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It started like every other night — too much noise, too much alcohol, too much neon light bleeding across the sticky floors of Godolkin’s favourite bar.
Marie hadn’t even wanted to come. She was tired, her coursework was piling up, and she hated the way crowds pressed against her like they were entitled to her space. But Emma begged, Andre promised it would be “lowkey” (a blatant lie), and Jordan had looked at her with that cocky, challenging half-smile — the one that always dared her to stop being the responsible one.
So here she was. Pressed into a corner booth, a half-finished drink sweating against her palm, Marie let the thrum of music blur into the background while Andre gestured wildly about some new stunt he wanted to pull. Cate laughed at him. Luke was leaned in close to him, already tipsy. Jordan sat beside Marie, thigh pressed to hers, the warmth of him grounding her in a way she pretended not to notice.
She liked it. The casual touches, the lingering looks, the way Jordan sometimes kissed her when nobody was watching and sometimes when everybody was. They weren’t dating. Not officially, not in a way either of them had dared to name. But there was something. Something real enough that Marie didn’t let herself imagine anyone else.
Which was why the guy leaning across the table caught her off guard.
He was older, a senior she’d been introduced to before. She couldn’t remember his name but she definitely recognised him — tall, sharp cheekbones and a smile he probably practiced in the mirror. One second she was sipping her drink, and the next, he was leaning toward her, voice pitched low against the music.
"Didn’t expect to see you here," he said, eyes lingering a second too long. "You don’t really strike me as the party type."
Marie blinked, caught between surprise and politeness. "I’m… not, usually."
He grinned. "Good thing you came out tonight, though."
The words carried weight. Intent. Marie felt it, clear as the bass rattling her ribs. She didn’t flirt back. She didn’t lean in, didn’t bat her eyelashes or touch his arm the way Cate teased her to do when she actually liked someone. But she didn’t shut him down either. Not immediately. Not until the silence stretched and she forced a thin smile, leaning back in her seat.
"Anyway," she said, looking away, "I should—"
But Jordan had already noticed.
He’d gone still beside her, the easy looseness in his shoulders gone tight, his jaw clenched in a way Marie recognised all too well.
The guy kept talking, undeterred. "You look really good tonight. What you drinking? I’ll get—"
"She’s busy."
Jordan’s voice cut sharp and sudden, startling Marie. The guy blinked, half-amused.
"Excuse me?"
"She’s busy," Jordan repeated, leaning forward now, voice hard. "With me."
Marie’s stomach lurched. Heat flared in her cheeks. "Jordan—"
The guy raised his hands, laughing under his breath. "Alright, alright. Didn’t know she was taken."
"She is." Jordan said, clipped, final.
The guy disappeared into the crowd before Marie could process, leaving her frozen with Jordan’s words still hanging in the air. She is.
When she finally found her voice, it came out sharp. "What the hell was that?"
Jordan leaned back, exhaling like nothing happened. He grabbed his drink, took a long sip, and shrugged. "What? He was being a dick."
Marie narrowed her eyes. "That wasn't you calling him a dick."
Jordan’s mouth quirked, defensive, casual. "Okay, so maybe I don’t love watching some guy drool on the table at you. Sue me."
"Jordan." Her tone sharpened, but he just rolled a shoulder, gaze darting anywhere but at her.
"It’s not a big deal," he said quickly. "Seriously. Forget about it."
Marie stared, disbelief curling hot in her chest. "Not a big deal? You basically announced to half the bar that I belong to you."
Jordan winced, then immediately tried to cover it with a laugh. "Yeah, okay, maybe that came out wrong. I was just… shutting him down. That’s all it was."
"That’s all?" she pressed.
Jordan shifted, restless, and suddenly turned it back on her. "Well, what was I supposed to do? Just fucking sit there while you let him hit on you?"
Marie blinked, stunned. "Let him?"
"You weren’t exactly telling him to leave," Jordan shot back, tone sharper now. "Looked to me like you were fine letting him sit there and try."
Her chest burned. "I wasn’t flirting back."
"Yeah, well," Jordan muttered, eyes finally flashing to hers, "you clearly weren’t gonna tell him to leave, either."
Marie’s voice rose before she could stop it. "I was about to before you jumped in and made a scene!"
Jordan’s jaw clenched. "Oh, right. Sure. Because you were just about to shut him down."
