20
Lexi
After I left Blake at the stadium, I decided to busy myself at the lab, adding a particular algorithm into my test app for my dissertation just to see if it changes any of my conclusions. But when I ran into Ginger there, she all but forced me to follow through on the meal I promised her a week and a half ago.
And since it’s already seven, it’s technically a dinner meal, not a lunch meal, but Ginger clearly doesn’t mind.
Now, I sit across from her in a corner booth at Zip’s Diner, my burger and fries untouched as I mentally catalog what I’ve learned about Ginger Lewis over the course of this meal that I surprisingly didn’t already know about her from all the time we’ve spent together in the lab.
For starters, she’s older than me by a few years—twenty-nine to my twenty-five—and this is her first PhD. She’s laser-focused on finishing it and has a very clear vision of her future—developing code for a tech giant like Apple or Google.
And she’s also weirdly obsessed with hot chocolate, which she’s now sipping with what can only be described as reverence.
“So,” Ginger says after a particularly long sip. She leans in slightly, her red hair brushing her shoulders. “Tell me about the guy.”
“What guy?” I already know who she means, but I reach for my cup of water like it’s a shield and take a sip.
“Oh, come on, Lexi,” she says through a snort. “The guy who shows up with food. You know, tall, muscular, and devastatingly handsome?” She smirks. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve seen him twice now, and I’d bet all five hundred dollars in my checking account he’s not your DoorDash guy.”
I pause, debating how much to share. I’ve never really done the whole girl-talk thing, and spilling details about Blake feels equal parts terrifying and cathartic. But there’s a whole reason I want to keep our relationship a secret. I’m simply not ready for anything more than that.
But man, for once in my life, it sure would be nice to talk to someone about something like this. Someone who isn’t Connor or my family or someone who is friends with my family. A completely neutral party who doesn’t know all the ins and outs of my life.
“His name is Blake,” I eventually tell her, testing the waters to see if she knows who Blake Boden is to Dickson University. Truth be told, Ginger Lewis is a lab rat like me, and she either knows who Blake is because everyone on campus does or she has her head so far up her computer’s ass that she doesn’t even know our college has a football team.
“Okay, Blake ,” she repeats, her eyes lighting up with curiosity but her expression not showcasing any recognition to his name. “And? What about this Blake guy? What’s the story with you two?”
This Blake guy. I almost want to laugh at how oblivious she is. I also feel the biggest sense of relief. It’s one thing for me to be reckless not even two hours ago and show up at Dragon Stadium to tell Blake that I want to try to be together—in secret—and kiss him, but it’s a whole other thing for me to actually talk about that reality with someone who knows who he is.
Ginger’s total cluelessness is a welcome breath of fresh air. Though, that doesn’t mean I feel comfortable enough to tell her all the sordid details.
“It’s complicated,” I say, going with vague.
“Complicated how?” She raises an eyebrow. “He seems pretty straightforward—brings you food, smiles like he invented happiness, and looks at you like you hung the stars. What am I missing?”
“You’re not missing anything.” I shrug, unsure of how to answer her question, but also, not answer it at the same time. “It’s just very complicated.”
“Well, dating someone generally is complicated.”
“We’re not dating per se,” I clarify quickly. “I mean, we’re dating, but we’re keeping things on the down-low and seeing where it goes.”
“So, it’s a secret relationship, then?”
“Well, yeah. It is. I mean, that’s how I want it for now.”
“You’re the one who wants it to be secret?” she asks, surprise in her voice. “Why? He seems great. And he’s easy on the eyes. Why the need to keep all that goodness locked up behind closed doors?”
“Honestly, it’s not about him,” I admit, my voice softer. “It’s more about me. My life is already full and busy, and I can’t exactly lose focus, you know?”
“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?
Me: No. It’s late. You should go home.
Blake Boden: You’re kidding me, right? I’m coming to you.
Me: Go home, Blake.
Blake Boden: Wait…is there a reason I should go home?
Blake Boden: Lexi????
Me: Blake. Seriously. GO HOME. TO YOUR APARTMENT. RIGHT NOW.
Blake Boden: OH SHIT. I’ll head right home, then. Promise. ;) ;)
I click the power button on my phone to put it to sleep once again and tuck it away, resting my head on the wall beside Blake’s door.
