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)
“Lex, you sound like Dr. Blevin right now.” Ginger leans back, crossing her arms as she studies me. “Dating someone shouldn’t be as complicated as a PhD dissertation. It should be simple.”
Yeah. Hah. I wish it were.
“Do you like him?”
I nod.
“Do you feel good when you’re around him?”
“Yes.” Clearly, I feel good when I’m around Blake. I have an entire, currently unused AI-assisted app I created with him in mind that’s showcased that to me in graphs and charts at least a hundred times.
“Then what’s the problem?” she asks, throwing her hands up. “If being with him makes you happy, why are you turning it into a mathematical equation? It’s not about optimizing variables. It’s about what feels right.”
I stare at my food, her words hitting harder than I expected. “It’s not that easy for me, Ginger,” I say quietly. “I don’t know how to be all in with someone. Honestly, I’ve never really been capable of that in the past, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be capable of that. The last thing I want to do is hurt him.”
She reaches across the table, her hand resting lightly on mine. “Lex, no one knows how to be all in until they try. You’re overthinking it. Just take a breath and let yourself feel.”
Feel. Oh man. If only it were that easy for me.
I smile faintly, appreciating her sincerity even if it doesn’t magically solve my dilemma.
Her advice isn’t based on all the variables of Blake’s and my reality. It doesn’t take into account that he’s the star quarterback here at Dickson or the fact that I’m a few years older than him and soon to be finished with academia and taking that giant leap into adulthood.
And it certainly doesn’t consider my lack of emotional intelligence and clear uncertainties on whether I’m even capable of being in love with someone like my mom is with my stepdad or Finn is with Scottie.
Thankfully, Ginger senses my hesitancy to continue this line of conversation and changes the subject toward her dissertation and everything she still needs to do. I nod along, but my mind is still spinning over her advice.
Even though she doesn’t know all the sordid details of Blake and me or the intricacies of my complex mind, I know there’s some truth to her words.
And deep down, I do want to try. With Blake. It’s why I ended up kissing him outside of Dragon Stadium just a few hours ago, without even calculating the risk that anyone could have witnessed it.
But the biggest question that gnaws at me the most is, will my pace with our relationship ever be good enough for Blake? More like, will your fear of the unknown and inability to let go of control ultimately hold you back from something extraordinary?
I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to try. I’m going to follow through with what I told him I wanted. I’m going to do my best to give this whole Blake and me thing a shot.
I’m going to follow through on my promise from earlier.
And the play clock officially starts now—or, you know, whenever Blake gets home tonight.
It’s just a little after ten, and I’m standing outside Blake’s apartment door, constantly glancing around the hallway to make sure no one sees me.
I worry my teeth into my bottom lip, my mind racing with the abnormal behavior I am so clearly displaying right now. Frankly, I don’t know who this girl is—who chases down football players outside of stadiums and kisses them out in the open and begs them to give her another chance and waits outside their apartment door for them to get home from their night out with friends because they can’t wait to see and touch and kiss him again any longer—but that hasn’t stopped her from robbing me of my normal eccentricities and replacing them entirely.
That hasn’t stopped her from checking her phone a million times to see the time—10:04 p.m.—or the butterflies from flapping all throughout her stomach either.
I’m not someone I recognize, but for the first time since the start of this transformation, I’m starting to be okay with it.
I peek under my trench coat again at the lacy bra and underwear I went out and bought from a boutique after I left dinner with Ginger, and I roll my eyes.
I have a feeling if I entered the current data—that I’m wearing sexy undergarments for Blake and waiting outside his apartment for him to come home—into the app I created, AI would spit out some conclusion that lands on an incredibly high percentage in his favor.
I check my phone again, reading the messages Blake and I exchanged about thirty minutes ago for the nineteenth time.
Blake Boden: Night’s coming to a close for me, Smart Girl. Should I head your way?