Page 15 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)

Shared Calendars & Secret Plans

Snickers was curled at the end of the bed, snoring like a tiny lawn mower. Blaine lay flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding his phone. The only light in the room came from the screen. Her message had popped up mid-scroll. Without thinking twice, he typed back.

Yeah… like everyone else got the script and you ’ re just trying to catch up.

He stared at the words after hitting send. Too honest? Maybe. But it was true. Her reply came almost instantly.

Exactly that. And now I ’ m wondering how much I ’ m allowed to write my own story .

He read it twice, heart tugging in his chest.

Maybe we write it anyway, he texted back. Scribble in the margins if we have to.

She heart-reacted to that one. Then came the next message:

Do you think… we could talk to the coaches? Just hypothetically. I mean… if this kept going?

His pulse jumped.

He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, then leaned back against the headboard. So it wasn ’ t just him feeling this.

I ’ ve been thinking about that, he typed. It ’ s tricky—your mom being the head coach, the team contract stuff. But maybe we just feel it out a bit. Keep it lowkey. No pressure. And if it keeps feeling right… yeah. We talk to them.

There was a pause. Then:

JJ messaged again last night. He keeps trying to make me feel like I ’ m the bad guy. Like I ’ m not allowed to move on or be happy. It ’ s exhausting.

Blaine exhaled through his nose, sharp and tight. Anger stirred low in his gut.

He ’ s threatened. You ’ ve got light he can ’ t dim anymore. You don ’ t have to explain yourself to him. Or anyone.

Another pause. Then:

But he knows how to get in my head. He said I ’ m spiraling. That what we have isn ’ t real.

Blaine didn ’ t hesitate .

You want to know what feels real? The way you laughed when you scratched on the 8-ball last night. The fact that you dance like no one ’ s watching—even when everyone is. The way my little sister keeps asking if “ that pretty girl from the car wash” is my girlfriend.

The typing dots appeared, then disappeared. Then:

That ’ s really sweet. I needed that.

Then I ’ m glad I said it, Blaine replied.

Snickers gave a dramatic grunt and shifted, wedging himself against Blaine ’ s calf like a heating pad with attitude.

Blaine stared at the screen for a beat before finishing the thought.

Let ’ s figure it out. Together. If we ’ re careful, honest, and respectful about it… maybe this is worth taking the risk.

I think it might be, came the reply.

Sunday Afternoon —

Linnie flopped onto her bed with her phone in one hand and an iced vanilla chai in the other.

On her screen: Blaine, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom.

Hoodie on. Hair pushed back. A football helmet sat in the background like it had just lost a fight.

His room looked like a laundry tornado had passed through.

Her planner, in contrast, was color-coded perfection.

“ Okay,” she said, flipping her camera to show the chaos of her schedule.

“ You ’ ve got practice Monday, Wednesday, Friday mornings and film Monday night.

We have conditioning Tuesday, Thursday, and costume fittings Friday. ”

Blaine blinked at the screen like she was reading in alien code. “ God bless color coding,” he muttered. “ How do you even function like this?” “ If I don ’ t write it down, I forget to eat,” Linnie replied, deadpan.

“ Now—when do you have a window for an actual date?”

He clicked around on his laptop, squinting. “ Tuesday. After practice. I ’ m free after six. You?”

“ Same.” She grinned. “ What are we thinking? Chill or fancy?”

“ Lowkey. No pressure. Somewhere we can talk without anyone breathing down our necks.”

“ Deal,” she said, laughing. “ I ’ ll even wear the good perfume.”

Later That Night — In the Kitchen

The smell of garlic and tomato filled the kitchen as Linnie stirred the simmering sauce. Across the island, her mom chopped zucchini with the kind of focus that came with loaded questions.

“ You ’ ve been... beaming lately,” Summer said casually.

Linnie tried—and failed—to hide her smile behind the spoon. “ I ’ ve been talking to Blaine. A lot.”

Her mom paused. One eyebrow lifted.

“ Linnie…”

“ I know. The contract. I know what people will say.” She lowered the spoon. “ But… it ’ s not just a crush. It ’ s different. Easy.” A pause. “ And we ’ re being careful.”

Summer was quiet for a long beat. Then, softer: “ Just promise me you ’ ll keep your head. You ’ ve worked too hard to get it back.”

“ I ’ m not letting anyone take that away from me again,” Linnie said, steady. Her mother looked at her carefully, then nodded. “ Especially not JJ.”

Monday —

The local café buzzed with soft indie music and the occasional hiss of a milk frother. Linnie, Jade, Sadie, and Cleo were squished into their usual corner booth, sipping iced lattes and picking at sweet potato fries like it was sacred ritual.

The laughter died down just as the door opened.

JJ.

Gray hoodie. Smug expression. Walking like he paid rent on everyone ’ s mood.

leaned in. “ Seriously? He followed you here?” “ I didn ’ t tell anyone I was coming,” Linnie muttered, her hand tightening around the cup.

JJ strolled over, resting one hand on their table like he had any right.

“ Didn ’ t expect to see you out,” he said, voice too smooth.

“ Cute top, Lin. Trying a little hard, don ’ t you think? ”

Her jaw tensed. “ Walk away, JJ.”

“ Relax. Just saying hey. Thought we could talk.”

Cleo stood halfway up, calm but sharp-eyed. “ She ’ s not interested, man. ”

JJ gave her a smirk. “ No need to bring your backup dancers into this. I was just being polite.”

He walked off, smugness trailing behind him like cheap cologne. Jade leaned over, whispering, “ Next time I ’ m bringing pepper spray and a theme song.”

Later That Night —

Linnie sent the message first.

JJ showed up today while I was out. Again. I didn ’ t even post where I was going.

Blaine replied almost instantly.

That ’ s not okay. Want me to come with you next time you go out?

Not yet. But thanks. Just… knowing you ’ re there makes a difference.

Always. Tuesday is ours. Don ’ t let him steal that.

Tuesday Night —

Her eyeliner was flawless. The lighting? Warm and glowing. She was one spritz of perfume away from heading out when her phone buzzed.

So... don ’ t hate me... but the truck ’ s dead. Starter ’ s toast. I ’ m stranded outside the gym. Any chance you wanna come get me?

Linnie stared at her phone, one mascara wand still in hand, and burst out laughing.

Guess I ’ ll be your knight in shining hoodie. Sending my location now.