“I don’t know if I’m really in the mood—” I start, but Macy cuts me off with a dramatic gasp.
“Harper Conrad! You are in astunningdress, your hair looks incredible, and this is our senior prom! Youwilldance. Consider it nonnegotiable.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the music pulse through the floor beneath my feet. She’s right. Tonight is about having fun—about forgetting everything else and just enjoying the moment.
I give Macy a determined nod.
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Finally!” she squeals, pulling me onto the dance floor. Marcus follows, winking as he dramatically bows and extends a hand.
“Your Majesty,” he says with mock seriousness. “May I have this dance?”
“Dude. You are so ridiculous.” I laugh, shaking my head, but taking his hand anyway, grateful for his friendship.
“Ridiculouslyfun,” he corrects me, spinning me in a circle so exaggerated it makes me dizzy.
The music picks up, and Macy grabs my other hand, twirling me around until we’re all laughing and swaying to the beat. The lights flash overhead, and the energy of the crowd pulls me in, wrapping around me like a warm, electric hug.
I let myself go, determined to make the most of the night. For now, there’s no overthinking, no worrying about who’s here and who’s not. Just me, my best friend, and a promise to make this night unforgettable.
WithoutEaston.
Chapter 37
Easton
“Harper. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
I say it to the mirror, rehearsing the lines as if she were standing in front of me. I straighten my tie—which has been choking me since my dad tied it—and adjust my stance.
Confident but not cocky.
Cool but approachable.
“Harper. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, m’lady?”
Nope. Too formal. I straighten up and clear my throat.
“Harper, I know we haven’t spoken in a few days, but I was wondering if you’d—No. Ifwecould—Wait. Shit.”
I run a hand over the back of my neck and glower at my reflection, ruminating over my own damn incompetence. Why am I hiding in the bathroom when I should be in the gym searching for her?
I tap the counter impatiently, waiting for inspiration to come, then snap my fingers. “You up for a little spin? We can talk while we dance.”
So cringe.
“Harper,” I say again, softening my tone and leaning forward with my most serious, brooding expression. “I would feel like the luckiest dude in the world if you would—”
I stop mid-sentence, realizing I sound like I’m proposing.
Nope.
I shake my hands out. Hop a few times. Roll my head back and forth, warming up.
“Keep it light, keep it light,” I mumble to myself. “Wanna dance, Harps?”
Harps? I have never, not once, called her that. In fact, I have no idea if she has a nickname.
