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)
“Julia and Ace are in the Hamptons with their parents,” Scottie answers. “Kayla’s home for the summer, and I think she’s with her family in Florida this weekend.”
“Blake is still at Dickson, I think,” Finn adds, and my stupid ears home in on the sound of his name. “Probably football training shit he has to do.”
“On Memorial Day weekend?” A pang of worry that he’s lonely hits me square in the chest with annoyance. I don’t spend my time thinking about men—and I certainly don’t spend my time thinking about football players like Blake Boden.
Says the girl who spent way too much of her time this week focused on her new little research project that—
“I think Blake’s mom and dad might have been coming into town for a couple days.” Scottie’s update cuts off my thoughts at the knees. “But man, maybe we should have checked.” She worries her lip. “We could have invited him here, I bet. Not like anyone would even notice one more with these numbers.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I say, the panic of imagining him here with my whole family pressuring me to find some status quo. “It’s not like the entire campus is empty, and he’s got plenty of fans.”
“Shoo,” Finn remarks, his face turned up in an amused grin. “You really are a steel fortress when it comes to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on, Lex.” Finn’s eyes dance with amusement. “You’ve rejected him more times than I can count. You act like he’s not even a human.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s a campus celebrity.”
Finn laughs. “Blake’s not like that. Not really. People are interested in him, but all he cares about are his friends and football.”
That little nugget of information should be easy to brush off, but my mind latches on to it like a parasite. The human brain thrives on patterns, and mine demands them. When something doesn’t add up, I can’t just let it go—I have to find the why.
Enter the anomaly that is Blake Boden—the man who spurs a reaction from every woman in his vicinity, including me. I don’t do well with anomalies.
Naturally, as a consequence of my shortcomings, I’ve turned him into data and created the AI-assisted Blake Boden Analysis app I’ve been thinking about ever since the night dorm-room pizza with Blake ended in a kiss I still don’t understand.
Technically, it’s a combination of a data analysis spreadsheet and an AI-assisted program, but the app is probably easier to explain. Basically, I input everything I know, and continue to learn, about him—physical traits, social interactions, football stats, even the way his smile curves slightly higher on the left. And I log my observations—the way other people react to him, things his friends say, et cetera.
The app takes those inputs and identifies patterns and gives me updated conclusions based on my current hypothesis—Quality of life is unchanged with Blake Boden in it. One person can’t have that big of an effect on a life surrounded by thousands and thousands of other people.
It’s purely scientific. Logical. Or a way for you to reclaim control when he’s threatening to steal it.
I ignore my clearly useless subconscious and make a mental note of data to add to my Blake Boden app—friends are defensive of who he is as a person and of his feelings. I’m not the app, but I’m willing to bet the supposition is a benefaction of trustworthiness.
Which, of course, suggests I shouldn’t be so dismissive of the idea of spending more time with him.
Annoying.
I drop back onto my elbows and point my eyes to the sky, making Finn laugh again. As far as he and Scottie are concerned, my hatred for Blake is the running joke of the century. I, for one, wish it were that simple.
“Hey, hey!” Uncle Jude shouts, jumping through the three of us on light feet, dripping water all over the dock and our bodies. “I see Wendy and Helen waving up there, and you know what that means!”
“Food’s ready!” Uncle Ty yells, shoving him out of the way and jumping over my body to be first. A roaring stampede of wet teenagers follows as everyone hustles out of the water, and I shrink into a ball to get out of the way as they charge around me. I might as well be Mufasa at the bottom of the gorge for all the care they take with me.
Logically, I know they’re trampling me to avoid doing the same to Scottie, but still…I’d like to live to see tomorrow.
“Hey, watch it!” I yell as my cousin Hawk steps on my pinkie finger. He looks back in apology but doesn’t slow down in his surge for the house. “My God, this is like Roadhouse without Patrick Swayze, and clearly, he was the best part.”
“Solid fucking movie,” Finn says in camaraderie as I climb to my feet and shrink into a pencil to avoid the last of the wildebeests running for sustenance. Scottie smacks his chest with a small laugh and a big smile, and he clears his throat, adding, “May he rest in peace.”