Page 8 of Guarded Love

"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?"

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