#handholding

The shower helped.

Mostly.

It made you feel human again, at least. Warm water, clean skin, Jack’s hands careful at your waist when you stepped around him in the small bathroom, his mouth pressing once to your shoulder before he reached for the soap like that was a normal thing now.

Like any of this was normal.

By the time you made it back to your room, your hair was damp at the ends, and your body still felt loose in a way that made getting dressed feel vaguely unfair.

Jack had gone to his room to change.

You tried very hard not to think about that.

You failed almost immediately.

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the bathroom fan and the old pipes clicking somewhere in the wall. You stood in front of your dresser for too long, towel wrapped around you, staring at clothes like you had never been responsible for dressing yourself before.

The bar.

Taylor. Ethan. Claire.

Jack’s hand in yours.

Not hiding.

Your stomach flipped.

You picked the jeans first.

Light wash. High-waisted. Fitted enough to be dangerous without looking like you had tried too hard.

Then the white top.

Then the black leather jacket.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and immediately regretted having eyes.

Because you looked good.

Which was somehow worse.

It made the whole thing feel intentional. It made the decision feel real. Like you were getting dressed to be seen, not just by everyone at the bar, but by him.

Especially by him.

You were still adjusting the hem of your top when Jack knocked once on the open doorframe.

“You decent?” he asked.

You looked at him in the mirror. “Since when do you care?”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Trying out manners.”

“Don’t,” you said. “It’s unsettling.”

He stepped into the doorway then, and every clever thing in your head went blank.

Because Jack Abbot was standing there in jeans, a dark shirt, and a backwards baseball cap.

Backwards.

Like an act of violence.

Like a personal attack.

Like he had woken up that morning and decided you did not deserve peace.

Your hand froze at the hem of your jacket.

Jack noticed immediately.

His eyes moved over your face, then down, taking in the white top, the jeans, the jacket, before coming back to your eyes with a look that made your pulse trip.

“What?” he asked.

You stared at the hat.

Then at him.

Then back at the hat, because apparently you were weak and had no interest in pretending otherwise.

“No,” you said.

Jack’s brow lifted. “No?”

You stepped closer before you could think better of it, your eyes catching on the damp curls poking out from beneath the edge of the cap.

Soft.

Reddish-brown.

Still wet from the shower.

Your hand lifted before you could stop it.

Jack went still when your fingers brushed one curl near his temple.

Your stomach flipped.

“No,” you said again, quieter this time. “Not fair, Abbot.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “My hair is wet.”

You touched the curl again, then the brim of the cap. “Mm-hmm.”

“I’m wearing a hat,” he said.

You sighed. “Sure.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly, amused now. “Sure?”

You looked up at him. “Like you’re not actively trying to seduce me.”

His smile started slowly.

Too slowly.

The kind of smile that meant he had heard every word and intended to keep it.

“I’m standing here,” Jack said.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re standing here in my room with wet curls under a backwards hat.”

His gaze dipped to your mouth. “That’s seduction?”

“Don’t be cute,” you said.

“I wasn’t trying to be cute,” he said.

You clicked your tongue. “Liar.”

Jack’s hand settled at your waist, thumb pressing once through the leather of your jacket. “You think I’m cute?”

You gave him a flat look. “That is not what I said.”

His smile deepened. “It’s what I heard.”

“You have selective hearing,” you said, shaking your head.

“Only when it benefits me,” he said.

You tried to roll your eyes, but your fingers were still touching the damp curl at his temple, and Jack’s attention had gone soft around the edges because of it.

That ruined the eye roll completely.

His voice came lower. “You like the hat.”

You swallowed. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately,” Jack repeated.

“Yes,” you said. “It’s inconvenient.”

His thumb moved once at your waist. “For who?”

“For me,” you said. “Obviously.”

His mouth curved again, pleased in that quiet way that made you want to kiss him and shove him at the same time.

Then his gaze moved over you.

Not fast.

Not subtle.

The white top. The jeans. The leather jacket. Your hair, still soft from the shower.

Your skin prickled beneath his attention.

“What?” you asked.

Jack’s eyes came back to yours as his hand moved once at your waist. “You look good.”

Your chest tightened.

No tease.

No joke.

Just that.

You looked down, suddenly too aware of the fitted white top beneath the jacket, the high waist of your jeans, the fact that you had chosen this outfit knowing exactly whose eyes you wanted on you first.

Jack saw that too.

His voice softened. “Hey.”

You looked back up.

His hand slid lower from your waist to your hip, not pulling you closer, just keeping you there.

“You look good,” Jack said again.

Your throat tightened. “So do you.”

His mouth curved. “The hat?”

You touched the brim again. “Don’t push it.”

Jack’s smile got worse. “Noted.”

“It’s not the hat,” you said.

He arched a brow. “No?”

You let your eyes move over him once, just enough to be honest and just enough to make his jaw shift.

Then you looked back at the cap.

“It’s mostly the hat,” you said.

Jack huffed a laugh, soft and surprised, and the sound landed somewhere dangerous in your chest.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You were standing in your room, freshly showered, dressed to go out, close enough to touch, close enough to change your minds. The bar was waiting. Taylor and Ethan were waiting. Claire was probably already somewhere deciding how to make things uncomfortable.

