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)
Lexi eyes me with a narrowed gaze I can see out of the corner of my vision, but I smile and continue on.
“In fact, if anyone can ask her for a Maverick statistic on Wednesday that she doesn’t know, I’ll give them a signed Dickson Football poster to take home for their room.”
The kids roar in excitement, and Lexi shakes her head with a coy smile.
“Don’t get too excited,” I warn them. “She knows almost everything. It won’t be easy.”
“My dad knows all kinds of Mavs’ facts!” one little boy shouts. “I’ll definitely get her.”
I laugh. “I hope you do. But until then, be practicing and get some rest. We’ll be busy on Wednesday!”
I pull the kids in for a final huddle, hands-in cheer, and then off they run toward the south end zone to meet back up with their parents.
Lexi and I are standing alone on the football field again, but thankfully, this time, we’re not locked in a standoff with Dickson’s athletic director.
“So, what do you say, Lex? Want to grab some pizza again?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
She makes an exaggerated gagging noise, her eyes bulging for extra effect. “Not unless you blindfold me first and bring a stun gun for backup.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Good thing I packed both.”
“Ha-ha.” She rolls her eyes but smiles just enough to give me hope. “Very funny.”
“Okay, but really. Let’s go do something.”
She shakes her head, her ponytail swishing behind her. “I’m busy.”
“Busy doing what? Avoiding me?” I tease, even though I’m silently wondering if that’s true.
“Wow,” she deadpans. “We’re really back to square one, huh?”
“Not exactly,” I argue, folding my arms. “At square one, I didn’t have your number, and you probably wouldn’t even be talking to me right now. So, we’re at square three. Maybe two and a half.”
She tilts her head, considering me.
“Just for clarification,” I continue shamelessly, “at what square do I get to kiss you again?”
“That square is off the board,” she replies flatly, but I don’t miss the way the corners of her mouth twitch. She wants to smile right now, but she’s doing everything in her power to keep her poker face intact.
“Oh, come on,” I say, eyeing her closely with a grin. “You can’t tell me you hated it that much. It was a good kiss, right? Technically speaking.”
“It was above average,” she admits, her tone neutral but her cheeks pink.
I grin, leaning in just a fraction. “By a lot of points, right?”
Her eyes narrow, but I see a flicker of amusement in them. “What is it with you and your ego? Do you need it stroked every five minutes, or can it occasionally pet itself?”
“It’s like a cat,” I say with a shrug. “It needs attention. Regular rubs.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, arching a skeptical brow.
“What? That’s normal. Everyone’s ego likes attention. Don’t you like it when people tell you how smart you are?”
She shrugs again. “I guess I don’t hate it.”
“See?”
“See what?” she asks, crossing her arms.
“We have a lot more in common than you’d like to believe. You just need to spend more time with me to figure it out.”
“I can’t tonight,” she says, turning away, her voice dismissive but not unkind.
“Then when?” I ask, a level of desperation setting in I’m not used to—not in school, not in sports, and definitely not in women.
She glances back over her shoulder, and the tiniest hint of a smirk plays on her lips. “You have my number. Guess you’ll have to figure out how to use it.”
I watch her walk away, but my resolve grows with every step she takes.
Fine, Lexi Winslow. You want me to figure it out? Challenge accepted.
Tuesday, May 27th
Lexi
Ginger Lewis startles awake as I shove her in the shoulder, and she slams her feet down on the floor, causing an echo in the deserted lab. Her eyes are wide and frightened until they lock on me, and then realization sets in.
“Oh God. I slept here all night again, didn’t I?”
I laugh, taking my seat at the computer desk next to her and waking up my screen with a tap of my fingers on the mouse. “Technically, I don’t know when you got here, but I do know it’s morning. Eight a.m., specifically. So, I’ll leave the analysis up to you.”
“The last thing I remember is being here at midnight.” She jolts again, panicking over her computer. “Oh my God! I better have backed up my dissertation, or I’m going to have to kill myself!”
I take a drink of my coffee I picked up on the way here and stay silent. I’ve never been good at comforting someone in the middle of their breakdown. After, I can rationalize and strategize, but when it’s happening, I either undercut their emotions entirely or take them on as my own, neither of which is particularly helpful or friendly.