Page 38 of Blueline Baby

It’s definitely the second one.

Jude comes out of his room right around the time I’m taping a pillow to the wall. He stops and looks between me, the fort, and the roll of tape I’ve got gripped between my teeth.

“No,” he says slowly. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“Then don’t ask.”

“Are you okay? Blink twice if she’s making you do this.”

“Jude.”

“Is it for the girl?” He starts laughing. “It’s for the girl. You built her a…” he gestures at all of it, hunting for the word. “A nest.”

“It’s a fort.”

“It’s a nest.” He gets a beer out of the fridge and leans against the counter like he’s got rinkside seats. “So what’s the move? Are you gonna have sex with her there? In all the blankets?”

“Sex is the absolute last thing on my agenda tonight.”

Jude goes very still. Then his eyes get huge. “You’re not gonna propose to her. Jack. Tell me you’re not proposing. You’ve known her for four months, you can’t propose in a—” he flaps a hand at it “—in a nest.”

“Go stay at Smitty’s.”

“JACK.”

“For the whole night. I’ll buy you a car.”

“You can’t just.” He stops. “What kind of car?”

“Get out, Jude.”

He leaves, finally. He's still lobbing questions over his shoulder about wanting the car in writing, and then the door clicks shut. Now it’s just me. And the fort. And the thing I’ve been carefully not thinking about for four solid hours.

I meant what I told Jude, mostly. Sex really is the absolute least of it. Because tonight, under these blankets, I’m going to ask Chloe the biggest question I’ve ever asked another person in my entire life. I’ve never asked it before. Not once. Not even close.

And standing here in the wreckage of five failed blanket forts, I realize I have absolutely no plan at all for what I’ll do if she says no.

By the time the whole thing will actually hold together—as long as nobody bumps it, breathes on it, or looks at it wrong—I’ve got a heart rate more appropriate for a third-period shootout. I have no reasons left to stall. So I go down and get her.

I knock on her door with clammy hands and a dry mouth. Like I haven’t been in this apartment a hundred times. Like she isn’t going to open it in about three seconds.

She opens the door and before she can say anything I grab her hand.

“Come up. I made you something.”

“You made me something.” She’s instantly suspicious. “Is it on fire?”

“Not yet.”

I walk her up the stairs and open my own door, and she stops dead on the threshold.

“Jack? Why is it dark in here?” She steps into the apartment and looks around. “Is that… a blanket fort?”

“Finals are over. As of two hours ago, you’re officially a free woman.” I wave at the whole ridiculous setup. The glowing TV has her movie already paused on the screen. There's a massive container of cookie dough ice cream sitting there with two spoons sticking out of it. “And a free woman does not spend her first night off buried in a textbook. So. No studying. No flashcards. No responsibilities. Just you, me, your movie, and enough sugar to make us both physically sick.”

“Oh,” she says softly, and I watch her take in all the details.

“Yeah. I told you I could do the whole romance thing.”