CHAPTER forty-three #11
Two days. That's all I had. Two freaking days to plan an entire prom night—from the lights and décor to the playlist—all while juggling classes, hockey practice, and approximately zero hours of sleep.
I don't even remember how many gallons of coffee I downed just to stay awake long enough to finish the setup. My bloodstream's probably 60% caffeine and 40% sheer panic at this point.
Most of my monthly allowance? Gone. Poof.
Sure, part of it went to decorations and rentals, but the bigger chunk?
Yeah. Feeding my glutton of teammates.
Apparently, "helping out" with setup means demanding two dinners as payment—at some overpriced restaurant they picked just to milk the moment.
And of course, they swore they earned it—ranting about how it was basically manual labor and how they'd burned through all their calories and needed serious replenishment.
Caroline's classmates, though? Total angels in comparison—showed up, helped, didn't demand a five-course meal. But of course, I treated them too.
Still, somehow, it all came together. Fairy lights everywhere, flowers, soft gold drapes. The place looks like it was yanked straight out of some enchanted dream.
And even though I had enough helping hands, I was still on my feet for hours—checking every last detail, down to the damn table cards and centerpieces. I guess I wanted it perfect. For her.
Which meant I hadn't seen her for two whole days.
Two. Long. Days.
And let me tell you—it was torture.
I didn't know it was possible to miss someone so bad that you start seeing her in your dreams and in your coffee foam.
I wanted to go see her, of course. Hell, every cell in my body screamed for it. But I knew myself too well.
If I went, I wouldn't have been able to leave.
I'd end up glued to her side, useless, because somehow, being near Caroline shuts down all my ability to focus on literally anything else.
So I stayed away. Forced myself to.
Didn't even text or call her much, either—not because I didn't want to, but because the few times I had a break, I passed out cold.
So yeah, my messages had been pretty scarce lately.
Not intentional. Just... the side effect of being completely smitten and running on four total hours of sleep.
Now, watching it all unfold, it hits me that it was worth every sleepless hour.
The place is alive—soft golden lights spilling from the ceiling, glitter catching in the air like it's snowing sparkles. Everyone's laughing, shouting, dancing like they just got thrown back into high school.
The DJ's blasting Opalite by Taylor Swift, and I swear half the crowd's belting the lyrics like it's a full-on concert.
People are spinning each other around, a few girls are half-screaming the bridge, someone's waving a glow stick like a sword. It's chaotic, loud, magical—and somehow perfect.
And right there in the middle of it all is her.
Caroline.
She's dancing with Sam and a few of her girlfriends, hair bouncing with every turn, her dress flaring around her like liquid starlight. She's laughing—god, that laugh—and for a second I forget the rest of the world exists.
I'm sitting at one of the tables with the guys—half-listening to whatever they're rambling about—but my eyes?
Haven't moved once from the dance floor.
Not once.
I can't even fight the stupid grin on my face. It's like my cheeks have signed a contract to stay this way forever. Seeing her this happy—so free, so alive—it's addictive.
Feels like watching sunlight learn how to dance.
This right here is what should've happened three years ago.
Her glowing under the lights, laughing with her friends, and me leaving prom with her—not as her best friend, but as her boyfriend. That's how I always pictured it.
No point dwelling on what didn't happen, though. Even if it took three years, I still got the girl.
I'm still walking out of prom with her by my side— as my girlfriend.
Dreams really do come true.
God, I'm so fucking cheesy it hurts. But whatever. Everyone's like this when they're in love.
And maybe I'm smiling too much, but sue me. My heart's been going absolutely feral in my chest ever since she said yes earlier.
Caroline Pennington. My girlfriend.
I keep replaying it in my head like a broken record: she's mine.
She's actually mine.
If joy had a volume knob, mine's been cranked to full send.
It's ridiculous.
I'm sitting here with my chin propped on my hand, grinning at her like she hung the stars herself. But honestly? I don't care.
Because this—her smiling, spinning, throwing her head back in laughter—is like watching the universe show off.
Every once in a while, her gaze flickers to me. Just for a heartbeat.
And when our eyes meet, I feel it—the electric pull, that stupid invisible string between us tightening all over again.
She grins.
I wink.
And even with the music blaring, the lights flashing, people dancing all around her—it's quiet for me. Quiet in that kind of way that feels like everything else just blurs out until it's only her.
Her face turns the softest shade of pink before she looks away, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips.
