Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 309

**Title: Wrong Person 309**

**Chapter 309**

My legs are screaming at me.

Not in that delicate, elegant way that a ballet performance leaves you sore,

but more like I’ve just returned from an absurd battle, armed with inflatable grenades, crawling through a minefield of glitter, and getting whacked with a pool noodle by Max—not once, but twice.

Here I am, seated cross-legged at the edge of the mat, my sock toe caught on a glimmering seam of duct tape, observing the party as it gradually dissolves into a series of farewell hugs and half-hearted attempts at cleaning up. Cake is smeared across someone’s shirt like a badge of honor. Balloons are drooping against the walls, their vibrant colors fading. In the corner, someone still proudly sports the ridiculous cardboard vest that Rooster has dubbed “tactical couture.” It’s a delightful chaos. A beautiful, hard-earned chaos.

I exhale slowly, letting the breath escape my lips in a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Hey,” Mila says, crouching next to me, her sleepy smile illuminating her face. “That was insane. In the best way possible.”

Boomer stands behind her, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. “Yeah. You really pulled this off. It was epic.”

Rooster strolls by, a bucket in one hand and a fistful of used napkins in the other. “Don’t get all emotional on me now, Ballerina. You’ll have me crying sparkles.”

I chuckle softly—it’s the only response I can muster given my exhaustion. My eyes flicker to the clock; it’s late—so late that I’ll undoubtedly regret it in the morning. But right now? Right now, I couldn’t care less. My gaze drifts toward the windows, where I spot Asher waiting by the door, his coat draped over his arm, his eyes focused on me as if I’m the only thing that matters in this entire room.

The others begin to move about, collecting cups and plates, un-taping balloons from the floor with a sense of camaraderie.

“You guys sure you don’t need my help?” I ask, rising slowly to my feet. “I can stick around and help get everything perfect. Madame Loretto will lose it if she—”

“Go,” Anna insists, waving me off with a firm gesture.

“We’ve got it,” Luc chimes in, already stacking chairs with determination. “We’ll scrub the glitter out of the mirrors if we have to.”

“You’ve earned your exit,” Mila grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now get out of here before I change my mind and make you mop.”

I blink at them—my chaotic, quirky, wonderful little circle—and feel my throat tighten with warmth, a swell of gratitude rising within me.

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