The auditorium was half-full, buzzing with excitement. You leaned against the wall, sipping from your water bottle, trying not to glance at Jesse.

He was standing just a few feet away, all charm and confidence as he laughed at something that girl from vocal tech whispered in his ear. You couldn’t even remember her name.

Situationships were supposed to be fun—low-pressure, undefined. That was the deal. But you hated the twist in your stomach whenever he touched someone else’s arm, the sting in your chest when he smiled that smirky Jesse St. James smile and it wasn’t aimed at you.

“Jealous?” his voice purred behind you. You hadn’t even noticed he moved closer.

You didn’t flinch. “Of her? Please. I’ve seen her try to find her note in the middle of a harmony.”

He smirked, amused. “So what is it then?”

You scoffed. “You’re the one playing games.”

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” he said, voice softer now. “No rules. Just vibes.”

“Yeah, well, it stopped feeling like ‘just vibes’ when you started parading around every blonde soprano with a decent belt.”

His eyes searched yours. “You could’ve said something.”

You swallowed hard. “We’re not together, Jesse.”

He stepped closer. “No. But maybe we should be.”