10
Lexi
As Mavericks Kids Camp comes to an official close, the attendees reunite with their parents, Blake breaks down some of the drill setups, and Quinn and I gather balls in the end zone to net them back in their bag, while several members of the Mavericks’ staff start to clean everything up.
“So…you and Boden have a cute little friendship going,” Quinn remarks as I put the last ball in the bag, and he cinches the drawstring.
I’ve known Quinn for as long as I’ve known my stepdad since when my mom and Wes got together, Quinn Bailey was the starting quarterback for the Mavericks. Even though I was just a young kid, my expansive knowledge of football stats and extensive vocabulary evidently convinced him in some way that I wasn’t.
Our friendship has well surpassed any other in my life. I’m godmother to his and Cat’s son, Waylon, and we’ve spent more time together over the years than seems realistic for a young girl and a professional football player in any universe. But Quinn’s seen me grow up through all my awkward phases in life and knows me better than most people could ever dream to.
But right now, his need to insert himself into whatever he thinks is going on between Blake and me is completely unnecessary and, frankly, unwanted and unwelcome while I’m still trying to sort through the mess of it myself.
“We just know each other from school.”
“Yeah, of course,” Quinn comments, though, his eyes are still assessing me closely. A little too closely, if you ask me. “I just mean it’s good to see you getting along with someone your own age. You always had a soft spot for kids and grown-ass crybabies like us Mavs, but I know people your age are usually a bit of another story.”
“Blake’s younger than me.”
Quinn laughs. “Okay, Ms. Exact Science. Yes, he’s a few years younger. But he’s in the same age group.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“I think he might even like you.”
Oh, trust me, I know he does. What I’m trying to understand is why do I keep finding myself thinking about him? Obsessing about him? Creating AI-enhanced apps to analyze him and what he does to me?
But I don’t even think about telling Quinn all that. Instead, I feign annoyance and roll my eyes.
“You just want me to end up with a football player so you can rub it in my face.”
Quinn’s smile is huge. “I admit, that would be a fun bonus, but you know all I ever want is to see you happy.”
I appreciate his words, but the fact that he’s tying the premise of happy into a conversation he initiated about Blake Boden pushes me a little too far out of my comfort zone.
“Do we really have to talk about this?”
He chuckles. “No, I guess we don’t.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to, though, just a little bit more.”
“ Quinn —”
“All I’m going to say is to give it a chance.” He holds up both hands in the air. “Don’t shut shit down just because you think you should. Let the wind blow you.”
“Right,” I say with a groan. “Because that’s exactly who I am as a person. Just letting things happen instead of planning them.”
“Maybe it’s time to adapt.” He shrugs one suggestive shoulder in my direction. “Didn’t you learn anything here at camp? You’ve got to think on your feet.”
“Please.” I sigh. “Don’t even think about using football analogies on me.”
Quinn’s booming laughter sounds like it comes from his toes. “All right, I’ll let it go. I’m just saying…”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” I say, hurrying to hush him as Blake approaches us from the center of the field, a smile on his undeniably handsome face. “Now, drop it.”
Quinn slings the bags of balls over his shoulder with a gloating smile, and I consider the ramifications of stabbing him. I don’t even know how I feel about Blake yet. The last thing I need right now is Quinn freaking Bailey complicating things by inviting outside interest in the situation.
“You still up for that weight-room competition?” Blake asks as he arrives, a bag of his own balls slung over his shoulder. The two big, muscular men look like a couple of fit football Santa Clauses.
“You bet,” Quinn agrees. “Cat’s busy until five anyway.”
The mere mention of his wife’s name makes me smile at the fond memories I have of her over the years. “How is Cat these days?”
“Excellent,” Quinn says, beaming. “Better than every other person combined, in my humble opinion.”
I smile. “Good you found someone who can put up with you.” I was a fairly young girl when they got together, but I was aware enough to know their romance was full of struggle and obstacles. Now that I’m researching compatibility, everything about how their story unfolded seems way more interesting than it did back then.
“Please. She doesn’t just put up with me. She worships me.” Quinn winks. “Just like Boden’s going to after I kick his ass at the racks.”
“Great,” Blake says through a soft chuckle. “We’ll drop these balls off in the training closet on the way there, then.”
“You both act like you have privileges in the weight room.” I point at Quinn. “You’re retired.” And then at Blake. “And you don’t play professional ball yet.”
“Yet, huh?” Blake waggles his brows.
I shake my head, but Quinn just smiles at me.
“We’re with the owner’s daughter, Lexi Lou. Somehow, I think it’ll all shake out okay.”
I sigh.
