The party is already loud by the time you slip inside—music thumping through the walls, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, beer sloshing onto sticky floors. The air smells like smoke, cheap cologne, and summer heat. Billy had peeled off the second you arrived, swallowed up by his friends near the keg, all swagger and easy laughter. You don’t mind. You never really do.

You spot Nancy and Robin near the back of the living room, half-yelling over the music as they argue about something dumb and trivial, and you wedge yourself in with them. Nancy smiles when she sees you, relieved, while Robin throws an arm around your shoulders like you’ve known each other forever. You laugh, relax, let the noise wash over you.

Across the room, Billy does what Billy does—leans back against the counter, beer in hand, head tilted as he listens to someone tell a story he’s already heard. But his eyes keep drifting. Always drifting. They find you without effort.

That’s when he notices him.

Some guy you don’t see at first—tall, leaning against the opposite wall, drink untouched in his hand. His gaze lingers too long, follows the way you laugh, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when Robin says something ridiculous. Billy’s jaw tightens, just slightly. The smile he’s wearing doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

He takes a slow pull from his beer, watching. Waiting.

The guy’s eyes don’t move away.

Billy exhales through his nose, sets the empty bottle down, and grabs another without breaking eye contact. He moves with lazy confidence, weaving through the crowd like he owns the place—which, honestly, he kind of does. By the time he reaches the guy, he’s already smiling again. Not friendly. Never friendly.

Billy slides in beside him, close enough to invade his space, and casually hooks an arm around the guy’s shoulders like they’re old buddies. The guy stiffens immediately.

Billy lifts his beer in a mock toast, eyes still locked on you across the room. “You see my girl?” he says, voice smooth, almost conversational. “Very pretty.”

The guy swallows, nods once.

Billy’s grip tightens just enough to make the point land. His smile sharpens. “Very off limits,” he continues, finally turning his head, blue eyes cold and unblinking. “Very mine.”

There’s a long, uncomfortable beat. The guy mutters something that might be an apology and ducks out of Billy’s hold the first chance he gets, disappearing into the crowd like he was never there at all.

Billy watches him go, then turns his attention back to you. Your eyes meet from across the room. You’ve noticed now—the way he’s standing straighter, the tension in his shoulders. When he catches you looking, his expression softens instantly. The edge melts away, replaced by something warm and unmistakably yours.

He lifts his beer toward you again, a silent promise and a warning all at once.

A moment later, he’s back at your side, arm slipping around your waist like it belongs there—because it does. He leans down, lips brushing your ear. “You okay, baby?” he asks quietly, like nothing happened at all.

But his hand stays firm at your hip, possessive and protective, daring the whole room to forget who you’re with.