Page 8 of Caden & Theo
We don’t let go.
The property’s bigger than I expected. We weave through a side gate, down a little dirt path that leads into the trees lining the edge of the backyard. After a few more turns and one close call with a low-hanging branch, we find a quiet patch behind a shed, just far enough from the house that the music and chaos sound like background noise.
We stop, finally, both of us panting and wheezing with laughter.
Theo doubles over, hands on his knees. “I’m too young to die like this: covered in off-brand bubble bath and glitter paint.”
I lean against the shed, grinning. “If this is how we go out, at least we’ll look fabulous.”
He stands and wipes his face with the back of his arm, which only smears the pink foam worse. His cheek is streaked with something neon, a splash of blue across his jaw and temple. There’s foam in his curls, sticking up like whipped cream.
I can’t help it. I step forward and reach out. “Hold still.”
His breath catches just a little as I touch his face, but I don’t stop. I brush my fingers along his cheekbone, wiping away a streak of purple with slow, careful pressure. I move my hand down to his jaw, then gently run my thumb along the edge of his mouth, catching the last of the foam there.
The moment stretches.
He’s three inches shorter than me, and he’s so close now, we’re nearly chest to chest. I can feel his breath. Hear it hitch.
He looks up at me with those hazel eyes, soft and golden and a little bit startled. His skin is warm under my touch, a golden brown that’s a few shades lighter than mine thanks to his white Irish grandma on his mom’s side. There’s moonlight filtering through the trees above us, mixing with strands of leftover fairy lights someone’s strung along the fence. It casts his face in a glow that makes him look unreal. Dreamlike.
His lips part like he’s going to say something, but I don’t let him. I move closer. One breath. Two. And then, without thinking—without planning—I close the distance.
I kiss him.
It’s not long or practiced or perfect. It’s soft. Hesitant. Testing.
His mouth is warm and still for a second, and my heart is a thunderstorm in my chest. I think he might pull away. I’m ready for it. But then—God—he kisses me back.
His fingers curl into the front of my damp shirt. My hand moves to cup his cheek, thumb brushing just below his eye. We fit. Wefit, and I feel it in my bones, in the way his body leans into mine, in the way every nerve ending lights up with relief.
We pull back only a little, our foreheads almost touching.
Theo’s eyes flutter open. “So… foam machine, huh?”
I laugh—soft, breathless. “Best prom after-party ever.”
And in this quiet little pocket of the night, with the chaos behind us and Theo in front of me, I realize there’s no more pretending.
I’m in deep. And I don’t want to run.
THREE
THEO
Kissing Caden ishands down the best thing in the history of ever. For real. The time I won the school science fair with a Mentos and Coke volcano? Second place. The feeling of a perfect three-point swish on the court? Not even close. The night I finally beat him atMario Kart? Okay, that’s top five. But this? Kissing him? Undisputed gold medal.
Which is wild, because this time yesterday, I thought the only kiss I’d be getting anywhere near prom night was if someone spun the bottle wrong and panicked.
And now we’re on my bed. Kissing.
It’s still early afternoon the day after Caden’s prom, and the sunlight coming through my window is warm and soft, like the world is giving us this moment on purpose. I’ve showered, thrown on clean clothes, and tried (but failed) not to replay every second of last night on a loop. Caden showed up half an hour ago, looking like a Rocawear model with his hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows and hair a little damp from the shower. He brought muffins, like we’re a couple that brunches.
My little sister, Amelia, poked her head in when he first showed up, stealing one of the muffins out of the box before he could set it down. “Seriously? Do you live here now?” sheteased, grinning at him like she always did. Caden just smirked, muttered something about freeloaders, and she rolled her eyes on her way out. It was barely thirty seconds, but it left me buzzing—because even she had no idea what he really was to me.
And then we somehow migrated from muffins to making out. As you do.
Out there, we’re just teammates, just neighbors, just best friends who trash-talk overMario Kart. That’s the script everyone knows, the roles we play so well that no one thinks to question them. On the court, in the halls, even on the walk home, we’re the version of ourselves that fits what everyone else expects.
