Caroline laughs again, presses a light kiss to my jaw, and adds, "And that right there? That's why he's perfect for me."
The guys groan in unison—half disgust, half amusement—as I can't stop grinning, arms tightening around her like I'm daring them to keep watching.
Luke stands up, muttering, "God, I can't take this anymore."
"Yeah, same," Liam adds, pushing his chair back. "Let's leave the lovebirds. They're officially a lost cause."
Cody drains the rest of his drink and stands too.
They disappear into the crowd while Caroline giggles against my shoulder, and I can't help thinking they're right—because honestly, I'm way too far gone to be saved.
Caroline shifts closer on my lap, her fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of my neck. I grin and lean in, brushing my lips against hers. Once. Twice. Then again—because honestly, how the hell am I supposed to stop?
We're probably making out like we're in our own world when Sam groans from across the table.
"Oh, get a room, you two."
I pull back just enough to smirk at her. "Jealous?"
She rolls her eyes dramatically.
Caroline laughs softly against my chest, and I swear my ego grows three sizes.
Sam leans forward, resting her chin on her hand and batting her lashes toward Elijah.
"Hey, you. Wanna dance with me?"
Elijah doesn't even glance her way. "No, thanks."
"Why not? It's prom! You should at least slow dance with me."
"I don't dance." Flat. Cold. Delivered with the enthusiasm of a brick.
Sam frowns. "Don't be such a bore, Eli. Iknowyou dance. Come on—"
He finally cuts her a glare so sharp it could slice steel. "You really should learn that when a person says no, it means no."
Sam blinks, unfazed, and shrugs. "Ugh, whatever!" She snatches an unopened bottle of water off the table, twisting the cap. "Fine, I'll just sit here with you, then."
He stares straight ahead, silent.
A few moments pass, the air between us settling into an easy rhythm—Caroline tracing lazy patterns on my chest, Sam pretending to scroll on her phone beside Elijah.
Then a shadow falls across the table.
"Hi, Elijah."
We all look up. A petite girl stands there, fidgeting with the hem of her dress, cheeks already pink. Her voice is soft, almost trembling.
Elijah glances up, recognition flickering in his usually unreadable eyes.
"Oh, hey. Eunice, right? From theSports & Performing Arts Seminarlast year?"
"Yeah! Can't believe you remember me." She laughs nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
It's the kind of laugh that's equal parts shy and hopeful.
Elijah gives her a polite half-smile—tight, practiced, the one he uses when he's forcing civility. "Of course."
