Page 9 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)

Just Hit Send

The Celtics lost in overtime, and Blaine was pissed.

Not the throw-the-remote kind of pissed — this was worse.

The broody, silent, rewatch the last play until your eyes blur kind.

He was stretched out on the living room floor, jaw tight, muscles sore, Snickers curled up against his ribs like a furry little therapist. Rain tapped against the windows, steady and dull, like background noise to his frustration.

His phone buzzed under the edge of the couch.

He didn ’ t look at first. Probably a promo. Or Chase sending him memes. Again .

But then he saw the name.

Linnie.

His heart lurched. He sat up so fast Snickers gave a startled bark and scrambled off him.

The message was short — a simple Thanks :) It was a wild day. You didn’t look to bad yourself out there! A second message Hey, good game the other night— even in the rain. Hope you ’ re not sore.

It wasn ’ t even a paragraph. But Blaine stared like it was written in neon.

Like it had weight. “ Are you gonna say something or just let your soul leave your body?” Bria ’ s voice broke the moment.

She was perched upside down on the couch, fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants in the air, neon polish on her toes, and a Twilight hoodie that looked two sizes too big.

“ I ’ m thinking.”

“ She texted you twice three days ago,” she said with a slow blink. “ Are you composing a sonnet or just debating every life decision you ’ ve ever made?”

Snickers yawned like she agreed.

“ I ’ m trying to be smart,” Blaine muttered. “ It ’ s complicated.”

“ She ’ s not a Rubik ’ s Cube, dude. She ’ s a girl who clearly likes you. And you ’ ve been moon-eyed and weird since your first game.”

“ She ’ s the Coach ’ s daughter,” he said, like that explained everything.

“ She ’ s not radioactive,” Bria said. “ You didn ’ t commit a felony by answering a text.” Blaine let out a short laugh, despite himself.

“ And,” she added with all the smugness a little sister could muster,

“ Mom says if someone makes you feel safe and smiley and like yourself, they ’ re probably worth it.”

Blaine blinked. “ When did Mom say that?”

“ During the Costco parking lot meltdown. You don ’ t listen to half the wisdom she drops.”

He exhaled slowly. “ Fine.”

He picked up his phone, thumbs hovering like it was a detonator. A dozen drafts later, he finally sent:

Didn ’ t expect you to notice. Appreciate it though. I was sore for

like two straight days — no lie. How ’ s prep for the next home

game going ?

Sent.

Snickers barked once, as if in approval.

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” Bria declared with a dramatic clap, “ he ’ s officially texting.” Blaine threw a pillow at her. She dodged like she ’ d trained for it. But as the chaos died down and his phone screen went dark again, he couldn ’ t stop that small flicker inside him. Hope. It was stupid.

Probably pointless.

But it was there.

Dinner was spaghetti — his mom ’ s go-to whenever she had feelings she wanted to disguise with garlic bread. Blaine barely sat before the questions started.

“ You didn ’ t register for fall classes yet, did you?” his mom asked, passing the salad without looking up.

“ Still thinking,” he said, loading his plate.

His dad cleared his throat, eyes fixed on his noodles like they owed him an explanation. “ You ’ re not gonna make a career out of local football.” Blaine ’ s grip tightened on his fork. “ I ’ m not trying to.”

“ You should ’ ve gone to Florida when you had the chance. That was a full ride,” his mom said, soft but sharp.

“ You think I don ’ t know that?” he snapped, then regretted it immediately.

“ You changed your mind,” his dad said, voice flat. “ You ghosted your advisor, skipped your visit, threw away a future.”

“ Things changed.”

Bria looked up from her broccoli. “ Maybe he didn ’ t want to be across the country. Maybe he needed to stay close.” Their mom ’ s jaw clenched. “ That ’ s not figuring it out. That ’ s stalling.” Snickers gave a quiet growl under the table like even she was done with the tension.

“ I ’ m working,” Blaine said finally. “ I ’ m helping Uncle Wes. I ’ m saving up. I ’ m not doing nothing.”

“ Football isn ’ t something,” his dad muttered.

Blaine pushed his plate away. “ Yeah. Got it.”

“ Where are you going?” his mom called as he stood.

“ Walking Snickers. ”

Snickers leapt up like she ’ d been waiting for her moment. Outside, the rain had faded to mist. Streetlights flickered. Snickers trotted ahead, leash taut, while Blaine shoved his hands in his hoodie and tried not to drown in the noise still echoing from the kitchen.

His phone buzzed.

Linnie.

Linnie: Haha, we ’ re running full choreo again so my legs hate me. My mom is in full beast mode already. But you made those rainy routes look kinda poetic tbh.

He smiled.

Like actually smiled.

Not just at the words, but at the way her voice came through them — light, smart, a little flirty. He stared at the screen a moment longer before typing back:

Blaine: Poetic? I might put that on my cleats.

Her reply came faster than expected.

Linnie: Only if you promise not to trip in front of everyone again

??

Blaine: Ouch. Brutal. But fair.

And just like that, the ache in his chest eased a little.

Blaine showed up to practice earlier than usual, hoping the cool air would quiet his thoughts.

But then he saw her. Linnie. Hair clipped up.

Legs stretching long and clean in black leggings.

Laughing with her teammates, eyes bright even in the gray light.

He tried not to stare. Tried not to care.

But his chest still pulled toward her like a tide.

They hadn ’ t talked in person since tryouts. Texts were safe. This was not.

“ Eyes forward, Austin!” Coach barked. “ You trying to run laps for fun?”

“ No, sir.”

“ Then move .”

And Blaine did. He threw himself into drills until his lungs burned and his legs felt like lead.

Anything to silence the noise. Later, Noah pulled him aside.

“ I ’ m leaving,” he said. Blaine blinked.

“ What?” “ Alaska. My uncle offered work. We ’ re moving.

My mom needs to be closer to family.” “ You ’ re serious?

” “ Yeah. I didn ’ t wanna bounce mid-season, but…

life, man.” They fist-bumped — a quiet goodbye between two guys who ’ d gone from strangers to teammates faster than expected.

“ Don ’ t let them grind you down,” Noah said, already walking away. “ You ’ re better than they think.”

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

Practice ended. Blaine lingered on the field, icing his shoulder, laces loose around his ankles.

He didn ’ t talk to Linnie. Didn ’ t risk it.

Rules were rules. But as he slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to leave, he let himself glance her way.

She was glowing. Laughing. Hands on her hips like she ran the world.

Maybe she did. And maybe… he wanted to be part of it.

Even if it meant taking one slow, careful step at a time.