Page 78 of Quarterback Sneak
“You are the worst!” I hiss into the phone after I take my hand away.
“I know; that’s why you love me.”
My heart softens. “I do, Tessa. Thanks for being a good friend.”
“Aw, are we at best friend status now?”
I smile. “Sure.”
She squeals, and I have to hold my phone away from my ear. “I’ve never had a best friend.”
“Me neither.”
“I’ll get us t-shirts and matching bracelets.” I laugh, though I’m not altogether sure she’s teasing.
I hear something on her end and wait for her to come back. “I gotta go. Stephanie just got back, and she gets cranky if I’m on the phone when she wants to study.” Her voice is a loud whisper.
“Okay. Thanks for calling and checking on me.”
“Of course! That’s what besties do.”
“Thanks.”
“Keep me updated. Oh, and tell me what Zane looks like without a shirt on...in detail.”
“Okay, I'm hanging up now.” I can feel my face flaming.
She cackles in the background. “Bye, Evie.”
“Bye, Tessa.”
I hang up and try to get my face to cool down before I face Zane. “What are the chances you didn’t hear any of that?” I ask him.
“What do you want the chances to be?” he asks, a grin tugging at his mouth.
“One hundred percent—that you didn’t hear a thing.”
“Then I didn’t hear a thing your new bestie said.” I groan out loud and put my forehead in my hands. “It’s fine,” he says with a chuckle.
“It’s really not,” I mutter. I open my door and climb down and head to the back; but Zane already has my bag in hand. Slate’s already gone inside by the time we head up the steps and through the front door. It’s not new by any means, but it’s got a nice layout. It definitely feels masculine. There’s not a throw pillow, blanket, or candle in sight; but it’s an all-male house. So, I guess it doesn’t really surprise me. Zane walks down a hallway, and I follow him. He steps into a room with a large bed. I take in the navy bedspread and the lack of anything feminine. “Is this your room?” I ask. I realize I was already here, but I don’t really remember anything about that night.
“It is,” he says, dropping my bag on the bed.
I walk over and snatch it up, dropping the strap on my shoulder as realization dawns on me. “There’s no spare room, is there.”
“This room,” he says easily.
“I’m not taking your room, Zane.”
“It’s fine. I’ll crash on the couch.”
My eyes widen. “You’re not going to sleep on the couch.”
“Why not?”
I stare at him, like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he really has. “Zane, you’re an athlete, a really important one. You're not sleeping on the couch.I’llsleep on the couch.”
“No way,” he argues.
