Page 32 of No Place Like Home

That made me smile. “I told you, your ego doesn’t need stroking.”

“It’s still a nice feeling, Jess.” Quincy’s voice was husky, making me shiver.

He was messing with me, right? Or was I hearing things?

“Hardwell, what are you still doing here? Get your ass home and rest.”

“Sure thing, Coach.”

Oh, shit. He was at practice? The severity of what I was doing hit me then. I was in a tiny cottage that I shared with another person in a small town that was so far from everyone’s radars. When I went to college, no one had any idea where Sunny Pines was. People thought it was weird that I’d never been to a Starbucks and could count on my hands the number of times I’d gone to Target or Walmart. And here I was talking to Quincy freaking Hardwell, superstar quarterback. This shit was unreal.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Quincy’s voice took me away from my thoughts.

“No, I’m sorry for calling. I don’t know what I was thinking…You’re…geez, Q, I forget who you are. I didn’t mean to bothe—”

“Stop,” he growled, the vibrations making my ear tingle. “I’m still me. Still Quincy. Still a handsome superstar.”

I couldn’t help my snort. “Yeah, a superstar who’s known in the whole damn country.”

“You forgot the handsome part,” he added, sounding amused. “I’m still me, and you’re still you. Quincy and Jessamine.”

My belly dipped at the mention of our names in that order.

“Iwillpunch you next time I see you,” I told him.

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself so you have an excuse for getting your hands all over my body, be my guest.”

My cheeks flamed. I opened my mouth to come back with anything when my phone pinged with an incoming call alert.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

He was video calling me now.

I ran a hand through my hair; my hair was thin due to my moms’ genes, so no frizz. That was a plus.

“Why are we FaceTiming?” My hand was covering my mouth, trying to keep hidden.

Quincy gave me a huge grin, all his teeth showing.

“You know how many women would love to have me on their screens talking to them?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

I looked at him, but my eyes cut to his bright background. Shit, that was a stadium. A real get-paid-millions-of-dollars stadium behind him.

“You’re rich,” I uttered.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” His tone went low, his eyes guarded.

Oh, shit. Did he think I was hitting him up for cash?

“It's so weird talking to you. You’re famous, and I’m…I’m—”

“Jessamine, my wildflower.”

“What?”I whispered, our eyes clashing through the phone, but I still felt that gaze as if he were in front of me.

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