Page 4

Blaise chews thoughtfully, a strand of cheese hanging from his mouth before he catches it with his finger. "Like what?"

"Anything. Something that would surprise me."

He considers this while reaching for a second slice. "I hate hockey."

I nearly choke on my pizza. "What? But you're?—"

"Just kidding," he grins. "Had to see if you were paying attention."

"Jerk," I mutter, but I'm smiling too. "Seriously though."

He leans back against his bed, pizza in hand. "Okay, real confession: I'm terrified of failing. Not just grades, but... everything. Everyone thinks I have it all figured out, but half the time I'm just pretending. I wake up some mornings and wonder if I'm on the right path at all."

I take another bite of pizza to give myself time to process his words. Once I’m done chewing, I say, "I think everyone feels that way sometimes. I know I do."

"Maybe." He shrugs. "But most people don't organize their entire existence around preventing it."

I study him for a moment once more before I respond. "Is that why you're always so..."

"So what?"

"I don't know. Serious? Reserved? Like you're constantly calculating every word before you say it."

He looks down at his pizza. "Probably. It's easier to keep things in control when you don't fuck up by saying the wrong thing."

"That sounds exhausting," I say, reaching for my second slice.

"It is," he admits. "But it's better than the alternative."

"Which is?"

"Chaos. Disappointment. People realizing I'm not who they think I am." He takes another bite.

“But isn’t that part of what college is all about? Figuring out, at least on some level, who we are? I know it’s easier said than done, especially for someone with anxiety, but maybe chaos is a part of the journey?”

Blaise's eyes meet mine, and there's something vulnerable in them that I can’t quite place. "Maybe. But it's not that simple when you've spent your whole life being the responsible one. The one who has it together."

"Who says you have to be that person all the time?" I ask. "And that includes around me." Why the hell did I specifically insert myself into this equation?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've already seen you at a party you didn't want to be at. I know about your anxiety. And your color-coded notebooks. Your cover is pretty much blown with me."

He laughs softly. "I guess that's true."

"So maybe..." I take another bite of my pizza slice. "Maybe you can just be yourself around people. Not Knox's responsible roommate. Not the smart and ambitious hockey player. Just...you."

"Just me," he repeats slowly. "I'm not even sure I know who that is anymore."

I finish the pizza slice in my hand and then grab a napkin for my hands and face just before I give in to a thought that popped into my head.

I crawl over to him. "Well, from what I've seen tonight, 'just you' seems pretty decent.

Funny. Smart. Kind enough to babysit a drunk girl and feed her pizza. "

"Thanks," he says softly.

When our gazes clash once more, I'm suddenly aware of how close I've gotten to him. I’m practically in his space now.

The alcohol still buzzing through my system has me lingering there instead of retreating back to my side of the invisible line between us.

His shoulder brushes against mine as he shifts his body and it sends a spark through me.

"I mean it," I continue, my voice lower now. "You don't have to be perfect all the time. Not with me."

Something changes in his expression, a softening around the edges that makes him look younger somehow. Vulnerable. The carefully maintained wall he keeps up seems to lower just enough for me to see through it.

"And who are you being right now?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just Willow? Or drunk Willow?"

I think about his words for a second before I reply. "Just Willow," I decide. "But with fewer filters."

“I like fewer-filter Willow."

"Yeah?" I lean in slightly, testing the waters. "What else do you like?"

The air between us feels charged suddenly, and I watch as his gaze drops to my lips for just a second before returning to my eyes, and that's all the confirmation I need. I close the distance between us, pressing my lips against his.

For a heartbeat, he freezes, and I think I've made a terrible mistake. But then his hand comes up to cup my cheek and he's kissing me back. His lips are soft and warm against mine. At first he’s hesitant, but then he gains his footing and our kiss becomes deeper. It ignites something in me, something I can’t quite explain because I’m not even sure what’s happening outside of my lips meeting his.

His hand slides to the back of my neck, and I feel myself melting against him. For a moment, everything is perfect.

Then suddenly, he pulls away.

"Wait," he says, his voice rough. He puts distance between us, running a hand through his hair. "We shouldn't. You're—you're drunk."

I blink at him, trying to process the abrupt change. "I'm not that drunk anymore."

"Still," he insists, not meeting my eyes. "And you're Knox's sister."

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Of course. That's what this all comes down to, isn't it? I'm not just Willow. I'm Knox's little sister.

