𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑳𝒊𝒏𝒆

05. 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑲𝑬

I shut my laptop and slide my textbook off my lap, walking them both over to the desk in the corner of my room. It's more of a junk desk than anything, hidden under piles of books and protein bar wrappers.

I do most of my studying on my bed. It's more comfortable for me. But it can also be dangerous. Sometimes I close my eyes to let them rest for a few minutes and the next thing I know — boom — it's been three hours and I'm scrambling to collect my things before I'm late for hockey practice.

Now that's living life on the edge (that was sarcasm). I'm about to climb back into bed and call it a night when I hear three little knocks on my door.

I check my phone. 11:48. Usually Fallon's fast asleep by now. Or she at least tries to be, though I don't always make that easy for her.

Honestly, I'd be lying if I said I didn't do it on purpose sometimes. Like last night. She'd said I smelled like a rotting fish when I got home from hockey practice earlier in the day, and I guess I might have taken that a little too personally.

When I open the door, Fallon's standing in the hall, her brown hair in a braid cascading over her shoulder. "If you're here to yell at me some more—"

"Can I come in?"

    My brows lower with confusion, but I widen the door and step aside anyway. She walks in with her arms crossed over her chest and plops down on my bed like her body's made of heavy steel.

    "Do you need something?" I ask.

    "I have a proposal for you." She looks me straight on, but her voice is hesitant. When I don't say anything, she continues, "Would you like to hear it?"

    "Can it wait until tomorrow?" I lean my back against the door until it clicks shut, already knowing what her answer will be.

    "Nope."

    I sigh and rub my eyes. "Fine, make it quick."

    "I was thinking about what you said earlier," she says. I shrug, trying to pinpoint exactly what she's talking about. I say a lot of stupid shit when I'm heated. "About me being alone and miserable."

    "Oh." I screw up my face. That. Frankly, I don't think I meant it to be all that serious. She was throwing punches and accusations so I threw them right back. "Go on?"

    "While that's not completely true, Camille thinks you have somewhat of a point." Fallon averts her gaze as she admits it.

    I cross my arms. "Camille said that?"

    She nods. "I guess, maybe I have been pressing you a little too hard..."

"Is this a trap?" I ask. "This feels like a trap."

"No." She shakes her head.

"I don't buy that for a second," I tell her and cross my arms. "But, continue. I'm listening." Curiosity is a pretty big flaw of mine, but I've never learned my lesson.

    She makes herself comfortable on my bed and crisscrosses her legs. "I want you to help me find someone."

    "Who?" I step away from the door and inch closer to her.

    Fallon shrugs. "I don't know yet. That's the point."

    "Not following," I let her know.

    She sighs, her chest deflating. Almost like she's expelling all the pride from her body. "I want you to help me find a ... romantic ... partner." Those tortured words sound like they're being forced out of her.