Page 61 of Facing the Line

I can’t sleep, can’t get my mind off of Hadley. I should go for a run, but I don’t need Evan or the other guys harassing me about it. So what if it helps? Because lying here, I keep reliving every moment I’ve shared with Hadley this summer—every laugh, every touch, every kiss. It’s all been so much better than I imagined. I’ve wanted her since the first time I met her and it’s only deepened as I’ve spent more time with her.

After cooking together, our hot and heavy make out in the kitchen was interrupted when Evan came home and invited us to watch a movie down the hall with Mateo and Brody. I couldn’t say no, and the movie ended up being fun. It was a relief to take my mind off the pressure of my future and my career choices.

And once we got home, it made sense for Hadley and I to go our separate ways in our separate bedrooms. Although, based on the longing looks she was sending me, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t her first choice. It definitely wasn’t mine.

I sigh and roll over onto my side, trying to get comfortable. Every time I close my eyes, I see her smiling face, her laughing gaze, her perfect pink lips.

She’s just a wall away. If I want to torture myself, I pretend I can hear her in the next room. Is she tossing and turning like I am? Burning up with thoughts of me, imagining what wouldhappen if all our clothes disappeared in the kitchen and we were alone?

Flushed, I throw off the covers and?—

“What the hell?”

Is that Hadley?

“Oh, shit!”

That was louder, and definitely her voice. Is she okay?

I really can hear her moving around in the next room. I slip on my glasses and get up, padding to my door, listening outside of it. The tentative knock on the wood by my head makes me jump.

“Jonas?” she calls, her voice quiet but laced with tension. “Are you awake? I need help.”

I swing the door open and blink at her. Rubbing my bare chest, I adjust the waistband on my pants. I should be used to her miniscule sleep shorts and tiny tank top by now, but I have to press my lips together and take a deep breath. The acres of magnificent, smooth skin on display is a lot to process.

“What’s going on?” I ask, running a hand through my rumpled hair.

“Um, I have bad news.”

My heart rate trips up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, but my room’s not.” She gestures with her hand, and I follow her down the hallway.

Peeking inside, I see the problem. Water drips from her ceiling onto her bed. The plaster is peeling and puckered, and a wet spot forms on her comforter.

“What in the world?” Getting on her bed, I stare at the ceiling and get a drip in my eye for my trouble. “Ow!”

“Sorry. I don’t know what’s going on, though.”

“How’s it leaking, do you think?” Moving out of the splash zone, I take off my glasses and wipe them. I survey the ceiling, then glance around her room. There’s not enough space torelocate her bed to a dryer area—no matter where we put it, it’ll get wet.

She shrugs. “Can’t be the roof because we’re not the top floor. Who lives above us?”

“John and Luke, maybe?”

“Do you have their number? Can you call and see what they’re doing?”

“Yeah.” There’s no way to fix her bed right now, so I grab her hand and tug her with me back into my room.

Swiping my phone off my nightstand, I call John, who’s become our primary goalie since Adam graduated. Right before it’s about to roll over to voicemail, he picks up. His voice is harried.

“Jonas, is that leak dripping on you?”

“Uh, yeah, man. What’s going on?”

He sighs so deeply it comes through the phone. “We had a toilet malfunction. I brought a girl up and she didn’t know to jiggle the handle. Anyway, my bathroom’s flooded.”

With toilet water. Ew. Hadley’s listening in and can hear every word. She sticks out her tongue and shudders.

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