Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 77

A few hours later, my phone buzzes with Mila’s name lighting up the screen, and I swipe to answer, propping it up on my dresser as I sit cross-legged on the bed. The screen fills with her face, half-covered in a thick green face mask. I had written to her when Asher left to see if she wanted to come to the party and her answer came within seconds: **UM, YES?!**

“Tell me you’re not going to bail on me,” she says by way of greeting, her voice both stern and teasing. “I shaved my legs for this, Penelope.”

I snort. “God forbid all that effort go to waste.”

Mila rolls her eyes and peels the mask off in one practiced pull. “I’m serious. I’ve had a week from hell and I need this. You, me, music, questionable punch, and people who will 100% say something dumb before the night is over.”

“I’m coming,” I say, grabbing the hairbrush from my nightstand. “I’m just… not in the party mood, exactly.”

Mila pauses. “Still sad about the fair thing?”

“No,” I lie. “It’s fine. Tyler had plans.”

Mila doesn’t buy it, obviously. She arches a brow and sighs. “Whatever. He’s still an idiot for missing that. But hey, at least you’re coming tonight. Let’s find you something to wear.”

I pan the camera to the mess on my bed—skirts, tops, belts, shoes, all laid out in what looks like the aftermath of a minor tornado.

“Oof,” Mila says, grimacing. “Fashion battlefield.”

“You should see my sock drawer.”

She laughs and points. “Okay. That denim mini skirt. The one with the brown belt. And pair it with that tight brown long sleeve you wore for my birthday last year. The one that shows that tiny bit of skin—just enough to make Tyler regret everything if he tries to leave early.”

“Subtle.”

“I’m not paid to be subtle, babe.”

I grab the pieces she suggested and nod. “Okay, you win.”

“Obviously. Now, hair.”

I stand in front of the mirror, pulling the curling iron from the drawer and plugging it in. “Soft curls? Let it fall naturally?”

“Yes,” she says, tapping her chin like a stylist on a runway show. “Like, ethereal but hot.”

I start curling a strand. “Thanks for narrowing that down.”

Mila grins. “You know what I mean. Just—don’t try too hard. You’re already pretty.”

I hum, curling more pieces until they fall in soft waves around my shoulders. I swipe on a little mascara, dab some blush on my cheeks, and finish with a gloss that makes my lips look bitten.

“This is the most makeup I’ve worn outside of a performance,” I mumble, checking my reflection.

“You look so good it’s stupid,” Mila says. She’s fully dressed now, adjusting the straps of a sleek, deep red tank top tucked into high-waisted black leather pants. Her curls are big and bold, and her eyeliner is sharp enough to cut glass. “Honestly, if anyone doesn’t notice you tonight, I’ll hex them.”

“I’m not looking to be noticed,” I say, slipping on earrings and a spritz of perfume.

“You say that, but you’re wearing the ‘accidentally sultry’ top.”

I glance down at the tight long-sleeve that hugs my waist and dips slightly just above my jeans skirt. “I mean, it’s just a shirt.”

Mila winks. “It’s never just a shirt. Now show me the full fit.”

I step back so she can see. “Ta-da.”

She whistles. “Damn. Someone better hold Tyler’s hand all night or the boys at the party will.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as how good your ass looks in that skirt.”

“Mila!”

She throws her head back laughing. “Okay, okay. We’ll keep it classy. Mostly. What time are we leaving?”

“Tyler said we’d head out around eight. We’ll pick you up.”

“Bless your chaotic little soul. I’ll be ready.”

“You always are.”

“Love you, dancer girl.”

“Love you too, chaos demon.”

We hang up, and I glance once more in the mirror. My cheeks are a little flushed—probably from Mila’s nonstop commentary—but there’s something else, too. Excitement, maybe. Nerves. Or maybe it’s just that quiet, unexpected hope that something tonight will matter.

Something small.

Or maybe something not so small.

I head downstairs, smoothing my skirt down as I go, heart doing little flips that make zero sense. Tyler’s in the kitchen, assembling something on the counter—peanut butter, banana, a sprinkle of cinnamon. It’s his go-to snack. He turns at the sound of my footsteps, and the sandwich in his hands almost drops to the floor.

“Holy fuck, babe.”

I blink, startled, then laugh softly. “What?”

He stares, eyes dragging from my curled hair to the cropped hem of my shirt to the bare skin of my thighs above my boots.

“I’m not sure I want to go out anymore,” he mutters, half-joking, half-not. “Like… we could just stay in. Lock the door. Order food. You know, admire your outfit from the comfort of my lap.”

I raise an eyebrow, playing it cool. “Sounds good to me.”

His grin turns feral. “Damn, you’re hot.”

He steps forward and hands me the sandwich with a flourish like he’s offering gold. “For my goddess.”

“Thank you, humble servant,” I say with mock seriousness, taking a bite. It's warm, gooey, and perfect.

Tyler leans against the counter next to me and watches me eat like he’s not sure whether he wants to frame me or devour me. I chew slowly, trying not to giggle.

After a moment, I glance up at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“At the party… can you try not to leave me alone too much?” I say, a little hesitant. “Mila’s coming, which is great, but you know how she gets—she disappears into crowds like a social chameleon.”

Tyler immediately steps forward and cups my jaw with one hand, his expression softer now, a bit more serious. “Of course, baby. I’m not losing sight of you.”

His kiss is slow and deep, and for a second, I forget we’re going anywhere at all.

I finish my sandwich, toss the napkin, and grab my bag.

He opens the front door and says, “Let’s make this a night to remember.”

I nod, stepping out into the cool evening air. “Let’s.”