Page 6 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)

League Dinners & Lingering Silence

The next morning felt like a weird kind of hangover.

Not from alcohol—obviously—but from the high of the game.

The rush. The lights. The way the rain hit the turf like confetti.

The way we danced like we weren ’ t soaked to the bone.

Like we couldn ’ t feel the cold or the ache in our legs or the weight of everything that wasn ’ t football and music and movement.

And Blaine Austin—

The way he looked at me like I was the only person on that field.

Now? Silence. Nothing .

The Sunday morning scroll through social media was buzzing.

Grainy screenshots of touchdowns. Reposted slo-mo clips of our halftime routine.

Crowd-shot Instagram that made us look like celebrities even though our toes were frozen and our makeup was melting.

The whole town was practically electric.

And I was sitting in my kitchen in an old tee and fuzzy socks, rereading a message that still said “ Sent.”

Not read.

Not responded to.

Just floating there in the void.

Hey! Great game today:)

It felt casual when I sent it. Light. Friendly.

Now it felt like a risk.

Every hour that passed without a response added another layer of second-guessing. Was I too forward? Too soon? Did I imagine the way he looked at me, the way something shifted between us in the storm?

By the time the league dinner rolled around that night, I was mentally exhausted from looping through every scenario.

We met at Hooligan ’ s just before sunset.

Jade drove, blasting hype music even though we were both quiet the whole ride.

I ’ d curled my hair, mostly for myself, but Sadie had helped with the back so it didn ’ t look uneven, and Mom said I looked “ glow-y”—which was mom-speak for nervous but trying really hard not to seem it.

Inside, the banquet room was already buzzing. Long tables

crowded with football players, dancers, parents, coaches, and staff. The whole place smelled like buffalo sauce and cheap pizza and victory. It felt chaotic and warm and familiar.

I spotted Blaine right away.

He was in the back again, tucked into the corner of a table with a few of the other guys. Wearing a team pullover and joggers, hair still a little damp like he ’ d half-dried it after a shower and said good enough.

He hadn ’ t opened my message.

Hadn ’ t looked my way.

And maybe that should ’ ve been the end of it.

Jade noticed. Of course she noticed. “ You should say hi,” she said, sipping lemonade like it wasn ’ t a whole emotional minefield. I shook my head. “ He didn ’ t answer me.”

“ So?”

“ So... that ’ s a sign. And I ’ m not chasing anyone this year. I ’ m done chasing.”

Jade leans back dramatically in her chair.

“ Oh, please. Karter and I are the poster couple for shouldn ’ t work but somehow does .

I wasn ’ t looking for love—I was building my life.

He just… kept showing up. Annoying, sweet, persistent.

I ignored him for two years. Thought he was a distraction.

He thought I was just scared. And maybe I was.

But he chased me anyway. Never tried to dim me down or pull me off course.

He just waited until I looked up—and realized he was already standing beside me. ”

“ Maybe he ’ s not trying to ignore you.

Maybe he just doesn ’ t know what to say,” she said.

That made me pause. Because maybe—I wasn ’ t the only one spiraling.

But still, I sat down and distracted myself with wings and laughter and the chaos of Cleo spilling root beer on her new white hoodie.

I helped my mom rearrange chairs for some late arrivals, joked with Coach Karter about the glitter explosion in our locker room.

And still… I kept glancing over at Blaine .

One look. That ’ s all I wanted. Some kind of acknowledgment.

Proof that what I felt on the field wasn ’ t all in my head.

But Blaine never looked my way.

Never said hi.

Never answered.

When the night wound down and people started saying their goodbyes, I checked my phone one last time.

Still no reply. I turned my screen off, shoved it into my pocket, and followed Jade outside.

The cool night air met me like a wall, crisp and grounding.

I wasn ’ t going to let him shake me. Not again.

Not this year. This was my story. And whether or not Blaine Austin ever replied, I ’ d already decided— I am worth showing up for. Even if it ’ s only for myself.

Monday morning came in slow and soft, like a fog rolling in. For once, I wasn ’ t waking up to an alarm or panicking about choreography or obsessively refreshing my phone like a maniac.

Nope.

Today was for me.

I rolled out of bed, hair in a messy top knot, oversized hoodie sliding off one shoulder, and immediately texted the girls:

Me: Group therapy session. Target run. Starbucks. You in?

Cleo: Say less. Picking you up in 20.

Sadie: I ’ ll bring the gossip. And maybe cry in the lip gloss aisle.

Jade: If we ’ re not buying fake nails we don ’ t need, I ’ m not

coming.

Twenty minutes later, I was in the passenger seat of Cleo ’ s SUV with an iced matcha latte in one hand and sunglasses I absolutely didn ’ t need on my head. Sadie took the aux cord and immediately queued up “ Titanium.”

The sky outside was that weird in-between gray—not quite rainy, not quite sunny.

Murky but manageable. Exactly how I felt.

First stop: the books.. Cleo was tossing at least five new book releases.

Off to the makeup Jade swatched lipsticks up her arm, looking for the “ perfect trauma shade.” Sadie leaned her head on my shoulder.

“ Okay, are we officially not talking about Him-Who-Must-Not-Text?” she asked.

I laughed. “ We can talk about it. I think I ’ m past the meltdown stage.

” “ You ’ re not crazy for messaging him,” Cleo said.

“ It was chill. And honestly? If he ’ s too emotionally constipated to reply, that ’ s on him.

” “ Facts,” Jade added. “ Half these guys can ’ t even remember their locker combos.

” I let out a real, unfiltered laugh. “ I just... I thought there was something there during the game. I felt it.”

“ There probably was,” Sadie said softly.

“ But that doesn ’ t mean he knows what to do with it.

” We wandered into the home section. I picked up a beige fuzzy throw I didn ’ t need and hugged it to my chest like armor.

Jade convinced me to buy a new perfume “ for main character energy,” and we all took mirror selfies next to the fake plants.

By the time we checked out, our cart was full of Rom-coms, scented candles, lip gloss, and enough snacks to survive an apocalypse. And honestly? I felt lighter. Like I ’ d let something go.

Later that afternoon, we ended up at Cleo ’ s house with cucumber face masks, open bags of chips, and the kind of soul-healing girl talk that could last for hours.

And yeah, I still thought about Blaine. About the way he looked under those stadium lights.

The way he made me feel seen—even if it was just a second.

But I didn ’ t text again. I didn ’ t wait by my phone.

And I didn ’ t let it ruin my day. Instead, I let myself laugh too loud.

I let my friends paint my nails lilac. I let the weight of yesterday melt off, little by little.

Because sometimes healing doesn ’ t look like closure.

Sometimes it looks like glitter lip gloss and lavender candles.

And being surrounded by the people who remind you of who you were before the doubt, before the silence, before the almosts.

Tomorrow is a new practice. A new week. A new chance.

And maybe… just maybe… I ’ m starting to feel ready.