My spine straightens instantly. “Yes, sir.”
He points a finger at me. “Behave. Don’t drink. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And bring her home safely.”
“Uh—yes. Of course.”
Then his expression softens.
“And now,” he adds, clapping a hand on my shoulder, “I’m saying this as your second father—enjoy yourself tonight.”
Something warm settles in my chest. “Thanks, Luke.”
He squeezes my shoulder once. “Alright. Out, kids. Have fun.”
“Thanks, Luke!”
“Thank you for the burgers!”
“Luke, you’re a legend!”
The door swings open and we spill out into the cool night air, already laughing. Maddy nearly trips on the front step, catching herself at the last second. I huff out a quiet laugh and jog ahead of her, beating her to the car. Pulling the door open, I give an exaggerated bow.
“Your carriage, my lady.”
She snorts softly. “Why, thank you, my lord.”
Everyone piles into the car, still talking over each other as the engine starts and we pull away from the curb. And suddenly, this whole dance thing doesn’t seem too bad.
27
MADDY
Why do school dances always have to have some turn of events?
The school barely looks like itself. String lights wrapped around the pillars near the entrance. Music is already drifting from inside—some upbeat pop song pulsing through the open doors. There are balloons in navy and silver, a glittering banner readingBaylin Campus Annual Dancestretched across the entrance.
It’s cheesy. But kind of perfect.
Students in every direction look like versions of themselves from an alternate universe. The girls in long, flowy dresses or high heels, the guys tugging awkwardly at their collars or trying to keep their hair in place. It feels like we’d all stepped into a movie scene.
The engine barely shuts off before everyone’s already moving. Doors open, voices overlap, heels hit the pavement. Ryan steps out first. And—ughh. Why does he have to looksohot?
His blazer is still open, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His brown curls are still slightly messy—which, honestly, looks a lot better than whatever Kiara tried to do to them earlier—and it suits him in an annoyingly effortless way.
My entire body reacts at the sight of him.
Ahem—focus on the dance Maddy.
Ryan turns back toward the car, holding out a hand to help me. “Careful,” he says.
I take it. The moment I step down beside him, the faint scent of his cologne reaches me—warm, spicy, something a little dangerous that makes my stomach flip in a way that’s not helpful at all.
“Alright,” Kiara announces loudly, clapping her hands, “let’s go inside people.”
Bless her impeccable timing.
The moment we step into the big training hall, it’s obvious someone went way harder than necessary. A disco ball turns lazily overhead, throwing flashes of silver everywhere—on the walls, on dresses, on faces.
We grab drinks first, lingering near one of the tall cocktail tables along the edge of the room while Kiara immediately starts whispering commentary about the crowd.