"I was." Her hands curled into fists against the table. "God, do you seriously think I wanted him hitting on me?"
"I don’t know what you wanted!" Jordan snapped back. "I just know what it looked like."
"Well, maybe you should trust me enough not to assume the worst." Marie fired, voice shaking now.
That silenced Jordan, but the damage was already done. Her mouth opened like she wanted to answer, then closed again. She looked away, shoulders tense, jaw tight, but no words came.
Marie stared for another beat, waiting for something — an apology, a crack in her armour, anything. When it didn’t come, Marie shoved back from the booth.
"Forget it," she muttered, her throat tight. "I’m done."
She grabbed her bag, slid out, and started into the crush of the crowd.
Jordan finally jolted, panic flickering through the cool mask she wore. "Marie—wait!"
But she didn’t.
She didn’t even turn around.
The crowd swallowed her whole, neon light glinting off the curve of her hair, and Jordan was left reaching after her, hand half-raised and useless, with nothing but the echo of her absence and the sting of their own words hanging in the air.
Morning crept into Godolkin with its usual cruelty: bright sun over hungover faces, muffled groans from dorm rooms, the faint stink of beer in the hallways that no janitorial crew could ever fully erase.
Jordan hadn’t slept.
She’d tried. Lying in bed with her phone clutched like it might buzz with Marie’s name at any moment. But the only notifications were from group chats, Andre’s memes, Cate’s “where’d you two disappear to last night?” texts.
Marie wouldn't answer her. Not a single call, not the three texts Jordan had sent in increments of frustration and regret.
[11:52 pm]: Marie, come on, I didn’t mean it like that.
[12:10 am]: Just talk to me.
[12:47 am]: Fine. Whatever.
[01:08 am]: Goodnight.
The read receipts mocked her.
By morning, Jordan had crafted and deleted four drafts of something more vulnerable. An actual apology, but the words felt too raw, too much like admitting how badly she’d fucked up.
Instead, she went looking.
Marie wasn’t in her dorm, wasn’t in the dining hall. She wasn’t with Emma — Who wouldn't tell Jordan where Marie was, because apparently being in a fight with Marie means being in a fight with her too (she threw a piece of bagel a Jordan). But Jordan knew Marie, knew her patterns, knew the places she went when she wanted quiet.
The library.
And sure enough, there she was.
Tucked into the corner near the tall windows, a fortress of books stacked around her, earbuds in, her gaze fixed firmly on a page.
Jordan hovered at the end of the aisle, she felt like she was fourteen again, awkward and unsteady, rehearsing a line she couldn’t quite commit to. Hey. Can we talk? Too soft. You’ve been ignoring me. Too accusatory. I didn’t sleep last night. Way too much.
In the end, she just walked forward.
Marie didn’t look up.
"Really?" Jordan muttered, sliding into the chair across from her. "You’re seriously gonna keep pretending I don’t exist?"
Marie pulled out one earbud, finally meeting Jordan's eyes. Hers were sharp, rimmed with exhaustion, and colder than Jordan had ever seen them. "I’m studying."
"Yeah," Jordan said, leaning back in her chair trying for casual. "Studying how to ignore me, apparently."
Marie didn’t answer. She turned a page.
Jordan’s throat tightened. "Look, I’ve been calling you. Texting you. You could at least—"
"What, acknowledge you?" Marie cut in, voice low but steady. "After last night?"
Jordan winced before she could stop herself. "I told you, I—"
"You accused me of flirting with some random guy." Her tone sharpened. "And then made a scene like I was—what? Yours?"
"I didn’t—" Jordan started, then faltered. She rubbed a hand over her jaw, frustration bleeding through. "Okay, fine. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that. But you weren’t exactly telling him to back off."
Marie snapped her book closed, the sound sharp in the quiet library. "I told you, I was about to. You didn’t even give me the chance."
Jordan looked away, heat crawling up the back of her neck. She hated how exposed this felt. How obvious. "Yeah, well… I wasn’t just gonna do nothing while some guy made eyes at you."
"Why not?"
That caught Jordan off guard. Her mouth opened, closed. Jordan shifted, suddenly defensive in a way that felt juvenile. "Because he was—because you were—"
Marie’s stare pinned him. "Because you were jealous."
The word hung heavy between them.
Jordan scoffed, too fast, too forced. "Jealous? Please. No."
Marie’s eyebrows arched.
