Page 59 of Playing Games

I glance at the paper for context clues before offering an explanation for every transgression I’ve ever committed, but all I find on the front page is an article on inflation, based on what I’m sure are amateur-hour economics. I immediately scrunch up my nose. “You want me to dissect the current state of the economy and whether inflation is going to lead us into a recession or not?”

Ginger tsks her lips and bends over the table diligently, flipping the paper to the sports section, and there, staring back at me, is my Blake’s handsome face. It’s a full-page spread, with several flattering photos of him both in action and on the sidelines in focus, and it highlights his importance in the upcoming season if the Dragons are going to have a chance of winning a championship this year.

“Boy, he looks familiar,” Ginger muses, tapping the photo with a knowing smile. “Almost as if he’s the same Blake you’ve been hanging out with.”

I feel my stomach drop as I scan the article, the warring of pride and prejudice the likes of which even Jane Austen herself hasn’t seen. Blake is an incredible, accomplished, talented football player—the spitting image of everything I said I’d never date.

“He does sort of look like him,” I say weakly, my joke both pervasive and cagey. Ginger bursts into laughter.

“Girl! Heishim! You know it, and I know it!” she exclaims, her laughter filling the empty lab. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell meyour Blake is the I Ching of Dickson University. According to this article, he could fight a cobra, score a touchdown, and explain to you in great detail how he did it all at once.”

“In my defense, I think you’re the only person on campus who doesn’t know who he is.”

Ginger waves a dismissive hand, nonplussed. “I live in the lab, Lexi, just like you. But you’re dating the guyThe New York Timesis raving about, and I’d say that’s worth pulling my head out of the sand for—at least, every once in a while!”

Her excitement and support are appreciated, but if I’m completely honest, all it’s serving to do right now is make me nervous. Suddenly, the reality of how deep underwater I am has it feeling like the fourth wall is closing in. “It’s not out in the open, Ginger, and I don’t want it to be. I’m not ready for that.”

She must sense my panic because her expression softens, and she places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. I get it, Lex. And your secret is safe with me.” She smiles softly. “Plus, who am I going to tell? Dr. Blevin? The only thing I do these days is sit in this freaking lab. Pretty sure there’s an actual indent from my ass cheeks on that chair over there.”

I search her face, and relief washes over me. I trust Ginger. Really, I do, but the idea of anyone knowing the truth about Blake and me feels like handing over a part of myself I’m not ready to share.

My phone buzzes again, and I glance at the screen before thinking better of it.

Blake Boden: Just ordered tacos from your favorite spot. All your favs. You can dine on them while I dine on you.

My cheeks flush, and a smile creeps on to my face before I can stop it.

Ginger doesn’t miss it. “Girl, if that text is from Mr. Sports Star and he makes you smile likethat, I’d say there’s no reason to keep him a secret.”

“There’s just a lot more to it than that, Ginger.”

“Just don’t overthink it, is all I’m saying, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Good.” She nods, already moving to set up at her favorite computer. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to spend the next several hours beating my head against this keyboard.”

I laugh, grabbing my bag and heading for the door. This conversation may have rattled me, but it hasn’t scared me straight.

I don’t pause. I don’t reconsider.

I head straight for Blake’s, stupid smile on my face.

The sound of water shutting off from the bathroom echoes softly through the apartment, and I glance up from where I’m lounging on Blake’s bed, my stomach full of tacos.

A yawn escapes my throat as I hear him moving around in the bathroom.

The air conditioner kicks on and it forces the bathroom door to crack open a little, and a small curl of steam escapes the room. I peer inside the bathroom, through the crack, transfixed by the slivers I get of Blake standing there, completely naked, using a towel to dry off his hair.

He doesn’t notice me watching him, but I sure as hell notice the way his muscular body shifts with his movements. I swear, the man has twelve-pack abs, and every single one of them stretches and flexes as he dries his hair.

Surprising myself, I fixate next on the way his cock hangs between his thighs. I’ve never craved to put my mouth on a man or understood the fascination with men in gray sweatpants. A utility of function, sure. But something to be looked at? I never got the memo. But right now, my body is rewriting its own manual.

My nipples are hard beneath my tank top, and my tongue sneaks out to lick against my lips. My center aches and pulls, willing me to fill it promptly, and my heart pounds at one and a half times its normal rate.

Cocks in general may not affect me, but Blake’s certainly does. Wrapping my mouth around him for the first time the other night is a core memory, cemented by the fact that my taste buds can vividly remember every detail of his taste and texture at a simple thought’s whim.

Blake hums softly to himself, completely unaware of my gawking and the dirty path my mind has taken, and for some reason, that makes the mouthwatering need for another taste of him evenstronger. Before I know it, I’m getting off his bed and walking into the bathroom.

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