Page 9 of Playing Games

She sighs dramatically, but there’s something softer in her expression as she relents. “Fine. But if your goal is to make meeatthis dorm-room pizza, you might want to knock me out and tie me up now.”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “I’ll take my chances.”

Lexi shrugs, resigned. “Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She follows me toward the entrance, and all I can think is that there’s no one like her. Lexi—whip-smart, beautiful, and completely unaware of how fascinating she is to me. It’s probably why I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since the day we met.

She might think she’s untouchable, closed off behind her wall of logic and facts, but I see her.

And I’m not backing down. Not yet.

I pause right outside the door. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you Finn and Ace have both eaten this pizza on multiple occasions and lived to tell the tale?”

She levels me with a look so sharp it could cut glass. “Ace and Finn are hardly my guiding light for sound life choices.”

She has a point. The first time she met Finn Hayes—who she recently found out is actually related to her—he fought an ex-UFC fighter at a Double C event. And she’s known Ace’s wild ways her whole life. Frankly, it’s Ace’s family’s connection to Lexi’s family that got me an invite into Double C in the first place.

“That’s fair,” I agree on a chuckle. “So, what do you want to do? I can take you somewhere else if you really want, but I’m telling you—this is one of Dickson’s finest experiences. You’re going to love it.”

Her eyes drift to the building, scanning the scattered dots of glowing windows like she’s calculating the probability of food poisoning per floor. Her posture is rigid, hands curled into fists at her sides, like she’s bracing herself for war.

Ten seconds pass—ten long, quiet seconds—and then I watch her exhale, the fight deflating out of her like a popped balloon.

“Okay. You’re right. Let’s go visit the…dorm-pizza guy.” The last three words drip with disgust, but there’s a shift in her demeanor. She’s going along with it.

“Really? You’re sure?”

She sighs dramatically, and I laugh. “Right. Of course you’re not sure. But you will be afterward, I promise.”

Without giving her time to reconsider, I grab her hand—not the intimate finger-linking kind, just a firm, steady grip across our palms—and head straight for the door as it swings open. A group stumbles out—a guy in a massive hoodie and two girls—laughing and jostling into the night.

The guy’s head snaps up when he sees me. “Boden!” he yells, holding up his hand for a fist bump.

I oblige with my free arm, even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’ve never seen him before in my life.

“Hey, man. Having a good night?”

“Fuck yeah,” he says back, spinning both girls around and making them giggle.

Lexi watches the entire interaction like it’s a documentary on college-bro behavior, her expression open curiosity. I pull her through the door, and we head straight for the stairs at the end of the hall.

By the time we start climbing, she finally speaks, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “You just…get recognized like that all the time, don’t you?”

“Depends on the time of year. If it’s football season and we just lost? Suddenly, no one knows me.”

To my surprise, she laughs—a real, actual laugh—and it feels like I’ve just been handed the winning lottery ticket. Lexi Winslow is a steel fortress with a dash of razor-sharp wit, and breaking through even a little is no small feat.

“Fair-weather friends,” she muses, her voice laced with amusement. “A huge part of football, I’m afraid.”

“How many Mavericks games have you been to?” I ask, my curiosity slipping out before I can stop it. Growing up with a pro football team owner for a dad? Mind-blowing. “Just ballpark.”

Lexi doesn’t even hesitate. “One hundred and ninety-two.”

I blink. “One hundred and ninety-two? You kept track?”

“I keep track of a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

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