Jordan leaned forward, desperate to rewrite the script, voice dropping to that flippant tone he wore like armour. "I mean, what was I supposed to do while you… entertained him?"
"I wasn’t entertaining him." Marie’s voice cracked, not with weakness but with how hard she was holding herself together. "I was being polite. That’s it. But you decided that wasn’t good enough, so you jumped in and humiliated me."
He wanted to argue, wanted to spin it back on her again, but the sight of her bracing herself against his words, like she expected another hit, left his throat dry.
"I…" Jordan started, then stopped. He ran his hand through his hair. "I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know why I acted like that."
Marie stared for a long beat, then pushed back her chair. "Well, good luck figuring it out."
She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Jordan straighten up fast, panic flickering again. "Marie—"
But she shook her head, already turning away. "I need space."
And just like last night, Jordan was left reaching after her, words stuck in his throat, as she walked out of the library without looking back.
Fuck he was just gonna kill himself.
Jordan didn’t even remember walking out of the library. One second Marie was storming away, her bag strap tugged high on her shoulder, and the next he was back in his dorm, staring at his phone like it might magically produce a text that said I forgive you.
By the time night settled over Godolkin, Jordan was wound so tight that sitting alone felt like drowning. Which was how he ended up at Cate’s dorm, a space that had evolved into shared territory for her, Luke, and Andre.
The door was half-open, music humming low. Laughter spilled out, and for a second Jordan considered bailing. But then Luke spotted him in the hall.
"Hey," Luke said, leaning against the doorway with his usual easy charm. "You look like shit. Come in."
Jordan scowled. "Thanks."
Cate glanced up from where she and Andre were curled together on the couch. "Uh-oh. That’s the face of a supe in crisis. Sit."
"I’m fine," Jordan said automatically, stepping inside anyway.
"You always say that when you’re not fine," Andre pointed out, passing him a can of beer like it was a peace offering. "Spill."
Jordan cracked it open just to have something to do with his hands. For a long moment, the fizz filled the silence. Then, reluctantly:
"Marie’s pissed at me."
Three pairs of eyebrows shot up at once.
"Because…" Cate prompted, tilting her head.
Jordan shifted around in the armchair, suddenly wishing he’d stayed in his dorm after all. "Some guy hit on her last night. And I… may have… snapped at him."
Luke smirked. "Ah. So you went all jealous-lover at the bar."
"I was not jealous." Jordan snapped too quickly, too sharp.
Cate’s eyes narrowed in that way that made people confess things they didn’t want to. "Jordan."
Andre leaned forward, grin tugging at his mouth. "Dude. You literally just described jealousy."
"I was protecting her!" Jordan protested, hands flailing in uncharacteristic lack of composure. "He was—he was leaning in, and she wasn’t telling him to screw off, so I—"
"Blew up and embarrassed her," Cate finished smoothly.
Jordan deflated, muttering, "She says she was about to shut him down."
Cate exchanged a look with Andre. Luke whistled low. "Yeah, sounds like jealousy to me."
Jordan bristled. "It wasn’t—look, even if it was, that doesn’t matter. I wasn’t gonna just sit there while he—"
"—talked to the girl you’re clearly into," Andre cut in.
"—who you’re not officially with," Cate added.
Jordan’s mouth opened, then closed. His face heated.
"God," Jordan muttered. "You’re all insufferable."
"Maybe," Luke said, settling onto the couch’s armrest with easy confidence. "But we’re also right."
Cate leaned forward, her voice gentler now. "Jordan, why are you fighting this so hard? You like Marie. She likes you. Everyone can see it. Why are you acting like admitting it is some crime?"
Jordan stared into his beer, the carbonation gone flat. It took a long beat before the words finally slipped out.
"Because…" He sighed, shoulders hunching. "Because if I admit it, if I make it real, then it matters. And if it matters and she doesn’t feel the same way—" His voice caught, softer now, almost swallowed. "Then I look like an idiot."
The room went still.
Cate’s expression softened, her hand brushing against Jordan’s knee. "Jordan…"
But Jordan barrelled on, before the quiet could suffocate them. "And anyway, she probably doesn’t even want something official. She hasn’t exactly said anything, right? What if she just wants—whatever this is. Casual. And I go all in and freak her out?"
Andre sat back, lips pursed like he wanted to crack a joke but knew better. Luke shook his head, half amused, half exasperated.