“Don’t worry, Lex,” Blake chimes in. “We’ll try to make it entertaining, at least. And I can still spot you if you want to participate.”
“Yes. You’ve mentioned that.”
Blake laughs, holding up both hands innocently. “Okay, I surrender. You just tell me if you change your mind.”
“Blake.”
“Right, right.”
Quinn is like a fucking drugged hyena trying to keep his smug laughter at bay, and I narrow my eyes at him in warning. He’s on my short list if he doesn’t cool it. I swear, people are always looking for romance in everything.
Even if it—most likely—doesn’t exist.
“Just a little bit more. You got it, Lex. Come on,” Blake coaches as I get close to reracking the bar on the bench press. It’s only ten pounds on each side of a fifteen-pound bar for a whopping thirty-five pounds, but my wrists are shaking, and my arms feel like Jell-O.
It’s official. I’m a weakling.
And a fool.
Because for as much as I fought it, here I am, letting Blake Boden coach me through weight-training exercises and trusting that he’s capable of making sure I don’t get hurt.
Quinn left about thirty minutes ago to meet up with his wife, and despite the act of nonchalance I’ve been putting on, I didn’t go running into the night with my hair on fire to get away from Blake.
Instead, I hung around until he convinced me to try doing a few reps with some light weights.
The bar clanks into the holder finally, and I drop my arms to my chest, totally and completely exhausted. Blake pulls me up by my hands, and I duck my head under the bar until I’m upright again.
“See! I knew you could do it! A little bit of light training a few times a week and you’ll be close to my bench weight before you realize.”
“Ha!” I say loudly, shaking my head. “You’re joking, right? You bench double my body weight. Double. I’m a fragile skeleton. I don’t think I’ll be turning into a leafcutter ant anytime soon.”
“A leafcutter ant?”
“Yes.” I smile for what has to be the one-hundredth time since I stepped into the weight room with him. “They lift fifty times their body weight. They are literally one of the strongest things to ever exist.”
“And yet…they look so delicate. Maybe there’s a lesson in there somewhere, Ms. Fragile Skeleton.”
I snort. “I don’t think so, unless the lesson is that weight training isn’t for me. I don’t mind hanging out while you do it, though.”
Or watching. I especially don’t mind the watching, I find. The way his muscles ripple and flex is truly fun to observe.
“That’s good. I’ll have to keep that in mind when I’m having a late-night sweat session.”
My brain short-circuits. Something about the way he’s paired late-night and sweat session makes me feel like the oxygen in the room has been sucked out. But it doesn’t make me scared of him—it makes me scared of myself.
Suddenly, I’m not entirely sure if I’m capable of keeping Blake Boden at the carefully crafted distance I’d planned on.
He takes a step closer, eliminating some of the space between us, and I swear the room tilts. His eyes search mine, soft but intent, and before I realize it, I’m mirroring the movement. My heart pounds as the distance between us vanishes, and my gaze flicks to his mouth without permission. It’s so close, it would take nothing— nothing —to lean in just a fraction more and—
No, Lexi. Absolutely not.
I jerk back, the air between us thick with tension I don’t understand. “I better get going.” It’s abrupt and blunt, and for once, I realize it. But my mind is spiraling in confusion of what is happening with this guy, and I’m at the end of my masking rope. I need right now, more than anything, to be alone so I can drop the act entirely.
Blake’s brows knit together. “Oh. Okay. When can I see you again, then?”
I shake my head, back toward the door. “I’m not sure.”
He frowns. “Is everything okay?”
Not at all. “Of course.”
“Okay,” he says, though his tone doesn’t match the word. “I’ll text or call you.”
“Sounds good.”
“Lex—”
“Bye, Blake,” I say, cutting him off before he can say anything else—anything that might make me stay. Because if I stay even a second longer, I fear I’ll do something stupid like let him kiss me.
Or worse, kiss him back.
I turn and bolt out of the weight room, power walking through Mavericks Stadium, out to my car, and all the way back to my apartment just outside Dickson’s campus. My heart pounds harder than it should over the simple exertion, my mind spinning like a hard drive at the end of its memory life.
I want to go back. Back to when everything was about the lab, my research, and the predictable comfort of knowing exactly who I was and where I fit.
I don’t want to be this girl—trying to earn a third PhD in Blake Boden. A girl who has developed an AI-assisted app to decode why he has this infuriating effect on me and why my reaction to him feels so uncharacteristically…uncontrollable.
Because for someone who thrives on control, losing it is terrifying, even if it’s to something that feels good.
And Blake? Well, he makes me feel good.
Too good.
And that’s a problem I have no idea how to solve—a genius’s uncharted territory.
I don’t like it one freaking bit.