut through the arena.

{{user}}’s head snaps toward the ice.

Jackson. Helmet off. Staring straight up at her section. Straight at him. His chest heaves, shoulders tense, jaw set like stone.

The crowd goes still.

Then his mouth moves—slow, deliberate, deadly clear.

“Back. The. Fuck. Off.”

The crowd has no idea what they just witnessed.

But {{user}} does.

Because the look in Jackson’s eyes isn’t just anger. It’s possession. A silent, dangerous claim.

And as the Kiss Cam flickers to another couple, her pulse stumbles—because he didn’t just say it with his lips.

He said it with a promise.

Everyone in that arena just learned exactly who she belongs to.