"You’re overthinking this," Luke said simply.
“I am fucking not—” Jordan started, then stopped when Cate raised her eyebrows.
"Fine. Maybe I am. But you don’t get it—"
"No, we do," Cate cut in. "We’ve all been where you are. Scared to admit it because it means you can get hurt. But Jordan? You’re already hurt. You’re already jealous, already tied up in knots about her. The only thing you’re doing by pretending it’s not serious is making Marie feel like she doesn’t matter."
Jordan paused. The words landed heavier than he wanted to admit.
Andre finally leaned forward, clapping his hands together. "So. Option A: keep denying it and keep screwing things up. Or option B: apologise, tell her you’re in this for real, and maybe actually be happy for once."
Jordan sat there, caught between the burn of embarrassment and the sharp ache in his chest.
"I hate you guys," he muttered weakly.
Cate smirked. "No, you don’t."
Jordan dragged a hand through his hair, slumping back in the chair. "Yeah. Well. I don’t know how to fix it."
Luke shrugged. "Start simple. Text her. No excuses, no games. Just tell her you’re sorry and you want to talk. Then when she shows up, tell her the truth."
Jordan rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "Like it’s that easy."
But even as he said it, his hand was already reaching for his phone.
Jordan thumbed open his messages, staring at Marie’s name at the top of the screen. His stomach turned.
"Okay," Jordan muttered. "What do I even say?"
"I’m sorry,’” Cate answered instantly, sliding off the couch to perch herself on the armrest of Jordan’s chair. She leaned over, reading the screen with blatant nosiness.
"I can’t just—" Jordan started, but Cate cut them a look.
"Yes, you can."
Jordan typed out:
Hey. Sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have said anything.
He stared at it. Then groaned. “That sounds like a hostage text.”
Cate plucked the phone from his hands before he could delete it. "You’re hopeless." She added a line:
I messed up. Can we talk?
Then handed it back. "There. Balanced. Shows you’re sorry, shows you care, but doesn’t sound like you’re grovelling."
Jordan grimaced. "That’s way too much."
"It’s perfect," Cate countered.
Andre suddenly hopped up from the couch and came to stand behind Jordan’s chair. "I vote add a heart emoji."
"Absolutely not," Jordan snapped.
Luke followed, circling behind too, arms crossed. "What about a smiley? Less risky."
"Okay, fine. Eggplant emoji," Andre said with a grin, leaning over Jordan’s shoulder.
Jordan threw a cushion backwards at him, nearly knocking the phone out of his own hand.
Now all three of his friends were clustered around the chair: Cate perched on the armrest, Andre leaning dramatically over the back, Luke looming on the other side like some smug guardian angel.
Jordan groaned. "Oh my god, can everyone get off me? This is not a group project!"
"Sure feels like one," Andre said.
Luke raised an eyebrow. "You gonna send it, or are you wait until she finds a new guy to not-flirt with?"
That got Jordan moving. With a reluctant sigh, he hit send.
Marie’s typing bubble appeared. Three dots.
Immediately, four heads snapped toward the screen.
"Okay, she’s answering," Cate whispered.
The bubble disappeared.
Everyone froze.
Then it popped back up again.
"Oh no," Andre muttered, grinning. "She’s writing a paragraph. That’s a paragraph bubble."
The dots vanished again.
Jordan clutched the phone like it was a grenade. "What does that mean? Why would she—why would she type, then stop, then—"
The bubble appeared.
Luke deadpanned, "She’s either drafting a new constitution or she’s figuring out how mean she wants to be."
The bubble vanished again.
"Stop watching!" Jordan snapped, curling forward to shield the screen.
Cate smirked. "You think hiding the screen changes the outcome?"
Andre snickered, chin propped on Jordan’s shoulder. "I'm sweating. This suspense is killing me."
Finally, the phone buzzed. A single message blinked up:
[9:07 pm]: Okay. We can talk. Jitter Bean on Wednesday?
Jordan let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.
Cate smiled knowingly. "See? She didn’t block you. Progress."
Andre raised his beer. "To not being totally screwed!"
Luke just shook his head, smirking. "Don’t blow it."
Jordan groaned, sinking deeper into the chair. "God, I already feel fucking nauseous."
Cate patted his shoulder sweetly. "Good. That means it matters."
