Page 50 of Blocked Score

Like Sebastian, Harper’s eyes are on me as she says this, but it certainly seems like her words are pointed toward someone else.

Sebastian blows a raspberry on his lips. “Yeah, that’s what all the trite literary magazine and blog reviews are saying. It’s onlyless original,” he makes mocking quote signs with his fingers around those words, “if you can’t see beyond the surface level. Make sure you readDust Countryfirst, Scarlett. You get a better sense of the writer Chiltonreallyis.”

Harper’s left nostril ticks. “I agree, Scarlett. Save the best for last.”

I roll my lips to keep from laughing. Harper and Sebastian have the interesting talent of being able to have an entire argument without even directly addressing each other. I’ve seen it more than once already.

Then Lane steps forward to hand me his gift, the last one I haven’t opened yet. There’s a slanted grin on his face that makes my chest do a weird flipping thing.

His present feels heavy in my hand. When I pull off the wrapping, my eyes widen. It’s a charcuterie spread, from DiGiordano’s in Burlington.

It’s a gourmet food store. Harper and I drove down to Burlington a couple days ago to check out the city, and the store caught my eye, so we walked in.

Everything in there was mouthwatering, but eye-wateringly expensive. I can’t imagine how much this spread cost.

“Lane,” I say his name with a mix of gratitude and admonishment. “I can tell you spent way too much on this.”

He shrugs, that slanted grin notching higher. “Nah. Top-quality stuff for a top-quality roommate,” he adds with a cheesy grin. “Besides, I remember how much you like charcuterie boards.”

He does? I mentioned it in, like, one conversation when we were in Chicago together.

Warmth spreads through me, and a strange feeling lodges at the bottom of my throat. It’s stupid to be getting this emotional over assorted meats and cheeses, but I can’t help it.

A girlish smile plays at the edges of my lips as my eyes lock with Lane’s, and for a second, the room around us seems to stand still.

Offering me a room within an hour of us meeting again. Throwing me this party. Getting growly and protective when I go out to a club. Showing that he seems to remember everything about the summer we spent together that already feels like a lifetime ago.

It’s still so damn hard to square with the way things ended between us.

Could it just be that he’s interested in us picking up our fling now that we’re close and it’s convenient?

Would it be the worst idea in the world? Could I keep my emotions in check like he’s obviously able to?

“Dang, it’s really starting to come down out there.” The comment from Tuck standing by the back sliding door pulls me out of my thoughts.

I break my eye contact with Lane and glance toward him. It started snowing a couple hours ago, and it’s gradually gotten heavier and heavier. The snow is really sticking to the cold ground, and a couple inches have already piled up since everyone came over for my party.

“Enough for a snowball fight?” Lane asks.

Tuck whips his gaze to Lane, eyes lighting up like a little kid’s. “Snowball fight! Let’s go!”

Instantly, the guys start to tug on their jackets and pile out to the backyard that’s now covered with snow.

We end up in a four-on-four snowball melee, with myself, Lane, Rhys, and Maddie on one side and Tuck, Olivia, Hudson, and Summer on the other. As we launch clumped snow at each other and laugh, I get the strangest tickling feeling in my chest at how this team arrangement almost makes it seem like Lane and I are a couple.

Meanwhile, Jamie, Carter, and Kiran have brushed off some lawn chairs and are sitting around chatting while Sebastian and Harper are arguing again on the deck, both their arms folded over their chests, sour expressions on their faces, and not even looking at each other as they duel with their words that I only hear as a faint murmur.

The snowball fight peters out when Maddie trips, Rhys goes to help her up, and then she pulls him into the snow with her and they start kissing.

Lane makes a disgusted noise in his throat and averts his gaze as his little sister has her face eaten by his best friend, and there’s no way I can stifle a big belly laugh at the whole thing.

I distract Lane by pulling him to the side and making the world’s worst snowman with him. The three balls that make him up are jagged and irregular, they don’t set right so it looks like the poor guy is in bad need of a visit to a chiropractor, and Lanesomehow manages to make his face look completely ridiculous when he presses in two eyes and carves a smile.

But when I step back and look at our creation, I can’t help but feel a pang of affection.

The wind picks up and starts to blow the snow diagonally, so we all go back inside.

“I’m hungry,” Tuck says. “Who’s in the mood for pizza?”

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