And Jack was here, looking at you like he still could not quite believe you had agreed to be seen with him.

Not separately.

Not accidentally.

Together.

Your fingers slipped from the brim of his hat to the front of his shirt, smoothing a wrinkle that did not need smoothing.

Jack watched the movement.

“You ready?” he asked.

You inhaled once, then nodded. “Yeah.”

His eyes searched yours. “Yeah?”

You gave him a small smile. “I’m ready.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “That sounded almost convincing.”

“It was convincing,” you said.

Jack hummed. “Mm.”

You looked up at him, at the damp curls beneath the backwards hat, at the amused curve of his mouth, at the way he was standing close enough to ruin all your good intentions.

Then your fingers tightened lightly in the front of his shirt.

“I’m ready,” you said. “It’d be a shame not to show you off when you look like this.”

Jack went still.

His mouth parted slightly before he caught it, and for one beautiful second, Jack Abbot looked completely, helplessly pleased.

Then he looked away.

Your eyes widened. “Did you just blush?”

Jack’s jaw shifted. “No.”

You stepped closer. “You did.”

“I didn’t,” he said.

You smiled. “Abbot.”

His eyes came back to yours, narrowed now, but the corner of his mouth had given him away. “Careful.”

You smiled. “No.”

Jack’s hand found yours.

No question this time.

No careful request.

You had already said yes.

His fingers threaded through yours, warm and sure, and your pulse jumped anyway.

His thumb moved once over yours. “Still okay?”

You looked down at your joined hands.

Then back at him.

“Yeah,” you said. “Still okay.”

Jack’s expression softened, but only for a second before the almost-smile came back.

“Good,” he said.

You groaned. “And now you’re saying that on purpose.”

He opened the bedroom door with his free hand. “I’ve said it on purpose every time.”

You stopped walking.

Jack stopped too, glancing back at you.

Your eyes narrowed. “Every time?”

His smile was slow.

Devastating.

“Every time,” Jack said.

You stared at him.

Then pointed toward the hall. “Bar. Now. Before I make poor choices.”

Jack squeezed your hand once.

Then he pulled you gently toward the door.

You followed him out, still holding his hand, still trying not to smile.

The bar was already half-swallowed by med students when you got there.

It happened after finals every year, apparently. Not officially. Not with flyers or sign-ups or anyone responsible enough to reserve space. People just finished exams, changed clothes, and ended up at McCarthy’s because it was close to campus, cheap enough to justify, and willing to tolerate the particular volume of people who had spent too many weeks memorizing pathways and slowly losing their minds.

By the time Jack opened the door, the place was warm with noise.

Someone from the year above you was losing loudly at darts. A cluster of fourth-years had taken over the booths near the back. Two second-years were arguing at the bar about whether they had passed renal. Someone had started feeding dollar bills into the jukebox with the manic determination of a person who had not slept properly since October.

And then there was you.

Standing in the doorway with Jack Abbot’s hand wrapped around yours.

For half a second, no one noticed.

Then Taylor looked up from the high-top near the back.

Her straw stopped halfway to her mouth.

Her eyes dropped to your joined hands.

Then her face changed.

Slowly.

Delightedly.

“Oh my God,” Taylor said.

Ethan turned in his chair. “What?”

Taylor slapped his arm without looking away from you. “Oh my God.”

Ethan followed her gaze.

His eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

Jack’s thumb moved once over yours.

You glanced up at him.

His mouth was trying very hard not to move.

Failing.

That helped more than it should have.

From somewhere near the pool table, Robby’s voice cut through the noise.

“No way,” Robby said.

You looked over.

Robby was standing with two people you recognized vaguely from the year above you, beer in one hand, pool cue in the other, his face lit with the exhausted satisfaction of a man who had been waiting for justice.

Taylor made a delighted sound from the high-top. “You knew?”

Robby looked at her. “I have eyes.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair. “I also have eyes, and somehow I feel behind.”

Taylor patted his arm without looking away from you and Jack. “That’s because you use yours incorrectly.”

Then Robby’s eyes dropped to your joined hands.

His expression shifted into theatrical concern.

“Wait,” Robby said. “Does this mean I can’t flirt with her anymore?”

“Yes,” Jack said.

“No,” you said at the exact same time.

The silence lasted half a second.

Then Robby’s entire face lit up.

“Oh, excellent,” Robby said.

Jack turned his head slowly toward you.

His eyes narrowed. “No?”

You shrugged. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Jack went still.

Actually still.

His mouth parted slightly before he caught it, and then he looked away.

Your eyes widened. “Did you just blush?”

Jack’s jaw shifted. “No.”

You stepped closer, still holding his hand. “You did.”

Robby leaned against the pool cue, delighted beyond reason. “This is the best night of my life.”

Jack looked at him. “It’s about to be your last.”

Robby lifted both hands, still grinning. “Worth it.”

You squeezed Jack’s hand. “See? Cute.”

Jack looked back at you, his eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth had given him away.

“Careful,” Jack said.

You smiled. “No.”

Claire’s eyes flicked from your face to Jack’s hand around yours.

For one second, her smile did not quite make it.

Then she recovered.

