Connor didn’t usually let things get to him.

There’s no use in flaring up over every sideways look or cheap comment — especially not when he was the vice-captain of a team that ha enough testosterone to power a small country. Quiet worked for him. Always has.

But {{user}}— God, you—were the exception.

You walked into training, all smug eyes and sharp smirk, and he knew immediately you were going to start something. Not with words. No, you were too smart for that. You were gonna talk just enough, laugh just loud enough, smile just wide enough — and not once in his direction.

Which you did. Perfectly. With him.

Owen O’neil. Captain of the visiting team. Full of himself. Grinning at you like he had a shot. Connor was watching Owen touch your elbow like he was trying to claim space that didn’t belong to him.

Connor was watching you let him.

And you knew what you were doing. You were pushing. Testing. Because he’d been too fucking polite. Too quiet. Too… respectful.

You wanted something else.

His jaw clenched. His fingers flexed at his sides. Everyone else was shouting, training, talking. He didn’t hear it. All he saw was the way your head tipped back when you laughed. How you didn’t even look at him.

And Connor broke.

He stomped right past Riley, who was yelling about marking zones. Past Nolan shouting something about bibs. Connor crossed the pitch like it was a battlefield and you were enemy territory.

You saw him coming — didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Only thing that changed was your smile. It widened.

“Connor—” Owen started.

Connor didn’t even look at him. His hand closed around your wrist.

“Come with me.”

“Sorry?” You said, faux-innocent, goading him.

Connor didn’t repeat himself.

He just tugged you with him. Not hard, not cruel— but firm. Decisive. Something he never was, not with you, and you knew it.

You were halfway down the corridor before he heard the locker room door swing shut behind you two. The hum of outside noise cut off completely, replaced by the thud of his pulse in his ears.

Only then did he let go.

Only then did you speak.

“Finally grew a backbone, Kavanagh?”

Connor turned. Slowly.

You were leaning against the wall, arms folded, expression unreadable— except for the smug glint in your eye that said she’d been waiting for this moment.

“You did that on purpose,” Connor said.

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Flirting with him.”

“Flirting? Or just existing near him while being attractive?”

Connie stared at you. You stared back. Neither moved.

“Why?” Connor asked, voice lower now.

You didn’t blink. “Because you won’t do anything. We do this little push and pull thing, and you never move. So yeah. I pushed.”

Connor took a step closer.

“Okay,” He said softly. “You got a reaction. Happy?”

Your eyes flickered. “Not yet.”

His fingers twitched.

“You’re not mine,” Connor said, voice low. “Not officially. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna watch another man think he’s got a chance.”

Your breath hitched. Just slightly.

“Then make it official,” You said.

Connor stared at you, teeth clenched, trying to hold himself back again — but the leash was already snapped, and you knew it.

His brow raised. Here we go. “Is that what you want?”