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)
“Right. The kids. The whole reason we’re here.” He winks again. “How about a good old-fashioned weight-room competition when camp is over, Boden? It’s how we used to settle shit back in the day.”
“Yeah, okay.” I nod, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “That, I can agree to.”
“Good grief.” Lexi scoffs. “Would you like a side of grunts with your cavemen egos? Now I’m remembering why I don’t hang around football players that often. Macho, macho, muscle, muscle, grunt, grunt, blah, blah, blah.”
Quinn guffaws. “Give us a break, Lexi Lou. Our brains aren’t as big as yours.”
“Maybe you should join in on our weight-room competition,” I suggest with a knowing smile in her direction. “Even it out just a little.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no thanks. Not only are my muscles more for looks than show, there’s also too high of a risk of wrist injury. I’ll attend, but I’ll keep the score.”
“Quinn and I would spot you,” I offer, but she just rolls her eyes again.
“Ha. No thanks. I’ll stick to the sidelines.”
“All right, that’s fair.” I nod. “I’m just impressed you’ve been running all the drills today. You learn them pretty quickly. A hell of a lot quicker than I used to when my dad was teaching them to me on Coronado Beach.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not skill. I’m just hyperattentive to instruction.”
I study her face, her bright-blue eyes steady on mine, the wind catching her blond ponytail and sending it swaying behind her. For a moment, I let myself hope—just a little—that I’m breaking through that fortress she keeps so tightly locked.
She doesn’t interrupt the silence. Instead, she holds my gaze, and time seems to slow, everything else blurring into the background. Everything tunnels into me and Lexi Lou Winslow.
And then the alarm on my stopwatch goes off in blaring rebellion.
I flinch, fumbling to turn it off, and blow the whistle to call the kids back over from their water break. The moment dissolves, but it’s burned into my memory, refusing to fade.
It happened.
And judging by the knowing smirk on Quinn Bailey’s face, I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
So maybe—just maybe—I’m not imagining it. Lexi Winslow might genuinely be starting to like me.
God, I hope so.
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.