“Well,” Claire said lightly. “That answers a few questions.”

Your fingers twitched.

Jack felt it.

This time, you tightened your grip before fear could make the decision for you.

His thumb brushed once over yours.

There.

Still here.

You looked at Claire and smiled.

“Yeah,” you said. “I guess it does.”

Taylor made a small strangled sound into her drink.

Ethan looked between you and Jack like he was trying to decide whether he was allowed to react yet.

Jack exhaled through his nose, then looked down at you.

His hand was still around yours.

Your hand was still around his.

The room was still loud, still crowded, still full of people who knew both of you well enough to understand that this meant something.

And you had not let go.

Jack’s thumb moved once over yours.

“You want a drink?” he asked.

You looked up at him, still fighting a smile. “You buying?”

His mouth curved faintly. “I’m asking.”

You tilted your head. “Vodka cranberry.”

Jack nodded once. “And water.”

Your smile dropped. “That was not part of my order.”

“It is now,” Jack said.

You stared at him. “Bossy.”

His eyes warmed. “Hydrated.”

“Bossy,” you said again.

Jack leaned closer, his mouth near your ear. “Both.”

Your stomach flipped.

You hated him.

You absolutely hated him.

You smiled anyway.

Jack left you at the edge of the high-top with one last squeeze of your hand before heading toward the bar.

You watched him go.

Which was a mistake.

A terrible one.

Because the backwards hat was no less destructive from behind, and now you had the added problem of knowing he was walking away to buy you a drink and water like some kind of annoyingly responsible fantasy.

Taylor leaned across the table immediately. “Okay.”

You looked at her. “No.”

Taylor’s eyes were wide and bright. “Yes.”

Ethan glanced between the two of you. “Am I supposed to leave?”

Taylor did not look away from you. “No.”

You pointed at Ethan. “Yes.”

Ethan sat back. “Conflicting instructions.”

Taylor ignored him completely. “How long?”

Your stomach flipped. “How long what?”

Taylor gave you a look. “Do not insult me after the day I’ve had.”

You glanced toward the bar.

Jack was standing with one elbow near the counter, talking to the bartender. His shoulders were relaxed, but his head turned slightly, like some part of him was still keeping track of you across the room.

That did something awful to your chest.

Taylor followed your gaze.

Her expression softened for half a second.

“Oh,” Taylor said.

You looked back at her quickly. “Don’t.”

Taylor’s voice went gentler. “You’re happy.”

Your mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

That was worse than teasing.

Much worse.

Ethan’s face softened too, like he had not meant to witness something real but was trying to be careful with it now that he had.

You looked down at the table. “Do not make this emotional.”

Taylor straightened immediately. “Fine. Did you sleep with him?”

Ethan choked on nothing. “Taylor.”

Taylor waved a hand at him. “Shut up.”

Your eyes widened. “You cannot just ask that.”

Taylor leaned closer. “I absolutely can.”

Ethan looked deeply uncomfortable. “I don’t need to know this.”

Taylor kept her eyes on you. “No one is talking to you.”

You tried to hold your face still.

You really did.

But your mouth betrayed you.

Just a little.

Taylor saw it instantly.

Her lips parted. “Oh my God.”

Ethan covered his face with one hand. “I hate it here.”

Taylor slapped his arm without looking away from you. “Be quiet. This is everything.”

You pressed your lips together.

Taylor’s voice dropped, urgent and delighted. “How was it?”

Ethan’s hand lowered. “Absolutely not.”

You looked at him. “Cover your ears.”

Ethan stared at you. “I’m twenty-six years old.”

Taylor pointed at him. “Cover your ears.”

Ethan looked between you both, then groaned and covered his ears with both hands. “I am being bullied.”

You leaned toward Taylor.

Taylor leaned in too, practically humming with anticipation.

You did not say it out loud.

You only mouthed the words.

Oh.

My.

God.

Taylor’s entire body reacted.

She made a sound so high and delighted that three people at the next table looked over.

Jack looked over too.

Of course he did.

From the bar, his eyes found you immediately.

Then Taylor.

Then Ethan, who was still sitting there with his hands clamped over his ears.

Jack’s brows drew together.

You straightened too fast.

Taylor slapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.

Ethan lowered his hands. “Is it over?”

Jack’s gaze narrowed slightly from across the room.

You smiled at him.

Too innocent.

He did not look convinced.

Taylor leaned closer, voice barely contained. “He knows.”

Ethan looked tired. “I don’t know what’s happening, and I still know too much.”

Jack accepted two glasses from the bartender.

One drink.

One water.

Taylor watched him start back toward the table. “He got you water.”

You sighed. “He said it was part of the order.”

Ethan nodded solemnly. “That tracks.”

Jack returned a second later, setting the vodka cranberry in front of you first, then the water beside it.

You looked at the water.

Then at him.

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “Hydrated.”

You picked up the drink instead. “Bossy.”

His hand settled at the small of your back, warm through the leather of your jacket. “Both.”

Taylor made a small sound into her glass.

You took a sip of your drink to hide your smile.

Jack’s thumb moved once against your back.

Small.

Private.

Still somehow very public.

Your pulse jumped.

