Page 20 of Playing Games

“Shoo,” Finn remarks, his face turned up in an amused grin. “You really are a steel fortress when it comes to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Lex.” Finn’s eyes dance with amusement. “You’ve rejected him more times than I can count. You act like he’s not even a human.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s a campus celebrity.”

Finn laughs. “Blake’s not like that. Not really. People are interested in him, but all he cares about are his friends and football.”

That little nugget of information should be easy to brush off, but my mind latches on to it like a parasite. The human brain thrives on patterns, and minedemandsthem. When something doesn’t add up, I can’t just let it go—I have to find thewhy.

Enter the anomaly that is Blake Boden—the man who spurs a reaction from every woman in his vicinity, including me. Idon’tdo well with anomalies.

Naturally, as a consequence of my shortcomings, I’ve turned him into data and created the AI-assistedBlake Boden AnalysisappI’ve been thinking about ever since the night dorm-room pizza with Blake ended in a kiss I still don’t understand.

Technically, it’s a combination of a data analysis spreadsheet and an AI-assisted program, but the app is probably easier to explain. Basically, I input everything I know, and continue to learn, about him—physical traits, social interactions, football stats, even the way his smile curves slightly higher on the left. And I log my observations—the way other people react to him, things his friends say, et cetera.

The app takes those inputs and identifies patterns and gives me updated conclusions based on my current hypothesis—Quality of life is unchanged with Blake Boden in it.One person can’t have that big of an effect on a life surrounded by thousands and thousands of other people.

It’s purely scientific. Logical.Or a way for you to reclaim control when he’s threatening to steal it.

I ignore my clearly useless subconscious and make a mental note of data to add to my Blake Boden app—friends are defensive of who he is as a person and of his feelings. I’m not the app, but I’m willing to bet the supposition is a benefaction of trustworthiness.

Which, of course, suggests I shouldn’t be so dismissive of the idea of spending more time with him.

Annoying.

I drop back onto my elbows and point my eyes to the sky, making Finn laugh again. As far as he and Scottie are concerned, my hatred for Blake is the running joke of the century. I, for one, wish it were that simple.

“Hey, hey!” Uncle Jude shouts, jumping through the three of us on light feet, dripping water all over the dock and our bodies. “I see Wendy and Helen waving up there, and you know what that means!”

“Food’s ready!” Uncle Ty yells, shoving him out of the way and jumping over my body to be first. A roaring stampede of wet teenagers follows as everyone hustles out of the water, and I shrink into a ball to get out of the way as they charge around me. I might as well be Mufasa at the bottom of the gorge for all the care they take with me.

Logically, I know they’re trampling me to avoid doing the same to Scottie, but still…I’d like to live to see tomorrow.

“Hey, watch it!” I yell as my cousin Hawk steps on my pinkie finger. He looks back in apology but doesn’t slow down in his surge for the house. “My God, this is likeRoadhousewithout Patrick Swayze, and clearly, he was the best part.”

“Solid fucking movie,” Finn says in camaraderie as I climb to my feet and shrink into a pencil to avoid the last of the wildebeests running for sustenance. Scottie smacks his chest with a small laugh and a big smile, and he clears his throat, adding, “May he rest in peace.”

Finn gets to his knees and then his feet, making sure to take care with keeping Scottie propped up and sitting, and then leans down to scoop up her body with ease. She’s a petite girl, but he makes it look like she doesn’t weight anything at all.

Gallantly offering them the right of way with a swing of my arm, I follow behind them, bringing up the rear of the entire dripping group. Roman and Ryder are the first in line, ravaging at the aluminum pan lineup of food the adults have managedto pull together, and Hawk, Meadow, Emily, Izzy, Carmen, Wes Jr., Willow, Travis, and Jack aren’t far behind. Reece waits at the back door, leaning into the jamb and stepping to the side as Finn approaches with Scottie, while Jude, Ty, Remy, and Flynn all make plates, only to hand them over to their wives.

“Take note, fellas,” Remy says wisely, a smile on his face reminding me of the carefree uncle who put me first time and time again when I was just a special needs girl with a single mom. “A happy wife means a happy life, and the root of happiness is food.”

I find a place at the back of the line, my stepdad and my uncles keen on getting their own food in front of me. Balancing a plate and napkin between my fingers, I wait my turn, half listening as their conversation inevitably drifts to football.

“Mavs Kids Camp starts next week, doesn’t it, Wes?” Uncle Ty asks, grabbing a burger from the grill.

“Yep,” my stepdad replies, his tone casual as he loads his plate.

“What big stars are joining the fun?” Uncle Jude grins, already angling for something that benefits himself. “Anyone I might need you to snag an autograph from?”

“I’m not getting you any fucking autographs,” my stepdad shoots back, rolling his eyes with a chuckle. “Though, I just got word from our media department on Friday that your favorite Dickson quarterback is going to be there.”

“Boden’s going to Mavs Kids Camp this year?” Uncle Jude’s eyes widen in surprise, and at the mention of his name, my head snaps up like a rubber band.

“Yep,” my stepdad confirms, tossing a hot dog onto his plate. “Blake Boden was a late sign-up, but it worked out since Cam Mitchell backed out last minute. We needed an extra volunteer.”

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