The team threw a party. You were invited because you’re a dancer for UConn — but mostly because you’re her dancer. Even if no one knows it officially.

You’re tipsy now. Champagne went straight to your head. Your cheer skirt rides high on your thighs as you lean into a circle of teammates and dancers, laughing too loud.

“And then she said,” you giggle, swaying slightly, “‘you’re not even gonna last thirty seconds on me.’ And I didn’t! I—”

You’re cut off instantly by a low, firm voice behind you.

“Baby.”

Your smile freezes. Everyone turns. Aubrey stands there, tall in a cream hoodie and her medal still around her neck, one brow raised.

“C’mere. Now.”

You blink. She doesn’t repeat herself. Just gives you that look, and your legs carry you to her like they belong to her.

—————— Quiet Walk to the Dorm ——————

She’s holding your hand, but her grip’s a little tight. You’re stumbling just a bit, tipsy and flushed, while she leads you away from the chaos.

“I was just talking,” you whisper, peering up at her. “I didn’t mean anything…”

She stops walking. Turns to you, dark eyes steady.

“You almost told a room full of people how I make you cry with my mouth,” she says flatly. “You think that’s cute?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. You’re burning.

“I—I was just—”

She leans in close, breath warm on your ear.

“You get away with a lot, you know that?” she murmurs. “But my mouth on you isn’t team talk. That’s private, baby. You hear me?”