Claire watched from the other side of the table, quiet in a way that felt too deliberate. Her eyes moved from Jack’s hand on your back to the drink he had brought you, then to the water, then back to your face.

You met her gaze.

For once, you did not look away.

Claire’s smile came slowly. “So. This is new.”

Your fingers tightened around your glass.

Jack’s hand stilled at your back, but he did not answer for you.

He waited.

That mattered more than you wanted it to.

You tilted your head. “Is it?”

Taylor’s eyebrows shot up.

Ethan looked down into his drink like it might provide guidance.

Claire’s smile sharpened by a fraction. “It looks new.”

You could feel Jack beside you.

Steady.

Warm.

Not stepping in.

Not stepping away.

Your hand moved before you could overthink it, leaving your glass on the table and finding his where it rested near your hip.

His fingers opened for yours immediately.

You looked at Claire and smiled. “Maybe you weren’t paying attention.”

Taylor bit down on her straw.

Ethan stared into the middle distance.

Jack did not say anything.

He did not need to.

His thumb moved once over your fingers, and you knew he was smiling without having to look.

Claire’s expression held for one more second.

Then she laughed lightly. “Apparently not.”

Your hand stayed in Jack’s.

His hand stayed at your back.

And for the first time all night, the attention did not make you want to run.

It made you want to lean into him.

So you did.

Just a little.

Jack felt it immediately.

His arm shifted behind you, settling more securely at your waist.

No hesitation.

No question.

Just there.

And you let him.

Then Taylor’s hand shot across the table and wrapped around your wrist.

“Come dance with me,” Taylor said.

Your eyes widened. “Taylor.”

Taylor slid off her stool, already pulling you with her. “Finals are over, and I need to move before my bones remember what sitting in a library chair felt like.”

Ethan lifted his glass slightly. “That was the most medical thing you’ve ever said.”

Taylor pointed at him over her shoulder. “Thank you.”

Jack’s arm loosened from your waist, but his hand stayed at your back for one second longer, like he was checking whether you wanted him to intervene.

You looked up at him.

He was already watching you.

Waiting.

Your stomach softened.

“I’ll be fine,” you said.

Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “I know.”

Taylor tugged your hand again. “Come on. Before you both start looking at each other like that again.”

Jack’s mouth almost moved.

You let Taylor pull you away before you could ask what kind of face you had been making.

The song was loud.

Ridiculous.

Perfect.

Taylor spun toward you, hair flying over her shoulder, eyes bright with the kind of post-finals mania that probably should have worried someone.

“This is insane,” Taylor said over the music.

You laughed. “The dancing?”

Taylor grabbed both your hands. “No. You and Abbot.”

Your gaze betrayed you immediately.

Across the room, Jack had taken your place at the edge of the high-top. Your drink sat beside his hand. Your water was in his other hand because apparently he had accepted his assignment as hydration supervisor with alarming seriousness.

His eyes were on you.

Of course they were.

He leaned back against the table, backwards hat low enough to make the whole thing unfair, one hand wrapped around your water like it mattered.

Taylor followed your gaze.

Her expression softened beneath the teasing.

“You look happy,” Taylor said.

Your throat tightened.

You looked back at her quickly. “Don’t.”

Taylor’s smile warmed. “I’m not doing anything.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re looking at me like that.”

Taylor tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to say something sincere,” you said.

Taylor squeezed your hands once. “Fine. I won’t.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

Taylor spun you under her arm with absolutely no rhythm. “For at least thirty seconds.”

You laughed so hard you nearly stumbled.

Jack straightened immediately.

You caught the movement over Taylor’s shoulder, and the laugh slipped out of you again, softer this time.

Taylor turned to look, then looked back at you with delight all over her face.

“Oh, that was cute,” Taylor said.

You pointed at her. “Do not call him cute.”

Taylor’s eyes flicked back to Jack, who was now pretending he had not almost crossed the bar because you stumbled half an inch. “He is kind of cute.”

“He would hate that,” you said.

Taylor smiled. “I know.”

The song shifted into something faster, and Taylor cheered, pulling you closer to the little crowd near the jukebox. You let her. For the first time all night, maybe all semester, you let yourself be ridiculous without measuring it first.

You danced.

You laughed.

You forgot, for nearly thirty whole seconds, to worry about who was watching.

Then Taylor spun away from you to shout something at a classmate, and you turned back toward the table.

Jack was gone.

Your stomach dropped before you could reason with it.

Then a hand touched your waist from behind.

Warm.

Familiar.

Steady.

You knew him before you turned.

Jack leaned close enough for his voice to reach your ear over the music. “Drink.”

You looked down.

He was holding out your water.

You turned in his hand, smiling before you could stop yourself. “You came all the way over here for that?”

Jack’s mouth curved. “Hydration is important.”

“You are ridiculous,” you said.

His eyes moved over your face. “You’re warm.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do not diagnose me on the dance floor.”

“I’m not diagnosing,” Jack said. “I’m observing.”

You took the water from him. “I hate that word.”

His hand stayed at your waist while you drank.

Not possessive enough to make a show of it.

Not casual enough to be mistaken for anything else.

Just there.

Taylor appeared beside you, breathless and grinning. “Oh good. Supplies.”

