I blinked fast. “You’re awful.”
“Yes,” he agreed, entirely unrepentant.
My fingers trembled as I took it.
“Archie…” I swallowed. “Thank you.”
He leaned in and kissed me lightly. Just a brush. Just enough.
And then?—
“Ew,” Jake said loudly. “Love.”
Bubba snorted.
Coop groaned like his soul was leaving his body.
Rachel said, “If you two don’t stop being disgusting, I’m opening the door and rolling out.”
Archie didn’t even look away from me.
“You can’t,” he told her calmly. “We’re moving.”
Rachel bared her teeth. “Don’t tempt me.”
The limo pulled up.
It was time.
The hotel ballroom the school rented looked like a dream someone had built out of bubbles and balloons and wishful thinking.
The theme was apparently “ballgowns and bubbles,” which meant there were floating soap bubbles everywhere, balloon arches, shimmering fabric draped along the walls, and a photo area that looked like it had been designed by a Pinterest board with a trust fund.
The DJ was actually good. The lights were soft and shifting.
There were water stations everywhere—thank God—and Rachel immediately claimed one like she was the appointed hydration officer of the night.
“I don’t care if you’re having the best moment of your life,” she told us bluntly, handing out cups. “Drink water. Sweat is not a personality.”
Jake took one sip and said, “You’re so sexy when you’re paranoid.”
Rachel stared at him. “Never say that sentence again.”
He grinned. “Yes ma’am.”
We danced.
All night.
We didn’t babysit anything we didn’t have to. Rachel made sure of it. She was like a watchful dragon with lip gloss and a strategic plan.
I danced witheveryone.
I danced with Archie during a slow song that felt like it wrapped around us and hushed the room a little. His hands were warm and steady on me, and when he leaned down to murmur something against my ear—something that made my skin heat and my brain short-circuit—I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing right into his collar.
I danced with Jake during a fast, ridiculous song where he spun me too hard and I nearly tripped, and he yelled, “I meant to do that,” as if near-death by dance move was part of our brand.
I danced with Bubba to a song with a heavy beat, and he moved like he belonged to the music—smooth, steady, confident—his hands respectful but firm, his eyes on me like I was the only thing that made sense.
