Page 5 of Playing Games

“Did you need something, Boden?” she asks.

My smile grows cocky and my heart thrums in my chest as I lay it all on the line. “Only you.”

She scoffs and Connor snorts, speaking for her while she stays silent. “You’re playing out of your league on this one, Blake.”

Both Connor and Lexi are a few years older than me, and from what I know, they’ve been friends for years. But Connor doesn’t know jack shit about just how determined Blake Boden can be when he wants to win something.

“That’s never stopped me before,” I say, shrugging off his comment confidently. “No point in playing the game if you’re not going to play to win.”

Connor laughs, but I don’t miss the way Lexi’s eyes go wide for the briefest of moments before she schools her expression into her usual poker face.

It’s not much, but it’s just enough to keep my sights set on the prize—her.

Lexi

“Good luck getting rid of that one, Lex. He’s stuck to you like a leech,” Connor remarks as Blake Boden finally runs off to join Ace and Julia in their search for the switched seat numbers.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “He’s a gamer. He likes to win things, and because I’m a challenge, he wants to win me. Simple. He’ll get over it eventually.”

Connor shakes his head on a chuckle. “He seemed pretty determined.”

“Yeah, well, he was determined to take the Dragons to the championship last year, and he failed at that. So I assure you, a conclusion rooted in disappointment is possible for him.”

Connor’s laugh is stilted and a little weird—like it always is—but undeniably loud. It pulls Blake’s attention from the far side of the field, and I wave a hand in front of Connor’s face to shut him up. “Were you not at orientation? Keep it down, Connor, please.”

“Is there a particular reason you’re dead set against giving him a shot? Other than the fact that he’s a football player?”

“That’s enough of a reason, isn’t it?” I scrunch up my nose as I challenge what I think is a clearly dumb question. Connor has known me since elementary school. When we were teenagers inhigh school, our friendship even blossomed into a coupledom—though, we weren’t a romantic match. He should know me well enough to know that I don’t get involved with football players.

Being the stepdaughter of the New York Mavericks’ owner, I’ve been surrounded by them since I was a little girl. And I’ve seen and heard way too many things to not understand that football players are the opposite of an ideal mate for a girl like me.

If I’m honest, I’m not sure there’s anyone out there who is an ideal partner for me. On paper, Connor should technically be one, but even that relationship went back to just friends before we started Dickson University as college freshmen.

“I don’t know, Lex. You always got along so well with the Mavericks when we were kids.” Connor shrugs. “And you haven’t really dated since we did.”

“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes, my laugh smug. “You can’t believe that, can you? That I haven’t truly dated someone since we were teenagers and using each other to study the mechanics of kissing?”

“Well, I haven’t dated anyone since then.” Connor blushes and turns his head. “And you’re always occupied with the lab and school. I just assumed.”

I sigh. “Relationships and physical attraction are a study in human behavior, Conn. I couldn’t exactly consider any of my research conclusive without going further than a kiss.”

“Understood.” He’s silent then, turning to face the stadium at large and putting his back to me.

I ponder over his state of mind. A year ago, I never would have considered that I might have hurt his feelings because, to me, the concept of emotion tied to other people’s behavior is somewhat asinine. You can’t control it, so to base your own well-being on it is risky, statistically speaking. But my little brother explained it to me last summer, when I accidentally sent my mom to her room crying after what was, to me, a simple interaction.

It might not be rational, but for better or worse, total forfeiture of emotional control is evidently a characteristic of neurotypical human behavior. And I’m trying to be better about taking that into consideration.

“I’m sorry, Conn, if the news came as a shock,” I say, my voice quiet but as sincere as I can manage. “I didn’t mean to spring that on you.”

“It’s fine.” He shakes his head, turning briefly but declining to meet my eyes. Truth be told, neither one of us is the best at making direct visual contact. I sigh, and he pauses briefly before speaking again, his gaze still in the opposite direction. “I’m going to go double-check that the gate we came through is still unlocked.”

“Okay.” It’s a pointless endeavor, seeing as I have the combination, but I don’t deny him the task. Frankly, it’ll be better for us both if he gets a little space. I don’t like the gnawing feeling of awkwardness between us. We’ve known each other too long, and he’s one of the only people I don’t have to pretend with.

It’d be easy to be with him since he understands all my quirks, but there is absolutely zero physical attraction to him on my end,and I’ve done the research on how damaging dry sex is on the vaginal microbiome.

And a life full of UTIs, other infections, and no orgasms?

No, thank you.

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