"Seriously?" I stand up too quickly, the room spinning slightly. "That's what you're worried about?"

"It's not just that," Blaise says, standing too. "You know this is... complicated."

"It didn't feel complicated thirty seconds ago." I grab my water bottle, needing something to do with my hands before I do something stupid.

"Willow, please. I just think we should?—"

"Forget it," I cut him off, moving toward the door. "This was clearly a mistake."

"Wait," he says, reaching for my arm. "Where are you going?"

"Back to my dorm." I try to pull away, but he holds firm.

"You're still drunk. It's late. Just stay here."

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Are you kidding me right now?" I try to pull my arm away again, and while his grip is gentle, he doesn’t let go. "You just rejected me, and now you want me to stay?"

"I'm not rejecting you," Blaise says. "I'm being responsible."

"Oh, right. Responsible Blaise to the rescue. Always doing the right thing." The words come out bitter and sharp, but I can't stop them. The humiliation of being pushed away burns through whatever alcohol remains in my system.

"That's not fair," he says, finally releasing my arm. "You know it's not that simple."

"It seemed pretty simple to me." I cross my arms over my chest defensively. "You don't want to kiss me because I'm Knox's sister. Message received."

"That's not—" He runs his hand through his hair again, a gesture I'm starting to recognize as his stress response. "Look, you've been drinking. I've been drinking. This isn't the right time to?—"

"You know what? Fine," I finally say. "I'll stay. But only because it's late and I'm tired."

Relief flashes across his face. "Thank you."

An awkward silence falls between us as I glance around the room, suddenly unsure where to put myself.

"You can take Knox's bed," Blaise offers, gesturing to my brother's side of the room.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I spy the pizza box that still sits open on the desk with half of the slices gone. My stomach has tied itself into knots that have nothing to do with hunger.

"I can lend you something to sleep in," he says, moving toward his dresser. "If you want."

"Sure.”

He pulls out a Red Wolves hockey jersey and holds it out to me. I would laugh because I’ve been avoiding athletes and everything about them since I broke up with my ex, and now here I am about to wrap myself in the very thing I've tried to distance myself from.

"Thanks," I say, accepting the garment. Our fingers brush, and I pull away quickly as if I’d gotten bit.

"Bathroom's down the hall," he tosses out there.

I nod again, although I only half heard him, and slip out of the room with the jersey clutched to my chest. Once I make it to the bathroom, I’m thankful no one else is in there.

I walk up to one of the mirrors and stare at my reflection.

I look a whole hot mess with flushed cheeks, slightly smudged mascara and slightly red eyes.

I look exactly like what I am: a girl who's had too much to drink and made a move she shouldn't have.

I splash cold water on my face and change into Blaise's jersey, which falls to mid-thigh. I make the quick decision to keep my leggings on because I don’t want him to think I’m trying to make another move. I hate that I even have to think that.

When I return to the room, Blaise is sitting on his bed in red pajama pants and a t-shirt and I’m not surprised to find a controller in his hands.

He looks up when I enter. His eyes linger for a moment on the jersey, and something flashes across his face that I can't quite read.

Embarrassment? Regret? Whatever it is, it's gone as quickly as it came, and he's back to staring at his game.

"Feel better?" he asks, his voice neutral and I know it’s on purpose.

"Yep," I say with more bite than necessary. It’s then I notice the pizza box and water bottles are gone as if they were never here. Everything neat and tidy, just like Blaise himself.

I make my way to Knox's bed and toss the top I’d had on onto the bed. I dig into my bag and grab my phone before getting underneath the covers. I quickly shoot Ari a text to let her know I’m fine and make a mental note to myself that I’ll need to remake Knox’s bed before I leave in the morning.

Blaise's fingers tap against the controller, and it’s the only noise in the room.

I try to settle into Knox's bed and pull the covers up to my chin.

A million thoughts race through my mind as I stare at the ceiling, the events of the night replaying like a broken record.

It's all too much to process and I’m still angry about it.

I steal a glance at Blaise, his profile illuminated by the light coming from the TV screen. He seems lost in the game, but part of me thinks it’s an act to ignore the awkwardness between us. Well, if that’s what he wants, then so be it.

“Night,” I toss over my shoulder as I turn my body so that I’m lying on my side, facing the wall.

“Good night,” he responds in kind. “Let me know if you need anything.”

And that’s the last thing I hear before I pass out.