Jack glanced at her. “You want water too?”

Taylor blinked.

Then her face softened into something almost dangerous. “That is annoyingly sweet.”

Jack looked uncomfortable immediately. “It’s water.”

You smiled into your glass. “He gets weird when people notice he’s nice.”

Taylor’s eyes widened. “Noted.”

Jack looked at you. “You’re both very loud.”

Taylor nodded. “And yet you walked over here.”

Jack’s hand pressed once at your waist. “For her.”

Taylor closed her mouth, but the smile stayed.

Jack’s gaze dropped to your finger, then lifted to your face. “You ready to come back?”

You looked at Taylor.

Taylor was already backing away with both hands raised.

“Go,” Taylor said. “I need a minute.”

You rolled your eyes, but when Jack offered his hand, you took it.

Of course you took it.

His fingers closed around yours, and he led you back through the crowd, careful without making it obvious. His body moved slightly ahead of yours through the busiest part, shoulder clearing space, hand firm around yours.

By the time you reached the high-top again, your drink was still waiting beside his.

And so was the look on Claire’s face.

Not sharp exactly.

Just watching.

Measuring.

You felt the old instinct flicker.

The urge to pull your hand free before anyone could make the choice feel too big.

Jack’s fingers tightened around yours.

Once.

A question.

You looked up at him.

He did not say anything.

He did not need to.

You held on.

Then you reached for your drink with your free hand and leaned into his side like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Robby lifted his pool cue from near the far table and pointed it toward you.

“You two playing or standing there looking married all night?” Robby called.

Your drink paused halfway to your mouth.

Jack’s hand stilled at your waist.

Taylor made a quiet sound beside you.

Ethan looked down into his glass like he was trying not to witness the fallout.

You turned slowly toward Robby. “Looking what?”

Robby’s grin widened from across the room. “Comfortable. I said comfortable.”

Jack looked at him. “That is not what you said.”

Robby leaned both hands on the top of his cue. “Must be the acoustics.”

You felt Jack’s fingers press once at your hip, subtle enough that no one else would catch it.

You caught it.

Because apparently every part of you was tuned to him now.

Robby nodded toward the pool table. “Come on. We need two more.”

Taylor stepped away from the high-top immediately. “I’m in.”

Ethan lifted one hand. “I am not.”

Taylor looked at him. “No one asked you yet.”

Ethan lowered his hand. “Preemptive boundary.”

Robby pointed the cue at him. “Fair.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

Jack’s mouth curved faintly beside you.

Robby pointed the cue at Jack next. “Abbot. You’re with me.”

Jack glanced at the table. “Am I?”

Robby gave him a flat look. “Yes. I’m not playing against you. I’d like to enjoy my evening.”

Taylor’s eyebrows rose. “That good?”

Jack’s expression stayed neutral. “Not really.”

Robby snorted. “Liar.”

You looked up at Jack immediately.

Jack looked down at you. “What?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Not really?”

His mouth barely moved. “I’ve played before.”

Robby looked at you. “He’s good.”

Jack’s gaze stayed on yours. “He exaggerates.”

Robby pointed at Jack without looking away from you. “He also lies when he thinks modesty will make him less annoying.”

Taylor nodded once. “That tracks.”

Jack glanced at her. “Does it?”

Taylor gave him a bright smile. “Yes.”

Robby moved around the table and started gathering the balls. “Teams are me and Abbot versus you two.”

Taylor slid in beside you. “Perfect.”

You looked at Jack.

Jack’s eyes warmed slightly.

Your stomach flipped.

Terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

Robby caught the look and immediately pointed the cue between you.

“No,” Robby said.

You blinked. “No?”

Robby looked at Jack. “No helping her.”

Jack’s brow lifted. “I didn’t say anything.”

Robby set the triangle on the table. “You were thinking it.”

Jack’s mouth almost moved. “You don’t know that.”

Robby looked at him. “I know you.”

Ethan pulled out a stool near the wall and sat down. “I’m just happy to be uninvolved.”

Robby glanced at him. “You’re keeping score.”

Ethan stared. “I have been involved against my will.”

You stepped toward the pool table, cue in hand, trying not to smile.

Jack stayed near the opposite side, leaning one hip against the table while Robby finished racking. The backwards hat was still low over his brow, damp curls slipping beneath the edge of it, and the whole thing continued to be personally inconvenient.

You looked away first.

Barely.

Jack noticed.

His mouth curved.

Robby noticed too.

“Abbot,” Robby said, his voice already tired.

Jack looked at him. “What?”

Robby pointed the cue at you. “Stop looking at your wife and break.”

You choked.

Taylor’s hand flew to her mouth.

Ethan, seated on a stool near the wall, stared very hard at his drink.

Jack’s head turned slowly toward Robby.

Robby lifted one shoulder, badly hiding a smile. “Roommate. Partner. Whatever we’re calling it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Jack glanced at you.

You tried very hard to keep your face neutral.

You failed.

His expression softened before he could stop it.

Robby groaned. “We are going to lose.”

Taylor picked up her cue. “I support that.”

Robby looked at her. “You would.”

Jack picked up the cue ball and set it in place. “I haven’t done anything.”

Robby gave him a flat look. “That is objectively untrue.”

