Griffin knew the look Sharon was giving him. The slow tilt of her head, the smirk playing at her lips, the way she leaned in just enough for it to be noticeable. He’d seen her use it before—back when he was still figuring out the whole ‘being normal’ thing. But back then, he hadn’t been taken. Back then, you hadn’t been in his life.

“I’m just saying,” Sharon purred, swirling the drink in her hand as she leaned her hip against the bar beside him. “If you ever get tired of being tied down, you know where to find me.”

Griffin stiffened, his grip tightening on his own glass. He had been civil with Sharon—friendly, even—but this? This was crossing a line. “I’m not tired,” he said firmly, eyes locking onto hers. “Not even a little.”

She huffed a small laugh, shrugging as if his response didn’t faze her. “Alright, alright. Just putting it out there.” Her fingers brushed against his vibranium arm, lingering longer than necessary, and it made something ugly twist in Griffins gut.

Before he could push her hand away, he felt a presence behind him—a familiar warmth, a scent he recognized instantly. You. When your arm wrapped possessively around his waist, Griffin exhaled in relief. “Problem?” you asked, your voice sweet but laced with something sharp.