Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 308

**TITLE: Wrong person 308**

**Chapter 308**

The rules of the game are as absurd as they are simple: each participant is assigned a ludicrous object—a pool noodle, a toilet plunger, a feather boa, or a spatula—and must conceal it on their person without being caught or making any adjustments. The last one standing, the ultimate victor, claims the prize.

Rooster, with a mischievous glint in his eye, tosses a rubber chicken my way.

I catch it mid-air and stare at it, bewildered.

“Are you serious right now?” I ask, incredulity lacing my voice.

“Hide it, Hayes. SEAL style,” he replies, his tone teasing yet commanding.

Max, ever the showman, immediately shoves his pool noodle down one pant leg, shambling across the floor with an exaggerated limp as if he’s just lost a bet. “Don’t judge me,” he says, a hint of defiance in his voice.

Luc, not one to be outdone, sticks a whisk into his hoodie sleeve, looking like a culinary superhero. Meanwhile, Anna wraps the feather boa around her waist like a tutu, twirling with delight.

Boomer, on the other hand, attempts to convince everyone that the plunger is a back injury support brace. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work.

And then there’s Penny. She flashes me a sweet smile, tucks a spatula into her ballet wrap skirt, letting it curve against her thigh with effortless grace, and winks at me.

Showoff.

“Three minutes on the clock!” Rooster bellows, his voice booming over the room. “Blend or die!”

As the chaos unfolds, Max trips, sending his noodle flying across the room like a wayward missile. Anna’s boa unravels mid-spin, fluttering to the ground like a defeated flag. In my own clumsiness, I forget about the rubber chicken hidden under my shirt and nearly elbow someone in the face with it.

And the winner? Penny, of course.

As soon as Rooster starts rummaging behind the sound system, pulling out red balloons as if he’s about to unleash a disaster, I brace myself.

This is about to get worse. Much worse.

His grin widens, a glimmer of mischief lighting up his face. “Alright, nerds! Next up is what I like to call the Bomb Squad Relay.”

He punctuates his announcement with a dramatic spin, slamming a bright orange Home Depot bucket onto the table. Glitter spills over the rim like a toxic cloud, and a collective gasp rises from the crowd, as if we’ve all just been informed of an impending execution.

“You will be crawling across a battlefield,” Rooster declares, gesturing towards the center of the studio, where Anna and Mila are taping dozens of red balloons to the floor with chaotic enthusiasm. “Inside each balloon is a slip. Some say ‘SAFE,’ while others say ‘BOOM.’ You pop three. Your mission: retrieve only the SAFE slips. Pop too many BOOMS and…”

He lifts the glitter bucket high above his head, as if presenting a trophy of doom.

“You get glitter bombed. Brutally. Without mercy.”

“Define ‘too many,'” Boomer calls out, his voice tinged with apprehension.

“One,” Rooster replies, his expression serious.

Luc groans. “That’s all it takes?”

Rooster nods, his expression unyielding. “Glitter is unforgiving.”

I glance at Penny, who is biting her lip to stifle her laughter. She’s perched on a folding chair nearby, still barefoot from her previous victory, her hair escaping its braid, cheeks flushed from the excitement of the last three rounds. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans toward me and whispers, “I’m going to destroy them.”

Of course she is.

Boomer is the first to go. He approaches the balloon field with caution, crawling low to the ground like he’s back in training.

SAFE. He pops the first balloon without incident. But the second? BOOM.

Rooster, ever the opportunist, dumps a handful of glitter down Boomer’s shirt before he even makes it back across the finish line.

“Welcome to hell,” Rooster whispers, deadpan.

Boomer coughs, spitting out glitter. “Why is it mint-flavored?!”

Rooster blinks, processing her words. “You counted rows?”

“She counted everything,” I chime in, unable to hide my admiration.

He whistles, impressed. “You spend too much time with Tank.”

Penny simply bows, as if accepting an ovation.

She walks back over to me, tucking her SAFE slips into her jacket pocket like they are hard-earned war medals.

I catch her hand and pull her close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her hair.

“You’re terrifying,” I whisper against the softness of her crown.

“I’m efficient,” she responds, her tone matter-of-fact.

And she truly is. Scarily so.

Rooster calls for the next team, but the atmosphere in the room has shifted dramatically. Everyone is now casting wary glances at Penny, as if she might detonate them with just a fierce look.

I can’t lie. I kind of love it.

She grins up at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and mouths, “You’re next.”

And I am. But for now?

I’m content just watching her radiate under the soft studio lights, red balloons still deflating behind her, glitter swirling in the air like remnants of a battlefield, and I can’t help but think—

Hell of a girl.

Hell of a night.