Jack ignored him and bent over the table to line up his shot.

Which was unfortunate.

Because you had survived the handholding, the water, the low voice near your ear, and the backwards hat from several dangerous angles already.

But Jack leaning over a pool table in jeans, one hand braced on the felt, looking focused and calm and unfairly competent?

That felt excessive.

Jack broke.

Cleanly.

Hard.

The crack of the cue ball split through the bar noise, and the balls scattered across the felt with sharp little snaps of color. Two stripes dropped into opposite pockets.

Ethan looked up from his drink. “Not really, he said.”

Jack straightened and passed the cue to Robby. “I said I’d played before.”

Robby accepted the cue. “And I said you lie when you think modesty will make you less annoying.”

Taylor leaned toward you. “He’s very annoying.”

You did not look away from Jack. “I noticed.”

Jack’s eyes found yours across the table.

His mouth barely curved.

Your pulse jumped.

Robby pointed his cue toward you. “You’re up.”

You stepped toward the table. “Great.”

Taylor patted your shoulder. “We believe in you.”

Robby leaned against his cue. “I don’t.”

You gave him a look. “Rude.”

Robby lifted one shoulder. “Competitive.”

You leaned over the table and tried to choose a shot.

Immediately, the problem became clear.

You had no shot.

You had no plan.

You had Jack watching from across the table with his stupid backwards hat and his stupid mouth and his stupid eyes, and apparently that was enough to erase every rule of pool you had ever learned.

You adjusted your grip on the cue.

Wrong, apparently.

Jack’s gaze dropped to your hand.

His brows drew together.

Robby saw it immediately.

“No,” Robby said.

Jack looked at him. “What?”

Robby pointed the cue at him. “Do not coach her.”

Jack’s expression stayed calm. “I wasn’t.”

Robby’s eyes narrowed. “You were about to.”

Jack glanced back at your hand. “She’s holding it wrong.”

Robby threw out one hand. “That is coaching.”

You looked over your shoulder at Jack. “I’m holding it wrong?”

Jack’s gaze shifted to yours. “A little.”

Robby stepped between you as much as a pool table allowed. “No. Absolutely not.”

Taylor leaned on her cue, delighted. “I vote we allow it.”

Robby looked at her. “Of course you do. You benefit.”

Ethan raised a hand from his stool. “For the record, I support whatever ends the game fastest.”

Robby ignored him and looked at Jack. “You are on my team.”

Jack’s eyes were still on your hand. “I know.”

Robby pointed at you. “Then stop helping her.”

Jack finally looked at him. “It’s one shot.”

Robby stared. “That is exactly how betrayal starts.”

You looked from Robby to Jack.

Then you lifted one shoulder. “I mean, I do want to win.”

Robby turned toward you. “You are playing against him.”

You smiled. “That sounds like his problem.”

Taylor laughed under her breath.

Jack pushed away from the table.

Robby’s face fell. “Abbot.”

Jack came around the table anyway, slow and unbothered. “You’re being dramatic.”

Robby watched him go. “I am being abandoned.”

Jack stopped beside you, close but not touching yet. “Do you want help?”

There it was again.

Waiting.

Asking.

Making it impossible to pretend any of this was casual.

You nodded once. “Yes.”

Jack’s gaze warmed. “Okay.”

That one word did not deserve to hit the way it did.

It did anyway.

You leaned over the felt again, cue in hand, trying very hard to remember how to breathe.

Jack stepped behind you.

His hand settled lightly over yours on the cue, warm and steady. His other hand came to your waist, guiding you into place without crowding you.

You forgot the entire concept of pool.

Completely.

Robby made a wounded sound from across the table. “I hate this.”

Taylor looked at him. “I love this.”

Jack leaned closer, his voice brushing near your ear. “Line it up.”

You stared at the cue ball. “I’m trying.”

Jack adjusted your fingers. “Loosen your grip.”

You swallowed. “You’re standing very close.”

His hand tightened once over yours. “I know.”

Your stomach flipped.

Robby pointed at Jack. “That sounded unnecessary.”

Jack did not look away from the table. “It was instructional.”

Taylor pressed her lips together.

Jack shifted your hand again, slow and precise, his fingers moving yours like he had all the patience in the world.

You had none.

Not with his chest near your back.

Not with his hand at your waist.

Not with his mouth near your ear and that stupid backwards hat brushing almost against your temple.

“You’re distracting me,” you said.

Jack’s mouth curved close enough that you could hear it. “I haven’t done anything.”

You glanced back at him. “You wore the hat.”

His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.

Then he looked back at the table.

“Shoot,” Jack said.

You tried.

You really did.

The cue hit the ball.

The ball rolled forward, kissed another ball at a deeply unimpressive angle, and drifted lazily toward the rail.

Nothing went in.

Nothing even came close.

The table went quiet for half a second.

Then Ethan nodded from his stool. “That was almost pool.”

Taylor pointed at him. “Be supportive.”

Ethan nodded again. “Supportively almost pool.”

You straightened, still painfully aware of Jack behind you. “I hate all of you.”

Jack’s hand stayed at your waist. “Not all of us.”

You turned your head slowly.

He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

You stared at him. “You’re on thin ice.”

