I lower the sign slightly confused. “I just did.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “You have to actually ask me. With words. Out loud. A proper prom ask.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“I’m not,” she says, grinning wider now. “Come on. Do it right.”
I stare at her for a moment, this girl who’s turned my whole life upside down. Who makes me want to try, even when trying seems impossible.
I drop the sign on the floor, letting it flutter down to land face-up on the carpet, and walk across the room until I stop at the edge of her bed.
She watches me, her smile softening as her eyes stay locked on mine.
“Bells,” I start. “I know I’m not the guy who does the big romantic gestures. I’m not the guy with the flowers and the glitter and all that sappy shit you saw at school today. I don’thave the money for roses or cupcakes or whatever the fuck everyone else was doing.”
She opens her mouth, likely to say it doesn’t matter, but I continue talking.
“I don’t care about prom,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “I don’t give a shit about dancing or photos or any of it. But I care about you. And I know how much it matters to you. I know you want to go with your friends and wear some dress that’ll probably make me forget how to breathe when I see you in it.”
She laughs and wipes her eyes under her glasses with her fingertips.
“So... Bells, will you go to prom with me?” I ask, and the words seem to carry more weight than they should. “Let me be the guy standing next to you when you walk in. Let me be the one who gets to hold you while we dance to some shitty song neither of us knows the words to.”
For a moment, she stays silent and stares at me with those wide, beautiful eyes before she throws herself at me.
Her arms wrap around my neck, and her body collides with mine so forcefully I stumble back a step. My hands instinctively go to her waist to keep us steady. She kisses me, her fingers threading through my hair and tugging in a way that makes my brain short-circuit.
“Yes,” she says against my mouth. “Yes, I’ll go to prom with you.”
I kiss her back, my hands sliding up her sides as I pull her closer, leaving no space between us. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I turn, sitting down on the edge of her bed with her straddling my lap.
“You’re such an idiot,” she says, pulling back enough to look at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Tears fall down her cheeks, but she’s smiling. “That was perfect.”
“Yeah?” I ask, my thumb brushing away the wetness on her face.
“Yeah,” she says, and she kisses me again. Softer this time.
And for the first time in my life, I think I might actually understand what all those sappy bastards with their glitter posters and roses feel. Because her in my arms, smiling against my lips, saying yes, is better than anything I’ve ever felt. Better than any high. Any fuck. Any fleeting moment of cheap pleasure I’ve chased my whole life trying to fill the emptiness inside me.
This is real. She is real.
And I’m never letting her fucking go.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lola
Istare at myself in the mirror and almost don’t recognize the girl looking back.
My hair is swept up into an intricate way that Aubrey spent an hour perfecting, with loose curls framing my face in a way that looks effortless but definitely wasn’t. Sam did my makeup, her hands steady as she applied eyeliner, mascara, and some shimmery product on my cheekbones that catches the light when I turn my head.
I look... different.
The dress doesn’t help. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong. A deep navy blue that Sam and Aubrey insisted brought out my eyes, with a fitted bodice and a skirt that flows down to the floor in soft waves. The fabric is smooth under my fingers, expensive in a way that made me wince when I saw the price tag. ButAubrey waved off my protests, telling me it was perfect and that I had to get it.
And now here I am, standing in front of my bedroom mirror, staring at a version of myself I don’t recognize.
I’m nervous. More nervous than I should be about a stupid high school dance. But it’s not the dance that has my stomach in knots. It’s Jace.
