Page 10 of Playing Games

“Everything.”

Her answer is so simple, so Lexi, it makes me grin. “That’s incredible. I bet the average American’s only been to, what, one game in their lifetime?”

She shakes her head like I’ve said something ridiculous. “Probably closer to zero. Maybe point zero, zero something. But only two percent of pro fans have been to a game, and one hundred percent of Americans aren’t thinking about, watching, or fandoming over football. The real number is probably negligible.”

“And yet, you’ve been to nearly two hundred.”

She tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “How many haveyoubeen to?”

“Ten. My dad started taking me to one game a season when I turned eleven. Different team every year. He said if I wanted to play in the pros one day, I should know what every team’s atmosphere feels like.”

“You’re halfway there,” she says thoughtfully. “There are twenty-two teams total.”

I laugh, because of course she knows the exact number. “Well, I’m hoping, in a couple of years, I’ll only need to be loyal to one.”

“You’ve got the stats,” she says with a small shrug. “If you maintain performance, there’s no reason you won’t get drafted.”

“You say it like it’s that easy.”

She shrugs. “Relatively speaking, it is. Just like getting into college with a certain high school academic and extracurricular record. There are outliers to every rule, but they call them rules for a reason. It’s statistical.”

I laugh. “You know, I think I’ve been thinking of it like it’s some magical mist or spell or something. Your take honestly makes me feel a little better. It’s the numbers.”

She nods. “Money being the most important number of all. Will you make them money? Your record is like a guideline for the answer to that question. And you have a good record, statistically speaking.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

Lexi shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the corners of her lips twitch, like maybe she’s enjoying this conversation.

When we finally reach the door with the Italian flag taped to it, I pause to knock, but not before flashing her a smile. “So, what do I need to do to get drafted by your dad? Any tips?”

Her soft laugh surprises me. “You’ll have to figure that out yourself.”

Before I can say anything else, the door swings open, and Tony Scalano’s legendary dorm-room pizzeria is revealed in all its questionable glory. The air smells like warm flour and melted cheese, a fine dusting of it hovering in the air like a low-budget food television show set. “That’s Amore” plays faintly from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner, and I glance down at Lexi to gauge her reaction.

Her wide eyes meet mine, a mix of horror and curiosity swirling in her expression. “Your powers of persuasion should be studied,” she mutters. “Because the fact that I’m here right now is a scientific mystery.”

I nod, fighting a grin. “You want to go inside?”

She sighs, resigned but intrigued. “We’re here, I guess. Might as well. Though I’m absolutely certain his Blackstone pizza oven in an enclosed space is a fire code violation.”

“He keeps an extinguisher under the bed.”

“Oh, well.That’scomforting.”

“You’re funny, you know that?”

“Really?” she asks, her eyes lighting up with something softer than her usual sharp skepticism.

“Definitely. Which is surprising, considering how scary you are most of the time.”

Her brow furrows. “I’m not scary.”

“Are you kidding?” I lower my voice and look around to make sure no one else is listening to our conversation before turning my attention back to her. “You run that Double C shit like you’re The Godfather. I’ve never seen so many shriveled balls around me as the night you double-dog dared one of us to fight Donnie Marks. Finn is just crazy enough not to care.”

“Are you scared of me?”

“Yes.” Her expression falters for just a fraction of a second, caught between shock and confusion, but I don’t give it time tosettle. I can’t. After tonight, more than ever, I’m determined to make Lexi Winslow mine. “But unlike most people, I like to face my fears head on.”

---