Page 71 of Blocked Score

With the screen in view, the lines in Lane’s brow still don’t smooth. “WhatamI watching?” He tilts his head at the view on the screen of a stylish woman in a beautiful French countryside.

“Emily in Paris,” I answer.

“Really?” His eyebrows bounce. “Must have auto-played because Tuck’s been watching it.”

I roll my eyes again, grabbing the remote and turning it off. I drop back down onto the couch.

“So, I’ll ask again. Just gonna mope around all night?”

“I’m still not moping,” he lies. “And what about you? You have any big Friday night plans? Going out withChrisagain?”

I have a twin reaction at the hostile way he spits out Chris’s name. There’s a twinge of annoyance because what right does he have to get all protective and growly over me going out with a guy, consideringhe’sthe one who forfeited any right he may have ever had to be jealous over me a year and a half ago?

But there’s also a fluttery feeling in my stomach. A satisfaction I know I shouldn’t feel when I see the ways his eyes darken at the mention of the guy who took me out two weeks ago.

“I’ve told you, like, three times, we’re not seeing each other again. We just didn’t click.”

His eyes do that darkening thing again, his lips flattening with a kind of suspicious skepticism. “Didn’t click, huh?”

I nod. “That’s right. And you stillaremoping.”

Lane pulls a big breath through his nose and lets it out in a heavy sigh, like he’s been caught out. “My shoulder hurts, that’s why I’m in a bad mood.”

I’ve seen Lane walking around with a bag of ice pressed to his shoulder for the last two days, so I know it’s not a total lie. It’s a deflection, sure, but at least he’s not pretending he’s all good.

“Any, like, stretches you can do for it?” I ask.

He rolls his shoulder, and I try to ignore the tugging feeling low in my core as I notice the rounded, boulder-like shape of the muscle when the sleeve of his t-shirt pulls tight against it.

“Not really. Honestly, when I have this kind of shoulder pain, going for a swim helps. But obviously, none of the campus pools are gonna be open at this hour.”

My brow leaps with excitement. This is perfect.

I push up from the couch, grabbing a throw pillow while I do so and launching it at Lane, hoping to nudge him further out of his catatonic state. “Get up and get dressed,” I order.

Lane looks at me warily. “Why?”

“Special mission,” I wink.

“That look in your eyes worries me.”

“It’ll pull you out of your mope. You’ll see.”

He continues to eye me skeptically for a beat, before heaving a sigh and pushing up from the couch. “As if I could say no.”

36

LANE

“We could get in trouble,” I protest as we sneak through the door.

“First of all, you’re Lane Larsen. Unless you’re committing a literal murder, you’re not going to get in trouble for anything on this campus.”

A displeased sound pulls from my chest, but I don’t argue. “What’s second of all?”

“Huh?”

“You saidfirst of all. Well, what’s second of all?”

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