~~ PEYTON ~~
Raphael carries me in his arms toward the nearest exit. He moves along the wall, sticking to the shadows and the edges of the room where the attention is thinnest, which I'm thankful for. We wouldn't want our own personalized Bollywood drama.
He doesn't rush, maintaining a steady pace that somehow makes the action less conspicuous than a panicked dash.
Everyone is busy with the rehearsal, so at least we're seventy percent saved from prying eyes unless one drunkard stumbles out of the fun, which I bet won't happen. Who would want to miss the music and dancing, laughter, and chattering apart two self-destructive idiots—like us?
I relax completely, dumping my entire weight into his arms, stretching my arms and legs out.
I glance at his face. “You know I hate you, right?“
He