Jack’s brow lifted. “Because of the coaching?”

You reached up and touched one curl that had escaped beneath his cap. “Because of this.”

Jack went still.

Immediately.

Your fingers brushed the curl once, gentle and deliberate.

His expression changed before he could stop it.

Small.

Soft.

Completely unfair.

Taylor went quiet across the table.

Robby went quiet too, which was much more alarming.

Jack’s voice came lower. “You done?”

You let your fingers linger for one second longer. “Not sure yet.”

His jaw shifted.

Your pulse jumped.

Then Robby cleared his throat loudly.

You stepped away before Jack could say anything else.

Not far.

Just enough.

Jack’s fingers brushed yours before he let go.

Small.

Brief.

Enough.

Robby stepped up to the table, muttering under his breath. “I should have picked Ethan.”

Ethan looked up from his stool. “I heard that.”

Robby leaned over the table to study his shot. “Good.”

Taylor crossed her arms beside you. “Rude.”

Ethan pointed toward the table. “Thank you.”

Robby took his shot and missed by less than an inch.

Taylor’s smile turned bright. “Tragic.”

Robby straightened slowly. “The table is warped.”

Jack glanced at the table. “It isn’t.”

Robby pointed his cue at him. “You’re on my team.”

Jack picked up his own cue. “That doesn’t make the table warped.”

Robby looked at you and Taylor. “Do you see what I’m dealing with?”

Taylor nodded gravely. “A man with principles.”

Robby’s expression flattened. “A man with poor priorities.”

Jack ignored him and moved around the table, studying the layout with quiet focus.

You watched him.

That was your first mistake.

Because Jack Abbot concentrating was a problem.

Jack Abbot concentrating while holding a pool cue, in jeans, with his backwards hat still sitting low over his curls, was a much larger problem.

He bent over the table to line up his shot.

Your mouth went dry.

Taylor leaned in beside you, her voice low. “You okay?”

You did not look away from Jack. “No.”

Taylor followed your gaze.

Then she pressed her lips together. “Understandable.”

Jack drew the cue back.

Robby stood near the corner pocket, watching the table with too much seriousness. “Do not miss this.”

Jack kept his eyes on the shot. “That was the plan.”

Robby nodded once. “Good plan.”

You stared at the backwards hat.

A terrible idea arrived fully formed.

You stepped closer.

Taylor noticed immediately.

Her eyes widened.

You lifted one finger to your mouth.

Taylor turned her face away and pressed her lips together, like silence had become physically painful.

Jack still had not looked up.

The cue moved forward.

So did you.

Your hand darted out, quick and sure, and you stole the hat right off his head.

Jack missed.

Completely.

The cue ball rolled sideways, bumped uselessly against the rail, and stopped there like it had lost the will to participate.

For one second, no one moved.

Jack stayed bent over the table.

His curls had sprung free, messy and still a little damp at the ends.

That was almost worse than the hat.

Slowly, Jack straightened.

You put the hat on your own head.

Backwards.

Robby stared at the cue ball. “What just happened?”

Taylor’s voice came too bright. “Sports.”

Ethan looked up from his score napkin. “Is that a foul?”

Robby pointed at you. “That has to be a foul.”

You adjusted the brim of the hat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jack turned toward you.

His eyes moved over your face.

Then the hat.

Then your mouth.

Then the hat again.

Your stomach flipped.

Jack’s jaw shifted. “Give it back.”

You lifted your brows. “No.”

Robby looked between you and Jack. “Abbot.”

Jack did not look away from you. “What?”

Robby pointed at the table. “We are trying to win.”

Jack’s gaze stayed fixed on you beneath the brim of his own stolen hat. “I’m aware.”

Robby dragged a hand down his face. “I picked the wrong partner.”

Jack stepped closer to you.

Not much.

Just enough.

“You distracted me,” Jack said.

You smiled. “Did I?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You know you did.”

You touched the brim of the hat. “Maybe you should focus better.”

Taylor made a tiny sound behind you.

Jack heard it.

You knew he heard it because the corner of his mouth almost moved.

Almost.

His hand came to your waist, light but certain.

Your pulse jumped.

Jack’s voice dropped. “Careful.”

You looked up at him. “You keep saying that.”

His thumb pressed once through the leather of your jacket. “You keep ignoring me.”

You tilted your head. “Maybe I like the hat.”

Jack’s gaze flicked up to it again.

His expression changed.

Small.

Sharp.

Devastating.

“That’s worse,” Jack said.

Your breath caught. “What is?”

His eyes returned to yours. “You in my hat.”

Taylor turned away completely.

Ethan looked down at his napkin like it could save him.

Robby stared at Jack in open betrayal. “We are losing because of this.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Probably.”

Robby threw one hand out. “He admits it.”

You smiled up at Jack, fingers still on the brim of his hat.

Jack stared at you like the rest of the bar had gone quiet.

Like he had forgotten the game.

Like he had forgotten to care.

Then Robby cleared his throat loudly.

Jack finally blinked.

Robby pointed his cue toward the table. “Can we return to the part where you remember what team you’re on?”

Jack’s hand stayed at your waist.

His eyes stayed on yours.

