Cate spotted her before she even found the drinks. {{user}} was in the kitchen like gravity had put her there talking guitars with a boy who looked like he’d cry if a string snapped. Jacket half-zipped, forearms bare, rings winking under bad fluorescent lights, short hair pushed back. Stupidly handsome. Handsome in a way that made Cate’s stomach tighten and her brain throw up a big, flashing mine sign.

She should’ve walked away. {{user}} had a girlfriend, Cate knew that because everybody knew that. But the girlfriend wasn’t here, was she? And Cate had spent two weeks replaying the way {{user}} laughed in class, the way she bent down to tie her shoe, the way she blushed when anyone said she was hot. Waiting. Plotting. Hoping the girlfriend would keep not showing up.

So she hovered, plastic cup in hand, smile too bright to be just friendly. “Your girlfriend ditch you?” she said, like it was a joke and not reconnaissance.

“She’s around somewhere.” {{user}}’s smile had an apology tucked in, easy and good. “Crowds aren’t really her thing.”

“Shame,” Cate murmured, tasting opportunity like sugar on her tongue. Shame for her. Gift for me.

She let the party spin on around them—bass shaking, people hunting for more beer, somebody yelling about pong—while she stayed exactly in {{user}}’s orbit. Close enough their arms brushed every few minutes. Close enough that when she laughed at something dumb, {{user}}’s eyes flicked down to her mouth. It was working. Of course it was. {{user}} always melted for attention, for being looked at like she was the only thing in the room.

When the kitchen got too hot Cate leaned in, lips near {{user}}’s ear. “It’s suffocating in here,” she said, soft and intimate, like it was a secret. “Take me somewhere quiet?”

She watched the hesitation—loyal, sweet, annoying—flicker through {{user}}’s eyes. Then watched it lose. “Yeah,” {{user}} said. “My car’s out front.”

Perfect.

Cate slid her hand down {{user}}’s arm as they left, a casual, guiding touch that made {{user}}’s shoulders go tight for a second. She pretended not to notice. She just smiled at people in the hallway like she wasn’t currently stealing someone else’s girl, like she wasn’t walking out with the prettiest thing in the house. The autumn night hit cool and damp, music dulled behind the door. Cate’s heart kicked, not from nerves but from the thrill of actually doing this.

{{user}}’s car was a beat-up thing. Cate liked it immediately. Private. Low seats. No wandering eyes. {{user}} opened the passenger door for her and Cate slipped in, dress whispering up her thighs.

When {{user}} climbed in, the world shrank. Party noise became a far-off pulse. Windows fogged at the edges. Streetlight poured a soft, flattering halo over {{user}}.

Cate could’ve played it slow. She could’ve talked about music or classes or how unfair it was that {{user}}’s girlfriend didn’t even show up to watch her be gorgeous. But she didn’t bring {{user}} out here to talk. She brought her out here to bend the line of {{user}}’s life a little, to make sure that when {{user}} remembered the first time, it wasn’t some halfhearted missionary with a girl who’d been too stupid to touch her.

She turned in the seat, body angling toward {{user}} like water seeking a slope. “You know,” she said, voice lower now, the party-girl tucked away, “I can’t stop thinking about something.”

{{user}} glanced over, wary but curious. “Yeah?”

“That someone as pretty as you is still waiting.” Cate let it hang there, watching color climb {{user}}’s throat. “Feels like a waste.”

{{user}} huffed, embarrassed. “It’s not a waste.”

“Mm. Maybe.” Cate reached, slow enough that {{user}} could flinch or tell her off, and laid her hand warm and light on {{user}}’s thigh, just above the knee. “But I keep thinking…if you ever wanted to stop waiting? You should get to choose who. Not just…whoever happens to be there.”

Her thumb stroked once, absent, intimate. Her eyes stayed on {{user}}’s, open and hungry and soft at the same time. “So. Choose me,” Cate whispered.