Page 7 of Playing Games

“How Director Hughes didn’t know you were full of shit, I’ll never know,” I mutter under my breath as we make our way through the hall, the locker room, and out to the other side, where the darkness of navy-painted walls consumes us. Blake comes to a stop and I keep walking, but he reaches out and grabs me again, slowing me before I can get away.

“Hey. Where are you going?” he asks.

“I’m leaving. Just like you told him we would,” I explain slowly, troubled by his struggle to understand.

He shakes his head and tightens his grip on my arm. “You can’t just leave. You owe me.”

“Ioweyou?” I narrow my eyes. “For what exactly?”

His smile is one hundred versions of cocky all combined into one. “For saving your ass.”

“My ass doesn’t need saving,” I scoff. “It’s not sentient. But even if it did, I’d have saved it myself.”

“You know what, though?” He shakes his head, his blue eyes so bright in comparison to the dark navy walls of the hallway they almost glow. “It didn’t look like it. It looked like you were floundering.”

I frown. I loathe the idea of being anything other than self-sufficient. I planned, I prioritized, and still, I ended up getting caught. But I’m not an invalid. I know I would have figured a way out of it without Blake Boden’s help.

“I was thinking,” I retort sharply. “About to speak, believe or not, before you butted in.”

“My dad always says ‘about to’ never got anyone anywhere.”

Annoyingly, he’s not wrong. The truth is, I was drowning in my thoughts, scrambling for a valid excuse to give Director Hughes for our very illegal presence in the stadium. And until Blake piped up with his“I lost my backpack”masterpiece, I didn’t have a single plausible reason. I would have come up with one, though. I know I would’ve.

“Fine,” I sigh, my shoulders sagging. “What exactly do I owe you, then?”

“Pizza.”

His smile is so big it’s borderline unnerving, and worse, it makes my mouth twitch like it wants to smile back. I don’t, of course. Smiling in this situation makes zero logical sense.

“Pizza?” I repeat, brow furrowed. “You think I owe youpizza?”

“Yeah.” He nods, full of irritating confidence. “And you’re going to get it with me. Right now.”

“Now?” I echo, horrified. My adrenaline is still spiking from our near run-in with trouble, and all I want is a warm bath and the soothing hum of my white noise machine. Pizza grease, a crowded restaurant, and whatever voodoo Blake Boden exerts on my nervous system sounds like a trifecta of bad ideas. “Can’t we do this another time? I mean, I’ll pay up, but…notnow.”

“The semester ends Tuesday, Lexi. I know if I let you walk away tonight, I’ll never see you again.”

“I keep my word,” I argue, slightly offended.

“I want to believe you. I do. But I don’t.” He shrugs, annoyingly unbothered. “So, you’re coming with me now. It’s paramount to the balance of the universe.”

“Oh, right. TheCosmic Balance Theory of Pizza.I think I’ve heard of it, Mr. Theoretical Physicist.”

“What’s it going to hurt to believe it’s true? Just for tonight?”

I narrow my eyes. “This wasn’t in my plans.”

“So, change them.”

Dinner last night flashes through my mind—the promise I made to my family, my little brother’s hopeful expression lingering like an itch I can’t scratch.

I promised I’d be open to change.

I guess that starts now. With pizza and Blake freaking Boden.

Blake

A cab blows its horn as Lexi and I hustle across Broadway and step up onto the sidewalk by my apartment building, headed toward the Graham Hall courtyard.

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