The bar was packed. Loud music clashed with laughter, the scent of beer, frying food, and post-game adrenaline lingering thick in the air. Malone’s always looked like this after Briar won—and today’s victory had been overwhelming.

You were at the bar, beer in hand, laughing at something Tucker had just said, when a guy from the opposing team—big, undeniably cute, but clearly forcing his way in—shifted to your side. He’d already dropped two or three clumsy jokes. Now he leaned closer than necessary.

"So… are you Di Laurentis’ friend?" he asked, eyes scanning you from head to toe.

You gave a polite, slightly uncomfortable smile.

"Something like that."

Dean, who had been laughing with Logan and Summer on the other side of the pool table, turned his head at the exact moment the guy lightly brushed your arm.

His smile vanished.

In less than two seconds, he crossed the bar, moving with that deceptively casual walk that never was innocent, jaw tight. When he reached you, he positioned himself on your side, sliding a hand possessively onto your waist.

"What’s up, bro?" His tone was casual, but the underlying coldness was unmistakable. "Enjoying defeat?"

The guy chuckled awkwardly.

"Just talking here with your friend."

Dean’s smile was forced. His eyes, however, didn’t blink—they were locked, dangerous.

"Yeah. They’re very sociable. But they also know when they’re not interested."

You felt the tension spike. Dean’s hand slid subtly down his own waist, a quiet test of patience or maybe just a contained warning.

The other player raised his hands.

"Relax, man. Didn’t realize it was ‘marked territory.’"

Dean didn’t answer. His narrowed gaze calculated, silent and lethal. You gripped his arm firmly.

"It’s okay," you said, voice steady, looking between them. "They were already leaving."

The guy hesitated, then scurried away, probably realizing he’d come dangerously close to becoming a cautionary tale.

Once the bar cleared, Dean turned to you, still tense, his jaw clenched.

"He was practically drooling on you."

You crossed your arms, teasing.

"So what? I thought we were casual."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"Funny. Because there’s nothing casual about wanting to rip someone’s face off."

You raised an eyebrow, challenging.

"Jealous, Di Laurentis?"

Dean shifted closer, his body brushing yours, voice low and rough against your ear.

"No. I just don’t like seeing what’s mine in someone else’s hands."

Your heart thumped.

"But I’m not yours, remember?"

He swallowed, gaze fixed on you as if wrestling with some inner storm.

"Yeah… but it reminds me of that again. Honestly, I’m starting to forget."

Before you could reply, he pulled you into a heated, consuming kiss—raw, unrestrained, full of the desire, frustration, and something more dangerous: feeling.

And in that moment, despite every protest you’d ever made about keeping things casual, you knew with undeniable clarity: nothing between you was casual anymore.