And I'm gone. Absolutely, unapologetically gone.
I'm pretty sure this is what they mean when they say "whipped."
No, scratch that.
I invented the damn word.
I'm still staring at her like she's the only person in the room when something jabs into my ribs. Hard.
"Ow—dude, what the hell?" I choke out, jerking my head toward the culprits.
Of course. The twins.
On my left, Liam's grinning ear to ear. On my right, Luke's smirking into his drink, clearly enjoying himself.
"Bro," Liam drawls, leaning in close, "you've been staring at her for—what—twenty straight minutes? You even blink?"
Luke lifts his cup at me, smirking. "Still holding the title of Captain Whipped, I see."
Cody nearly snorts his drink. "Someone get this man a leash before he runs onto the dance floor drooling."
Elijah chuckles from across the table, cool as ever. "Face it, boys. Our golden boy here is a goner. Whipped to hell and back."
Kentaro, sitting at the far end, doesn't even look up from his glass. He just takes a sip and mutters, "Embarrassing."
But there's a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth—the Kentaro version of applause.
I shoot them all a glare that's supposed to look intimidating, but judging by the way they're all wheezing, it's not working.
"Laugh all you want," I say, grinning like an idiot anyway. "At least I got the girl. I'll wear the Captain Whipped title like a badge of honor."
Because the truth is—I don't even care how whipped I look.
If being head over heels for Caroline Pennington means I've lost my cool points, then fine. Take 'em all.
I'll gladly trade every ounce of my pride for just one more of her smiles.
The guys collectively groan—faces twisting like they just bit into a lemon. Liam fake gags, Luke throws a fry at me, Cody mutters something about losing brain cells, and Elijah just shakes his head.
I can't stop laughing.
They can roll their eyes all they want; one day they'll get it.
When they finally fall stupid in love, they'll understand exactly why I'm sitting here smiling like a damn fool.
"Unapologetically shameless," Cody adds, shaking his head. "You're not even trying to hide it anymore."
"Why would I?" I shrug, eyes flicking back to Caroline. "She's the best thing to ever happen to me. You'd brag too if it was you."
Liam makes gagging noises. "Jesus, man, you're hopeless."
"Hopelessly in love," I correct. Their reactions just make it funnier. I'm half a second from choking on my own laugh watching them look physically pained by my cheesiness.
Caroline twirls again, her laughter spilling across the room, and my heart does that stupid flip thing that should really be medically concerning by now.
I grin so wide it hurts.
"So..." Luke starts, "... be honest—tonight the night you finally get laid?"
I blink. "What?"
Liam snorts. "Don't play dumb, man. Prom night. Girlfriend. Perfect storm. You're not seriously telling me you're going home alone, are you?"
I drag a hand down my face. "Oh my God, you guys are unbelievable."
Luke leans back in his chair, arms crossed, smile pure devilry. "Come on, dude. What more perfect timing than prom night? That's like, prime 'losing-your-virginity' energy right there."
Liam nods sagely, raising his drink. "Facts. It's a rite of passage. Shakespeare wrote about it, probably."
I smack the back of his head. "Do your brains ever think about anything besides sex?"
They both stare at me for half a beat, dead serious. "Not really."
I snort. "You two are walking hormone grenades. I bet your search histories could land you on some FBI list."
That makes Cody spit out his drink laughing. "He's not wrong."
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. "Anyway, no. I'm not rushing that. There's no schedule for it. We literally just got together. The timing's gotta be right."
Luke whistles. "Dude, what more right timing do you want? You just had the most romantic prom night ever—this is textbook."
"Textbook for you maybe," I shoot back. "You think with your dick."
Liam points his drink at me like he's giving a lecture. "Hey, that's not true. Sometimes we use our brains to plan what the dick does next."
I groan. "You two seriously need professional help."
They both laugh, clinking cups.
"Besides," I add, "I don't even know if Caroline's ready for that. I'm not about to pressure her. Both people have to want it, you know?"
Cody leans in, smirking. "You'll never know if you don't ask."
I go quiet, thinking about it for a second. Ask? Yeah, sure. Let me just walk up and be like, "Hey babe, wanna have sex?" Totally normal. Totally not creepy.
The truth? I have no idea how to even start that conversation.
What if she thinks I'm some horny caveman who can't control himself? Which, okay—fair. Because lately, it's been a goddamn struggle.