“I know what team I’m on,” Jack said.

The words were quiet.

Too quiet.

Your smile faded a little.

Not gone.

Just softer.

Taylor stopped pretending not to listen.

Ethan slowly lowered his napkin.

Robby stared at Jack for half a second.

Then he looked at you.

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” Robby said.

Taylor pressed a hand to her chest. “That was romantic.”

Ethan nodded once. “Both.”

Jack’s mouth curved faintly.

You reached up and took the hat off your head, then stepped closer and put it back on him yourself.

Your fingers lingered at the brim.

Jack let you.

Of course he did.

You adjusted the cap until it sat right again, then brushed one loose curl near his temple.

His expression softened before he could stop it.

Jack’s voice came quieter. “Better?”

You looked at him, close enough now that the noise of the bar felt far away. “Not even a little.”

His mouth almost curved.

Robby groaned from the other side of the table. “I hate this game.”

Taylor smiled. “I love this game.”

Jack’s hand slipped from your waist only when you stepped back toward Taylor.

Even then, his fingers brushed yours before he let go.

Small.

Brief.

Enough.

And this time, when Claire glanced over from the high-top, you did not pretend not to notice.

You only smiled and picked up your cue.

The pool game dissolved after that.

Not officially.

No one declared it over.

Robby made one more shot, missed, and blamed Jack with the righteous fury of a man betrayed by love. Taylor laughed so hard she nearly dropped her cue. Ethan wrote something else on his napkin and refused to show anyone.

Jack stayed close.

Not constantly touching you.

That would have been easier to dismiss, somehow.

Instead, it was worse.

His hand at your lower back when someone moved behind you. His fingers brushing yours when he passed you your drink. His knee nudging yours beneath the high-top after everyone migrated back toward the table. The quiet, steady way he kept finding you in the room.

Every time, you let him.

Every time, he noticed.

Eventually, the bar got louder.

Someone fed more quarters into the jukebox. A group of second-years cheered over a darts game near the wall. Taylor had been pulled into a conversation with someone from your physiology lab, and Robby was telling Ethan a story with enough hand gestures to make everyone nearby lean away from his beer.

Claire was still there.

Still watching sometimes.

But it did not matter the way it had earlier.

Not as much.

Not when Jack’s hand found yours beneath the table and stayed there.

You looked down at your joined hands.

His thumb moved once over yours.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

You looked up at him. “Still asking?”

His mouth barely curved. “Yeah.”

Your chest tightened.

The noise pressed in around you, warm and crowded and bright, and suddenly you wanted air.

Not because you were panicking.

Not because you wanted to run.

Because you wanted one quiet minute with him where no one else could look at the shape of this before you understood it yourself.

You leaned closer so he could hear you. “Can we go outside for a second?”

Jack’s expression changed immediately.

Careful.

Attentive.

“Yeah,” Jack said, already standing. “Come on.”

His hand stayed around yours as he led you through the crowd.

He moved slightly ahead of you in the busiest part, shoulder angling through the crush of bodies, his grip steady but not tight. You followed him past the high-top, past the jukebox, past Robby, who noticed and opened his mouth.

Taylor caught Robby’s sleeve before he could speak.

Robby looked at her.

Taylor shook her head once.

For once in his life, Robby listened.

Jack pushed the door open, and the night air hit you all at once.

Cool.

Sharp.

Quiet compared to the bar behind you.

The music dulled as the door swung shut, leaving only the muffled beat through the wall and the distant sound of traffic down the street.

You took a breath.

Then another.

Jack stepped beside you on the sidewalk, close enough that his arm brushed yours.

He did not ask right away.

He gave you a second first.

That almost made it worse.

You looked out at the street, at the blur of passing headlights, at the amber glow spilling across the pavement from the bar windows.

Jack’s hand found yours at your side, his fingers sliding between yours like they belonged there.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

You looked at him. “Still asking?”

“Probably for the rest of my life,” Jack said.

Then he went still.

Like he had heard himself a second too late.

Your breath caught.

The street noise softened around you. Music pulsed faintly through the bar door behind him, muffled and distant, but all you could hear was the quiet after his words.

Jack’s eyes stayed on yours.

Careful.

Too careful now.

Like he was waiting to find out whether he had said too much.

Your fingers tightened around his.

Then you stepped closer, rose onto your toes, and kissed him.

Jack did not move for half a second.

Then his hand came to your waist, his breath leaving him against your mouth as he kissed you back.

Softly.

Carefully.

Like the answer had gotten to him before the meaning did.

When you pulled back, his eyes opened slowly.

You were still close enough that your mouth brushed his when you spoke.

“Okay,” you said.

Jack’s thumb moved once at your waist. “Okay?”

You nodded, your fingers still curled in his shirt. “For the rest of your life.”

His expression changed.

Just a little.

Enough to make your chest hurt.

Then his hand slid along your back beneath the jacket, warm and steady.

“You sure?” Jack asked.

You smiled faintly. “Still asking?”

His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious. “Yeah.”

You touched the curl near his temple, the one still refusing to behave beneath the backwards hat.

“I’m sure,” you said.

Jack looked at you like that answer mattered.

Like he was going to keep it somewhere.

Then he kissed you again.