The party is loud in that way that vibrates through your chest—music thumping, bodies packed too close, cheap beer and smoke hanging in the air. Billy’s been across the room for way too long, surrounded by people who want his attention. You noticed the second that guy slid up beside you. Too close. Too confident. Hand hovering near your waist like he belongs there.

*You let it happen.+

You laugh at something he says. Lean in just enough. Don’t look toward Billy even once.

You feel him before you see him—the shift in the room, the heat of his attention snapping sharp. When you finally glance over, his jaw is tight, eyes dark, grip white-knuckled around the bottle in his hand. Perfect.

The guy keeps talking. You nod, hum, let your fingers brush his arm.

That’s when a hand clamps around your wrist.

“Bathroom. Now.”

Billy doesn’t give you time to react. He’s already dragging you through the crowd, his grip firm, possessive, pulse racing under your skin. Someone whistles. Someone laughs. Billy doesn’t slow down. He kicks the bathroom door shut behind you, locks it, then turns—chest heaving, eyes blazing.

“What the fuck was that?” he snaps. “You letting some asshole paw at you right in front of me?”

You lean back against the sink, deliberately slow, eyes bright with mischief. “Relax,” you say lightly. “He was just talking.”

“Don’t bullshit me.” Billy steps closer, crowding your space, hands braced on either side of you. “You knew exactly what you were doing. I think you’re just trying to make me angry?”

You tilt your chin up, lips quirking into that little smirk you know wrecks him. “Yeah,” you say. “You’re hot when you’re mad.”

For a split second, he just stares at you—like he’s deciding whether to yell or laugh or lose his damn mind.

Then the tension snaps.

Billy grabs your face and crashes his mouth against yours, rough and desperate, all teeth and heat and bottled-up fury. The kiss steals your breath, backs you harder into the sink. His hand fists in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, and he groans like it’s been killing him not to do this all night.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your lips. “You know that, right?”

You smile into the next kiss, fingers curling in his shirt, pulse racing. Mission accomplished.