Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Me: I’m fine.
Blake and I are mostly silent on the way down the steps, but despite my normal introverted tendencies, I find it somewhere inside myself to break the monotony.
“Thanks. For…stepping in tonight. I would have come up with something, but I do appreciate that I didn’t have to.”
Blake’s laugh is soft and comforting, wielding a weird power over my stomach once again. “You’re welcome. I know how painful it had to be for you to accept help, especially from me, the perpetual thorn in your side.”
“Double C nights are busy. You always linger a little too much.”
He guffaws. “Oh man, so I’m right? I am a thorn in your side?” I shrug, wincing slightly as he continues. “I half expected you’d coddle me a little, you know? Tell me I’m just imagining things. Instead, I’ve just got really poor timing.”
“One thing about me you should know right off the bat is that I don’t tend to coddle. I… Well, to be honest, I’m not sure I’m capable of it.”
Blake’s face is a mask of nothingness in the dark of night, and I wish more than anything I could see it a little better so I could attempt to read it. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but for some reason, I find myself curious what he thinks of me.
Quite frankly, I hate it. It’s much easier to function when you aren’t worried about what other people are doing, thinking, or feeling. Much, much easier.
I lead the way toward my apartment, and Blake stays in step beside me. We don’t speak for nearly two blocks, through the entire journey past Beckley Theater, across Amsterdam Avenue, and all the way to the back of Dickson’s parking garage.
“How’d you end up running Double C?” Blake asks, seemingly out of nowhere. It’s a question I’m duty-bound not to answer, and for that, I’m thankful.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Because you’d have to kill me? Or just because you don’t want to?”
“Closer to the first.”
“Wow. Okay. So, this really is some mob-style, family-secret type shit.”
I roll my eyes. “This isn’t The Sopranos.”
“It feels like it.”
I laugh and shrug. “It’s not that complicated. But it is secretive. That’s kind of the point, you know?”
“All right, then.” Blake’s mouth tilts into that easy, cocky smile of his. “I guess I’ll just have to be okay with never knowing. But at least I’ll know where you live.”
I stop dead in my tracks, narrowing my eyes at him.
Blake chuckles, holding up his hands like I might call the cops. “Come on, I’m kidding. I swear I’ll never show up uninvited.”
“Maybe we should just say goodbye here.”
“Lex,” he says softly, stopping just ahead of me. “Let me walk you home. Make sure you get there safe. After that, you’ll never see me in the vicinity again. Unless…”
I arch a brow. “Unless what?”
His gaze locks with mine, steady and warm. “Unless you invite me.”
I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat. Why is he so good at this? “Okay,” I say, my voice quieter than I intend, as we start walking again. Every rational brain cell I have is screaming to let him go, but something deeper—something curious—is pulling me toward him.
I can’t explain it, but I have to know why women react to Blake Boden like this. Why I’m reacting like this.
Hypotheses swirl in my head like a storm, and my brain spins through the kind of evidence-based research I could conduct to figure it out. I’d need a baseline spreadsheet—physical traits, football stats, maybe some genetic history—paired with his upbringing and social conditioning. From there, I’d track reactions, mine and others’, and utilize an AI-assisted app to create a data flowchart to help correlate trends. I’d need updates…which would require future observations—otherwise known as seeing Blake more.
This is all hypothetically speaking, of course.
By the time I resurface from my internal monologue, we’re standing in front of my apartment. I blink, disoriented, and realize Blake is staring at me. Not impatiently, not smugly—just staring, like he’s trying to figure me out.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I was…thinking.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He gives me that lopsided grin that shouldn’t affect me but does. “I feel privileged to see your mind at work.”
I start to roll my eyes, but Blake stops me with a light touch on my elbow. His hand is warm, and my skin heats, completely betraying me.
“Don’t do that,” he says softly. “I’m serious. You’ve got big things going on up here.”
My cheeks flush, and all I can think is, If you only knew the calculations I’ve been running about you.
“Thanks,” I say, clearing my throat. “For…you know. The save, the horrifying pizza experience, the ice cream, walking me home. And your patience.”
His smile widens, and it’s both charming and infuriating. “You make me sound pretty good, Lex. Are you sure you don’t want to date me?”