Tonight had been the worst night of Oliver Pruitt’s life.

He should have taken a hint when Chelsea slapped her hands over her face as he called her out onto the stage. He should have known something was wrong when he dropped down to one knee and she’d started frantically waving her hands. He should have taken a hint, and put the ring box back in his pocket. But no, what had he done? Laughed it off as her pretending to be nervous. He’d opened the box, pulled out the solitaire diamond ring, and taken her hand. He winced as he recalled the mortifying moment.

“Chelsea, I’ve known you for two days, but I already know that I love you. Will you be my wife?”

The crowd let out deafening cheers, along with a few cries of “No!” from the female fans. Chelsea was silent as she scanned the faces of Oliver’s fellow bandmates, and then the crowd. Finally, she gazed down at Oliver. “Oliver…no”, she said in a monotone.

She ran off of the stage as the crowd booed, leaving Oliver slackjawed.