I haven’t been this mixed-up waiting for someone to be somewhere, I think, ever. Maybe on the first night of hosting Double C when I was waiting on things to get delivered to the secret location, but even that’s a stretch.
This is anticipation personified.
The stairwell door opens with a bang, and I glance out and around the edge of my hood to check. What I’m not expecting is to be scooped up before I can get a look, Blake having literally sprinted the length of the hall to get there before I could.
“Oh my God,” I yelp, my whole body panicking at the rush of cool air on my very exposed parts underneath my coat as Blake picks me up, opens his door, and sets me inside, all in one smooth motion.
The door closes behind us with a thud, and Blake pushes me backward until my butt hits the couch, following me down.
“This is the best surprise of my life, Lexi. Truly.”
I laugh. “You almost spoiled it by going to my place.”
“I did. I was hell-bent on seeing you. Good thing I texted, or we’d both be waiting for each other all night.”
“Nope. I would have lasted maybe another hour before I went home and found you eventually.”
“Oh wow. Are you saying you wouldn’t wait for me all night?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” I adjust myself under him, and his eyebrows draw together. “I don’t know how people wear this all the time.”
“Wear what?” I shake my head, but he catches my chin in his palm, his eyes boring into mine. “Wear what, Lexi?”
I shrug. “I guess you’re just going to have to wait until I take off my coat to see.”
“Coat? What are you wearing a coat for?” He scoffs, pretend-scolding. “It’s summer, for Pete’s sake. I think you should take off the coat right now, just for your own comfort and convenience, of course.”
“You do, do you?”
“Yes. Very much. I will, however, if it’s any consolation, help you every step of the way.”
“You’re very supportive,” I mock.
“Oh, you have no idea. On certain nights, like tonight, for example, I’m available for your every whim, need, or service.”
“Blake.”
“Take off the coat, Lex. I want to taste your pussy.”
“Blake.” Courage bubbles in my throat as Blake’s warm blue eyes curl up at the corners.
“What, Lexi?”
“I want to taste you too.”
“Oh yeah. The coat is coming off now.” Blake scoots back just enough to undo the knot at my waist, pulling open the tie until it falls to the sides and then slowly, reverently, opening the coat. My skin goose bumps around the black lace underwear the salesgirl talked me into buying, and Blake’s whole face heats with lust of an eleven if the scale is from one to ten.
I blow out a breath to steady my nerves, and Blake’s entire being quiets, one large, long-fingered hand splaying around the flesh of my thigh.
“You look so fucking good, Lex.”
“Yeah?” I ask in a breathy whisper.
“Yeah. Fucking incredible. And to say I appreciate the effort is an understatement. I want to stress how impressed I am with it. But with that said…you don’t have to do this for me.”
I scrunch up my nose in confusion. “Don’t have to do what?”
“Dress up in shit you’d never in a million years dress up in. Wear lace panties and lace bras and do it so I’ll get a thrill. I like your black cotton panties just fucking fine.”
Even with all the effort and the excitement and the thrill of seeing a different perspective on myself, hearing him say I never have to do it again is the biggest, swooniest, sexiest relief.
It’s hard to be something that I’m not. And while I think it’s a good exercise to be willing sometimes, I think it’s even better to find someone who says you don’t have to.
Who says I don’t have to.
Gently, Blake puts a hand to my chest, pushing me flat on my back on the couch and pulling my arms out of the sleeves of the coat. I watch avidly as he sinks to his knees on the floor beside the couch, turning my body with two strong hands on my hips before gripping the flesh on the insides of my thighs. He licks his lips in a soft, unintentional gesture, and I have to swallow hard to send my heart back down into my chest.
Blake leans forward and closes his mouth over the top of my panties, and my back arches off the couch like a junkie taking their first hit.
How in the world can it be like this? I haven’t had it that long, and yet, after the last ten days, I’ve missed it.
Missed him .
In a way I never thought I could. I don’t know when it happened, but somehow, someway, Blake went from thorn in my side to my newest hyperfixation.
Eggs, football stats, math, weather, data, computers, and now, Blake Boden. At one point in my life, I’ve driven myself to obsession over all of them.
Some I’ve kept, and some blew away like the wind.
It’s too early to tell with Blake, but I really hope my brain doesn’t find a reason to get sick of him.