Mae glances over at him. Theo's got that look—the one he gets when he's half-drunk and fully entertained by the world. His hockey jacket is unzipped, white t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, and he's watching her with that lazy, crooked smile that makes her want to punch him and kiss him in equal measure.

Mae turns. It's a guy she doesn't recognize. Not on the hockey team, she's pretty sure. He's got that frat-boy energy—peaked cap, chain necklace, a grin that's probably worked on half the girls in this house tonight. He's leaning against the wall like he owns it, arms crossed, eyes scanning her like she's a menu.

Theo's eyebrow arches. He takes a slow sip of his beer, not moving from his spot, but his attention sharpens. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. He's watching.