Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 70

Chapter 70: Penny

The world is still spinning too fast.

Everyone is still around me–laughing, cheering, hugging–but I step back from the center of the room, needing just a second, a breath, a moment to myself before I combust into a ball of weepy sparkles. I clutch the folder Madame gave me to my chest like it’s the most sacred thing in the world. Because right now, it kind of is.

I slip out into the hallway near the coat racks and dig for my phone with clumsy fingers. My hands are shaking, and my heart is still racing like I’m in the middle of the audition all over again. I finally find my phone and press the contact that reads Mom & Dad. They answer on the second ring.

“Penelope?” Mom answers, her voice already tinged with that special kind of worry mothers reserve just for their only daughters.

“Mom,” I say, and my voice cracks immediately. “Dad?”

“I’m here,” Dad says, his voice deep and steady through the speaker. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I smile through the tears. “I got it.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Mom gasps so loudly I hear it crackle through the line.

“You got it?” she says. “Penny–baby–you got it?!”

“The lead,” I whisper. “I’m the lead in the Spring Gala.”

“Oh my God,” she cries. “Honey! Oh, sweetheart, you did it. You really–oh, David, she did it!”

“I knew you would,” Dad says, and I can tell he’s smiling. “You’ve worked so hard, We’re so proud of you.”

sink to sit on the bench outside the rehearsal room, hugging the folder tighter to my chest. “It doesn’t feel real yet.”

“It’s real,” Mom says. “It’s so real. And we’re going to celebrate properly when we’re back.”

“When?” I ask, suddenly needing to know how soon I get to hug them.

“Well,” she says, hesitating. “There’s a bit of a delay with our return flight. Some meetings got extended, so we’ll be back in two weeks instead of next

Friday.”

“Two weeks?” I echo, brows furrowing for half a second.

“I know, I know,” she says quickly. “We’re sorry, baby, but we’ll celebrate properly when we get back We promise. This is huge. The lead role? At nineteen? You’re incredible.”

I wipe another tear from under my eye and nod, even though they can’t see me. “It’s okay. I’m just happy. I love you both so much.”

“We love you too, sweetheart,” Dad says. “We’ll talk again soon, okay? And maybe you can send us a picture of the contract?”

I laugh, a little breathless. “You got it. I love you.”

“Love you!” they both chime, and I hang up, my heart feeling a little fuller.

When I look up, Mila is already charging toward me like a heat–seeking missile. She wraps her arms around me again and whispers, “Okay, I gave you your emotional moment. Now we celebrate.”

I laugh and pull away. “This weekend?”

“Obviously. And we’re going all out.” Then she leans in, eyes glittering. “Also, we haven’t talked about your bodyguard.

“Mila,

“Oh my god,” she continues, hands fanning herself dramatically. “Ife’s related to Tyler? Why does he look like he stepped out of a movie about undercover spies? He’s like six foot forever and those arms? Is that what they all look like in the Navy?”

“Mila,” I groan.

She ignores me completely. “And he has this face like he’s already planning where to bury your body, but also like he’d absolutely kill for you. I don’t even care if he has a personality. He doesn’t need one. Have you seen him without a shirt?”

“MILAAA,” I hiss.

Then she turns around.

And sees him.

Asher is standing not five feet behind her, arms crossed over his chest, looking exactly like everything Mila just described. Except for the fact that one of his eyebrows is raised in subtle amusement. Mila lets out a squeak–an actual squeak–and bolts.

She yells, “LOVE YOU, TEXT ME,” over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd of dancers.

I turn to Asher, cheeks burning. “I’m so sorry.”

He’s smirking. “You ready to go?”

“Yes. Please. Before she recovers enough to say anything worse.”

As we turn toward the exit, Madame’s voice cuts through the air. “Penelope.”

I freeze and turn back around. She strides over, her heels echoing on the wooden floors, and hands me a thick packet of papers.

“Read this carefully,” she says. “It includes your rehearsal schedule, contracts, costume notes, and choreography outlines. Training begins Monday. Take the weekend. Rest.”

“Yes, Madame,” I say, hugging the papers like I might lose them. “Thank you again.”

She nods once, and Asher opens the door for me.

Once we’re in the car, I let out the longest exhale of my life and sink into the seat. My head flops back against the headrest.

“That was… intense,” I mumble.

“You did good,” he says quietly.

“I cried all over the studio floor.”

He glances at me. “Still counts.”

I laugh softly, then say, “Sorry again. For everything. The meltdown, The hug. My friend being a pervert.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Didn’t mind.”

I blink. “You… didn’t?”

He shrugs.

“Well, uh… if you liked that, she’s single. And flearly very into you.”

He cuts in smoothly, “Not my type.”

That stuns me into silence.

Oh.

Not… his type.

Tall, confident, short–haired girls aren’t his type? Or was it ballerinas he didn’t like? Or maybe just… anyone?

I don’t ask.

Instead, I swallow and ask, “What do you think I should do to celebrate?”

He glances over at me. “Whatever you want.”

“I’ve never really celebrated something this big before.” I think about it for a second, tapping the papers against my knees. Then the perfect idea hits me and I gasp. “Oh my god. The fair!”

“The fair?” he repeats, like the word tastes strange in his mouth.

“Yes! It’s right outside of town this time of year. They have cotton candy, and those terrible but amazing mini hot dogs, and games and a rickety roller coaster that probably shouldn’t be legal but somehow still is. It’s my favorite place to go.”

He stares at me like I just told him I wanted to celebrate by wrestling a grizzly bear.

“… Yeah, okay. I should’ve known that’s not your scene,” I mutter.

He shrugs. “Ask Tyler when we get home.”

So I do.

Tyler’s on the couch, flipping through channels like he’s allergic to staying on one for longer than three seconds.

“Hey,” he says, glancing up. “Where were you guys?”

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