Biddies is packed — sticky floors, low lights, the kind of music you feel in your ribs more than your ears. Joey leans against the back wall, half-listening to something Johnny’s saying, a bottle sweating in his hand. He’s pretending not to look. Failing.

She’s across the room. His rival, his headache, his favourite person to fight with. And she’s smiling at some lad with too-white teeth and a hand far too low on her back.

Joey’s jaw ticks.

The minute her laugh rings out — that bright, unguarded sound she never gives him — Joey is moving.

He finds her near the bar, hand on the stranger’s arm, and he doesn’t stop to think. Just reaches for her wrist and mutters, “Outside. Now.”

She yanks her arm back. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

She follows, stomping behind him, already gearing up for a fight.

Outside, the night air bites, sharp with cold and rage. He walks her around the side of his car and turns.

“What the actual hell is wrong with you, Lynch?” she hisses, arms crossed. “You don’t get to drag me out here like some—”

“Shut up,” he says, low, not cruel — just full of everything he hasn’t said.

Then he steps forward and kisses her.

It’s rough at first — a clash of pride and frustration — but then she melts. Her fingers fist in his jacket, his hand slides to the back of her neck like it’s always belonged there, and everything unsaid spills into the way they fit together.

When they finally pull apart, breathless, her eyes search his face like she doesn’t know what just happened.

He rests his forehead against hers, voice barely a whisper. “Can’t stand seein’ you smile at anyone else.”

She doesn’t smile now. Just whispers, “Then stop makin’ me look for reasons to.”

And this time, he kisses her softer.