Page 164 of How to Score Off Field

“Yes.” Of course I do. I thought we had a good time.

“When that fan was getting his autograph and telling you about his son, you introduced me as your childhood friend.”

I blink.

Blink again, trying to think back to that conversation. “I did?”

Had I?

Is that a bad thing?I’m scared to ask out loud.

“I felt insulted.”

Insulted. “Why?”

She moves, rolling toward me this time, propping herself on her elbow as if she can actually see me and wants to talk face-to-face despite it being pitch black in his room.

“Because. I thought I was more to you than that.”

“You are.”

Those two words don’t feel like enough, and her silence proves it, but for some reason, my brain isn’t coming up with anything more sufficient to say.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Think, think, THINK.

“That’s not at all how I meant it.” I reach for her, feeling around for her hand. “That’s not how I meant it at all.”

Same words, rephrased.

“You’re not just a childhood friend.”

Her laughter is quiet. “I didn’t think we were friends at all when we were kids, if I’m being honest.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I was your friend by proxy, but we weren’t friends. When did we ever spend a single second together, alone, up until the past few months?”

“Never.”

“When did we hang out laughin’ and havin’ fun in a group when we were younger?”

“Uh. Never.”

She hmphs.

“Okay, point taken.” I’m still not sure if it’s safe to make a joke, not that I’m like ha-ha funny. Not like my brothers. They’re hilarious, and I’m…

The quiet one.

“Tess, do you actually feel like I don’t care about you?”

She scoffs. “Of course I think you care about me. You’re a nice guy. You care about everyone.”

I pause. “Are you…rollin’ your eyes?”

I catch her snickering. “How can you tell?”

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