Page 25 of Playing Games

“Great job today, everyone,” I say encouragingly as I join Lexi at the front of the group. As in any camp like this, it’s plain to see that some of the kids have more natural talent than others, but the heart of every single one of them was huge. They all put in one hundred percent effort for the whole two hours, which is a lot for kids ten and under, attention-span-wise. “I’m so impressed with everyone’s effort today and can’t wait to see where we can get Wednesday. My goal is to leave you with as many exercises and drills as possible that you can use at home and in your own team’s training to improve your timing, hand-eye coordination, and general knowledge of the game. Speaking of which, Lexi here is a wealth of football knowledge, so be thinking between now and Wednesday of some new questions you can ask in an effort to stump her.”

Lexi eyes me with a narrowed gaze I can see out of the corner of my vision, but I smile and continue on.

“In fact, if anyone can ask her for a Maverick statistic on Wednesday that she doesn’t know, I’ll give them a signed Dickson Football poster to take home for their room.”

The kids roar in excitement, and Lexi shakes her head with a coy smile.

“Don’t get too excited,” I warn them. “She knows almosteverything. It won’t be easy.”

“My dad knows all kinds of Mavs’ facts!” one little boy shouts. “I’ll definitely get her.”

I laugh. “I hope you do. But until then, be practicing and get some rest. We’ll be busy on Wednesday!”

I pull the kids in for a final huddle, hands-in cheer, and then off they run toward the south end zone to meet back up with their parents.

Lexi and I are standing alone on the football field again, but thankfully, this time, we’re not locked in a standoff with Dickson’s athletic director.

“So, what do you say, Lex? Want to grab some pizza again?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

She makes an exaggerated gagging noise, her eyes bulging for extra effect. “Not unless you blindfold me first and bring a stun gun for backup.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Good thing I packed both.”

“Ha-ha.” She rolls her eyes but smiles just enough to give me hope. “Very funny.”

“Okay, but really. Let’s go do something.”

She shakes her head, her ponytail swishing behind her. “I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what? Avoiding me?” I tease, even though I’m silently wondering if that’s true.

“Wow,” she deadpans. “We’re really back to square one, huh?”

“Not exactly,” I argue, folding my arms. “At square one, I didn’t have your number, and you probably wouldn’t even be talking to me right now. So, we’re at square three. Maybe two and a half.”

She tilts her head, considering me.

“Just for clarification,” I continue shamelessly, “at what square do I get to kiss you again?”

“That square is off the board,” she replies flatly, but I don’t miss the way the corners of her mouth twitch. She wants to smile right now, but she’s doing everything in her power to keep her poker face intact.

“Oh, come on,” I say, eyeing her closely with a grin. “You can’t tell me you hated it that much. It was a good kiss, right? Technically speaking.”

“It was above average,” she admits, her tone neutral but her cheeks pink.

I grin, leaning in just a fraction. “By a lot of points, right?”

Her eyes narrow, but I see a flicker of amusement in them. “What is it with you and your ego? Do you need it stroked every five minutes, or can it occasionally pet itself?”

“It’s like a cat,” I say with a shrug. “It needs attention. Regular rubs.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, arching a skeptical brow.

“What? That’s normal. Everyone’s ego likes attention. Don’t you like it when people tell you how smart you are?”

She shrugs again. “I guess I don’t hate it.”

“See?”

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