The bell above Jitter Bean’s door chimed as Marie stepped inside, warmth and coffee-scent rushing around her. She tugged her cardigan tighter, scanning the room.
Jordan was easy to spot. Sitting in the far corner with a laptop open but obviously not being used, one knee bouncing restlessly.
Marie paused, considering retreat. She could claim she forgot, that something came up. But she hadn’t forgotten, and the truth was, she didn’t want to keep avoiding this.
She ordered a tea just to give herself a moment, then crossed the café to their table.
"Hey," Jordan said as she sat.
"Hey," she replied, carefully neutral.
The silence stretched, taut. Marie busied herself with the tea bag, dunking it in and out of steaming water. Jordan fiddled with her coffee lid.
Finally, Jordan exhaled. "Look… about the other night. I was—" She stopped, jaw working, as if dragging the words out physically hurt. "I was wrong."
Marie blinked, surprised.
Jordan rubbed at the back of her neck, not meeting Marie's eyes. "I shouldn’t have stepped in like that. It wasn’t my place, and it just… made everything worse. I know you could’ve handled it." Her voice was tight, awkward, like it was fighting against years of instinct. "I just saw it happening and… panicked. And then doubled down instead of shutting up."
She gave a short, self-deprecating laugh, shaking her head. "Basically, I was a jealous asshole. And you didn’t deserve that."
Marie’s jaw softened, but she stayed quiet.
Jordan’s knee bounced harder under the table. "I’m not good at—at saying this stuff. But I do know I screwed up. And I’m sorry."
It wasn’t smooth, and it wasn’t polished. But it wasn’t defensive anymore either. It was Jordan admitting, as best she could, that she’d been wrong.
Jordan’s apology hung in the air. And as much as part of her wanted to keep Jordan sweating, Marie didn’t like being at odds with her.
She finally sighed, glancing up. "Okay. I mean… yeah, you were kind of a jerk. But…" Her mouth quirked in a faint, reluctant smile. "I get it. Sort of."
Jordan’s shoulders loosened, though they didn’t quite relax all the way.
Marie shook her head, frowning lightly. "I just don’t know why it even bothered you that much. I wasn’t interested in him. At all."
Jordan shifted, scratching at the side of his neck. "Oh—what, not your type?"
Marie gave them a look, unimpressed but not unkind. "No. I wasn’t interested because…" She hesitated, pulse thudding in her throat, then forced herself to say it before she chickened out. "…because I’m interested in you. Only you."
Her cheeks burned the second the words left her mouth, but she didn’t look away.
"Is that okay?" she added softly, just barely above a whisper, testing the waters, checking if she’d overstepped the boundaries of their casual… whatever-it-was.
"Yes." Jordan said it so fast, so eager, it made Marie jump. His ears flushed red almost immediately, and he cleared his throat, trying to backtrack into something cooler. "I mean—uh, yeah. Totally okay. Like… more than okay."
Marie raised her brows, lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. "You sound nervous."
"I’m not nervous," Jordan shot back, and then immediately winced. "Okay, maybe a little. But it’s just—" He ran his fingers through his hair, shuffling around in his chair. "I don’t wanna do this whole situationship thing anymore. I want it to be real."
Marie blinked. "Situationship?"
Jordan froze. "Oh. Right. Yeah, uh—guess you don’t… use TikTok that much, huh?"
Her expression was somewhere between amused and confused. "I know what a relationship is. What’s a situationship?"
Jordan groaned into his hands. "God, forget I said that."
Marie leaned in, grinning now. "No, no, explain. You can’t just drop a word like that and backpedal."
"It’s just—" Jordan waved his hands around like that would help. "It’s when, like, two people are basically together but… not official. No labels. Just… messy. That’s what we’ve been doing, right?"
Marie tilted her head, considering. "I mean, I guess? I just thought… we were figuring it out."
Jordan let out a breath. "Yeah, but I don’t want to just ‘figure it out’ anymore. I want—" he hesitated, eyes flicking away, like saying it directly might burn his mouth. "I want it to actually be something. Like, you and me. For real."
Marie just stared at them, surprised by the sudden weight of honesty. Then her lips curved into a slow smile. Her breath caught, though she tried to play it off with a teasing tilt of her mouth. "You mean like… official?"
Jordan’s laugh was small and awkward, but real. "Yeah. Like official-official. Labels and everything. You know—'this is Marie, my girlfriend.'" He winced a little, like the word might scare her off.
