Page 26 of Playing Games

“See what?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“We have a lot more in common than you’d like to believe. You just need to spend more time with me to figure it out.”

“I can’t tonight,” she says, turning away, her voice dismissive but not unkind.

“Then when?” I ask, a level of desperation setting in I’m not used to—not in school, not in sports, and definitely not in women.

She glances back over her shoulder, and the tiniest hint of a smirk plays on her lips. “You have my number. Guess you’ll have to figure out how to use it.”

I watch her walk away, but my resolve grows with every step she takes.

Fine, Lexi Winslow. You want me to figure it out?Challenge accepted.

Tuesday, May 27th

Lexi

Ginger Lewis startles awake as I shove her in the shoulder, and she slams her feet down on the floor, causing an echo in the deserted lab. Her eyes are wide and frightened until they lock on me, and then realization sets in.

“Oh God. I slept here all night again, didn’t I?”

I laugh, taking my seat at the computer desk next to her and waking up my screen with a tap of my fingers on the mouse. “Technically, I don’t know when you got here, but I do know it’s morning. Eight a.m., specifically. So, I’ll leave the analysis up to you.”

“The last thing I remember is being here at midnight.” She jolts again, panicking over her computer. “Oh my God! I better have backed up my dissertation, or I’m going to have to kill myself!”

I take a drink of my coffee I picked up on the way here and stay silent. I’ve never been good at comforting someone in the middle of their breakdown. After, I can rationalize and strategize, but when it’s happening, I either undercut their emotions entirely or take them on as my own, neither of which is particularly helpful or friendly.

“Oh, sweet, merciful Jesus. Thank everything. I saved it. I saved it, Lexi!”

I pump a small fist in the air in celebration. “Yay.”

Ginger laughs and sinks back into the chair, her head falling back in a dramatic thud. “One day, I’m going to have it as together as you do.”

I sigh. “It’s not always as glamorous as it seems. Trust me.”

She giggles and shakes her head. “Well, given your history of being right about stuff, I’m going to believe you. But from my perspective, I can’t see how it could be any worse than being as Type B as I am.”

I smile and click through my email to avoid opening the not-related-to-my-dissertation app I’ve been spending way too much time on. I already know what emails are in there, but I refuse to let anyone see that I’m spending an inordinate amount of time on Blake Boden research.

After having to be surrounded by his magnetism and handsome smiles for two hours straight yesterday at MKC, I obtaineda lotof new data.

Ginger yawns, stretching to standing and pushing her chair into the desk. “What are you doing here anyway? If I were finished with my dissertation already, I’d be lounging on the beaches of Mexico right now. Or, at the very least, Long Island.”

The truth is way too embarrassing—that I’ve taken my obsession with a guy so far that I’m using my research to back it up—so I settle for a white lie instead. “Just buttoning things up. I founda couple of bugs over the weekend, and I want to make sure it’s perfect before I turn it in.”

Ginger isn’t what I’d call a best friend, but the truth is, I don’t know that I’d use that terminology for anyone. I’m more of a loner planet, who occasionally allows other people to enter her orbit. In some cases, I could see how people might think that’s sad, but I’m most content in the confines of my head.

The only company I’ve ever craved, ironically, is the company I spend most of my time turning down—Blake Boden.

“I’m sure it’s brilliant,” Ginger says kindly, gathering her headphones, drink cups, and various snack bags, and packing them into her light-pink tote. “I guess I’m going to go try to get some sleep in a real bed before returning later to drudge through some more data. Will I see you then?”

I shrug. “I guess it depends how sucked in I get. Who knows, maybe you’ll find my face in a keyboard.”

Ginger laughs. “Sounds like a plan. Later, Lex.”

“Bye.” I offer a small wave before turning back to my computer screen, clicking into my self-made romance analysis app after, and only after, I hear the door to the lab close behind her with a resounding click.

I open my spreadsheet first, entering all the carefully collected data from camp yesterday.

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