Page 35 of Playing Games

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it,” I tell her with a soft smile.

“W-what?” she asks, a small stutter in her normally sure speech.

“I know you’re busy, Lex. I just wanted to make sure you were fed, and now that I have, I’m going to leave you to it.”

“You’re going?”

I nod. I am. As much as I don’t fucking want to.

“But remember…I’m just a phone call or text away.”

It’s one of the hardest things I’ve done—and I’ve done a lot of difficult shit—but I stand from my chair and leave the lab,walking down the hall as the door clicks shut behind me, and I don’t look back.

If this has any chance of going anywhere at all, I have to create the opportunity for Lexi to want me.

The time is now or never, and I sure as shit hope she’s ready to play the game.

Saturday, May 31st

Lexi

Twenty-four hours, ten minutes, fifteen seconds…sixteen seconds.

That’s how long I’ve been thinking about Blake Boden and his stupid Chinese-food-tainted kiss without being able to stop, and now I’m outside the entrance to his apartment building on the west side of campus, standing under an umbrella as the rain pelts down on me and wondering where I’m going to go from here.

I look up at the illuminated windows of several floors and then back down at my feet, which are starting to tingle from being so soaked.

Finally decided, I turn around and jog across Broadway, checking first in both directions for cars, and then dip straight in the front door of Brower Center to escape both the weather and my intentions.

A few students are milling around inside the dining room straight ahead, but thankfully, nothing too overwhelming. My nerves are far too stimulated right now to handle a crowd.

I quickly shake out my umbrella and tuck it into the pile of others by the door, and then I pull off my rain jacket and give it a shake as well. Folding it over my arm, I walk toward the double doors and sneak inside, surveying the buffet of food still out from dinner.

None of it sounds good, as my stomach is currently turning itself inside out with worry that I don’t even know who I am anymore, so I settle for a table in the corner and tuck myself away.

Scrolling on my phone, I pull up Netflix and pick out a rom-com to study. One of the first to pop up is calledAnyone but Youand starts with an awkward encounter in a coffee shop between Glen Powell and Sydney Sweeney. It’s a cute scene full of bumbles and fumbles, and in some weird way, it makes me feel better about my propensity to overthink things.

They end up putting themselves out there and ultimately having the best night together, and I know it’s make-believe. But in some way, it renews my confidence to show up at Blake’s apartment uninvited and see where the night goes.

I grab my phone from the table and do something completely unprecedented—I initiate contact with Blake myself.

Me: What are you up to?

Blake Boden: Just hanging out at home. What about you?

Good. He’s home.

Resolved, I stop the movie and pick up my belongings, slinging my jacket back on and pulling my hair out of the collar. I tuck my phone into my pocket and push my chair into thetable, rounding it and stepping out from behind the concealing shrubbery in front. There are a few more people out, but given the lower attendance of summer semester and the late hour, it still isn’t bad.

Back through the door, picking up my umbrella on the way out, I cross Broadway again. Only this time, I go straight to the door of Blake’s building as someone exits, holding the door for me as they do.

“Thanks.”

I head directly for the stairwell and the fourth floor, having memorized his apartment number and location long before giving in to the temptation to come in the first place, and make the slow climb up and through the door at the top. The hallway is long and stark white, the doors painted in an alternating pattern of blue and gold with their number placards at the sides in brushed bronze metal.

Apartment 417 is midway down the hall, on the left-hand side, and the door is navy blue. I pause briefly, setting my umbrella down beside the door and straightening my moisture-frizzed hair self-consciously before lifting a hand and knocking.

I hear a small shift in the sound inside, including Blake’s muffled voice and some shuffling, and then the door swings open to reveal his bare chest and black netted basketball shorts, his phone to his ear. He freezes at the sight of me, his eyes widening just before his whole face melts into a giant smile.

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