Marie’s chest fluttered, and she tried to play it cool, teasing "Wow. Big, serious words from you."
Jordan gave her a look. "Don’t make fucking fun of me right now, Moreau."
"I’m not," she said, grinning despite herself. Then softer "I want that too."
Jordan’s shoulders sagged, like he'd been holding in a breath forever. "Good. Cool. Amazing. Sick." He cringed at his own rambling. "I’m gonna shut the fuck up."
Marie laughed, shaking her head. "You’re ridiculous."
Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. Inside, her chest was tight, her pulse hammering. Jordan sat across from her, restless in a way that didn’t fit their usual confidence. His coffee had gone cold. When his eyes finally met hers, there was no smirk, no armour. Just nerves. Just hope.
The kind of look that undid her.
Marie leaned across the table, hesitating for the smallest moment, one chance for either of them to pull back. No one did. They closed the space at the same time, lips meeting in the middle.
She and Jordan had kissed before. Many times before. More than kissed. Those moments had always been quick, charged, messy — tangled in darkness where feelings could be ignored. Something that left her dizzy and aching, but never defined. This kiss was soft, deliberate. No urgency, no pretending it didn’t matter. Just them, choosing it, choosing each other.
Jordan’s hand brushed over hers on the table, his fingers tangling loosely, and that simple touch nearly stole Marie’s breath more than the kiss itself. Because it meant something. It anchored her in a way the stolen, half-drunken kisses never had.
She kissed him once more, slower, before pulling back. Close enough to still feel his breath, close enough to see how wide Jordan’s eyes had gone.
Marie smiled, small and sure. "That felt different." she whispered.
Jordan let out a laugh, shaky, relieved, impossibly fond. "Good different?"
Her smile deepened, warmth rising in her chest. "Good different."
Jordan liked clubs. The chaos, the heat, the alcohol, the drugs, the pulse of the music, it had always been easy to get lost in. But tonight, what caught her was Marie.
The way she fit against Jordan’s side in their booth. The way she scanned the crowd, and soften every time her eyes found Jordan again. Three months in, and Jordan still got the rush of it. Girlfriend. The word tasted good.
They’d been official long enough that it should’ve felt normal by now. It didn’t. Every little thing Marie did — brushing her knuckles against Jordan’s thigh, leaning her head on Jordan’s shoulder, letting herself smile in that unguarded way — still hit like something rare. Something Jordan didn’t dare take for granted.
Andre was halfway through a story that didn’t make sense, Emma was already half blacked out, Cate was insisting on another round of shots, and Luke was humming along to whatever bad remix was playing. The noise swelled and spun around their booth, but Jordan stayed quiet, content. Marie’s presence was enough.
Then a girl appeared.
Blonde, glossy, her confidence obvious as she leaned in toward Jordan. "You don’t look like you’re having fun," she said over the music, smile lingering. "Wanna dance?"
It barely landed. Just static, background noise against the steadier rhythm of Marie’s weight against her side. Jordan’s attention didn’t shift. Why would it?
"She doesn’t look bored to me." Marie’s voice cut through, even and unshaken, her hand now resting firm on Jordan’s leg. "You can go, now."
The girl hesitated, blinked, then vanished back into the crowd.
Jordan turned, eyebrows raised. She tried to keep a straight face, but the laugh bubbled out anyway. "You’re jealous."
"I am not jealous." Marie said immediately, eyes sharp, mouth set.
Jordan grinned wider. "You are. That was a whole scene."
Marie rolled her eyes, but her fingers tightened slightly against Jordan’s thigh, and Jordan felt the heat of it all the way up.
Leaning in close, Jordan let her lips brush Marie’s ear. "It’s fine. Kinda hot, actually. But you don’t need to be jealous. I only wanna dance with you."
Marie finally looked at her, cheeks flushed but steady. "Then stop talking and prove it."
Jordan laughed, warmth unfurling in her chest, and tugged Marie up out of the booth.
The dance floor swallowed them whole. Jordan slipped her hands to Marie’s waist, Marie’s arms wrapping easily around her neck. The two of them moved together, close enough that the music became nothing but vibration under their skin.
Jordan kissed her, soft at first, then deeper, and when Marie smiled against her mouth. Marie was hers, and she was Marie’s, and nothing had ever felt better.