Which is probably—mostly—love.
Chicken on a biscuit. I am so in love with Zoe Peebles.
I burst out laughing at the realization. I’m sure that’ll make a good clip for the TV commentators. Teeners’ quarterback losing his mind on the sidelines after throwing an interception.
Yeah, that’ll make the highlight reel.
But how else is a guy supposed to respond when he recognizes that the woman of his dreams has casually invaded his home and his life and he doesn’t want it any other way?
She is undoubtedly the best part of my life.
Which leaves me only one question. How can I become the best part of hers?
I can figure that out after the game.
“You had a rough start to the game today.” The reporter in the back of the press conference after the game doesn’t hold back despite the fact that we eked out a win. Mostly thanks to our incredible defense. I’ll give them more credit on the plane ride back to the Springs.
After a lousy opening drive, I managed a mediocre game at best. I should expect to be grilled about it.
The reporter is staring at me from his seat, waiting. He’s new. At least I don’t recognize him. And he looks like he’s about three weeks out of journalism school.
He hasn’t exactly asked a question, but I throw him a bone. “Yep. It sure was.”
The room fills with tense chuckles, and I give them all a half grin as I ruffle my damp hair. I barely had time to shower after the game and throw on my street clothes before being ushered into the press room and shoved onto the stage in front of the microphone.
Maybe we should train the media team as pass rushers. They’re not bad at pushing people around.
“You want to talk about that interception on the first drive?” Same guy. Same ridiculous line of question.
“Not really.”
This time the whole room bursts into real laughter. All except the guy whose question I’m not answering.
Peter—on the opposite side of the room—clears his throat as the noise dies down. “Did your performance today have anything to do with the rumors that you and Zoe Peebles broke up?”
I wheeze out a breath, that question a little too close to the truth than I’d like to admit. “Did you all become gossip reporters while I was at practice this week?”
Peter isn’t discouraged. “It’s hard to miss that she isn’t here.”
I shrug. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Which is a total lie. Of course I noticed that Zoe isn’t here. She was never going to be. But I always know when she’s not around. I feel her absence because I know the joy of her presence.
Not that this school of piranhas is going to get that scoop.
Or anyone else for that matter.
I rake my fingers through my hair. “Listen, guys, I’m not going to talk about Zoe—Miss Peebles. Except to say that it’s hard to break up when we were never dating. We’ve only ever been friends.”
Except for that little hiccup of being totally in love with her.
But I’ll figure that out.
Peter doesn’t seem happy with my response. Maybe because his entertainment editor is after him to get a headline.
Too bad. This isn’t the place or the time. And they’re not going to get me to talk about her on the record.
I point to Jennifer Hwang, one of my favorite reporters, from theGazette. She flips her long black hair over her shoulder and glances at her phone for a moment. “There are reports that Miss Peebles is being considered for a role in a movie about the Cortez High School football team.”
