Page 14 of Kellan & Emmett
I cleared my throat, trying for steady. “Guess this is it.”
His jaw worked once, twice, before he finally said, “Yeah. This is it.”
We lingered one beat too long before he popped the handle and climbed out. I followed.
“Look… maybe we don’t have to spend the night circling each other like enemies. It’s one evening. We can at least try to be civil.”
He turned, finally meeting my eyes. Something unreadable flickered there. Then he gave a short nod. “Fair enough.”
I held out my hand before I could think better of it. His grip was firm, warm—too warm—and the spark that shot up my arm made my breath catch. For a second, I thought he felt it too, the way his hold lingered just past polite.
Then he let go, stepping back. “Come on. Can’t be worse than prom the first time around.”
I huffed a laugh, shaky but real. “Low bar, but yeah. Let’s see if we clear it.”
I followed, my palm still tingling, the warm May night wrapping close around us, thick with everything unsaid—and everything still possible.
Chapter 7
Kellan
Inside, the gym had been transformed—streamers and neon balloons, a disco ball throwing fractured light across the polished floor. Tables lined the edges, already crowded with classmates balancing cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.
A server offered a tray of hors d'oeuvres as we stepped in. I grabbed one mostly to keep my hands busy. Emmett shook his head, scanning the room like he was cataloging every exit.
“Whole place feels like a time capsule,” I murmured, leaning closer to Emmett. “Half expect somebody to wheel out a boom box and breakdance.”
He flicked me a sideways look, the faintest glint in his eyes. “What, you volunteering?”
“Don’t tempt me.” I smirked, tapping my knee. “I could still pull off the worm.”
For the first time all night, the edge of his mouth twitched, almost—almost—a smile. “Pretty sure your knees would quit halfway through. You’re not seventeen anymore.”
The warmth of it lodged in my chest, too fleeting, too fragile. But it was there.
A group of classmates swept us up before I could say more, pressing drinks into our hands, pulling us into the hum of conversation. The room spun with voices and laughter, the kind of noise that made it easy to hide.
But even with people on every side, my attention kept snapping back to him. I couldn’t help myself.
The cocktail hour bled into dinner—someone ringing a bell, one of the organizers herding us toward the tables with all the cheer of a wedding planner on too much caffeine.
I found an open seat at one of the round tables draped in a hot-pink cloth that practically glowed under the neon lights, the scent of butter and garlic drifting from the buffet line making my stomach growl.
A few minutes later, Emmett showed up at my elbow, scanning the table before dropping into the chair beside mine. “Guess this one’s the only seat left,” he said, his tone neutral but edged with something that wasn’t quite annoyance.
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the centerpiece Rubik’s Cube. “Seat’s a seat.”
Plates clinked as servers moved through the room, setting down appetizers. I speared a stuffed Peppadew, the heat of the pepper cut by the creamy pimento cheese, and tried not to notice how Emmett’s shoulder brushed mine whenever he reached for the breadbasket.
“So,” Meghan said, eyeing the smoked trout crostini on her plate. “Who remembers Derek’s epic fail in Home Ec? That soufflé that collapsed faster than a prom queen’s updo?”
Derek groaned, already laughing. “It was sabotage. Somebody slammed the oven door.”
“Sure,” Britt said, sipping her Blue Lagoon, the neon-blue drink glowing against her sequined top. “Or maybe you just can’t cook.”
“Hey, I’ve redeemed myself,” Derek shot back. “Ask my wife. My ribs are legendary.”
Jamal smirked over his cider. “Yeah, word on the street is your ribs are legendary for sending your wife to the ER that one time.”
