Blocked by Jennifer Lane Page B

cook for themselves. Are the agents at least cooking for you?”
    “Sometimes.” Brad made a mean flank steak. Of course, I’d only allowed myself a bite or two before rushing off to practice.
    “Does your roommate make food for you?”
    I studied my brother. His voice was missing the vitriol it had previously carried when discussing Dane. I wondered if meeting Mr. Stud Athlete in person—and throwing out some heated barbs—had calmed him down. Then another thought made me freeze. Had Alex caught on to my ill-advised crush?
    I sidled up to him to try to discern if I was busted. “So, how’s your second year going?”
    When he slapped some mayonnaise on a piece of toasted bread, my heart thundered. Way too much fat!
    “Got a ninety-five on my first test.”
    I gripped the counter when he proceeded to plop two pieces of cheese on my sandwich. Oh, hell no. “That’s…great.”
    “When do classes start for you?” He cut the sandwich in half.
    Good, I only have to eat half of it.
    Then he slid the plate toward me and reached to the bread to pick out two more slices for his own sandwich. Mierda!
    “Lucy?”
    I peeled my gaze away from the offending hunk of calories. “What?”
    “I asked you when your classes start.”
    “Oh.” I swallowed. “Next week, after our first match.”
    “How’re you feeling about your first game as a Highbanks Cougar?”
    I gasped. “ Why are you using so much mayo?” When Alex frowned at me, I realized I’d said that out loud.
    “Relax, hermanita . You need some fat in your diet.”
    Like hell I do.
    “In my neuro class we learned how your brain needs fat. You see, your brain has nerve cells called neurons. The axon of the neuron is coated in a myelin sheath, which basically consists of fat…”
    He launched into one of his insufferable medical lectures, and all I could focus on was the chubby blob of white mayo oozing out of my sandwich.
    “Have you heard a word I said?” His eyes darkened. “This is exactly why you need to eat more fat, to focus better.”
    “Huh?”
    “If you don’t eat enough fat, your brain doesn’t concentrate well. C’mon.” He picked up his plate and carried it over to the dining table, gesturing for me to do the same. He sat and took a ginormous bite of turkey and cheese.
    I swallowed again. The sandwich looked delicious, but I knew it would slow me down on the court.
    “Are you going to make me eat all by myself?” He patted the chair next to him. “That’s not being a very gracious host.”
    I glared at him. Mom had always taught us the importance of caring for guests, even Aunt Maricela. My dad’s sister had a way of getting under my mother’s skin, but still, Mom would prepare Maricela’s favorite dish and boot me out of my bedroom so Tia Mari would have a nice place to sleep.
    I grabbed the plate and set it down with a clatter on the table.
    Alex’s eyes creased with amusement, and I realized I’d acted just like the child he thought I was. To spite him, I took a bite. Oh …tart tomato intertwined with creamy mayo and sharp cheddar cheese: a flavor profile that lingered on my tongue and sparked the flow of juices in my withering stomach. I looked down at the sandwich. I’ve missed you, food .
    “Dad’s poll numbers went down this week.” Alex’s fierce chomp told me what he thought of that.
    I winced. I should pay more attention to the election. “Do they know why?”
    “We have to get the focus back on Yemen. Somebody’s got to be accountable for that cluster.” Alex’s gaze darted around, and he leaned in to whisper, “Do you think they’ve got this place bugged?”
    I certainly hoped not. I didn’t want Dane to know about my crying jag the night I’d moved in. I mimicked my brother’s body language by holding still and listening, but all I could hear was faint music floating from Dane’s bedroom.
    “I’ve never heard that band before,” Alex said.
    “They’re Dane’s favorite,” I said. They weren’t