It wasn’t like I still thought there was some alternate universe where Zac would ever like me in any other way than how he currently did—because even that, at this point, was kind of a miracle. And it was fine. It was totally fine.
I was pretty proud of myself when a smile slid over my mouth, relatively easily, and I lifted a shoulder. “I stopped using so much gel in my hair, and I learned that I wasn’t supposed to brush it. Exercise, four years of clear retainers, makeup. Connie says I can’t thank puberty for it either since it kicked in like five years late.”
That jerk. I almost laughed thinking about the way she’d said it too, now that I thought about it. But I didn’t.
Zac’s expression got a little funny then, but that gradual little smile stayed in place. “Nah, you were always cute, darlin’.”
Cute. Again. I still smirked though, taking his compliment for what it was. This man had dated models—Boogie had whispered their names to me when he’d showed me pictures of them—and an actress or two. I couldn’t forget those either.
“You and Boogie were the only ones to ever say that,” I admitted to him. My sister and my grandma—and even my parents when they were around—had always told me I was pretty, but beauty was in the eye of the beholder. I knew it firsthand from some of the guys at the gym. Most of the hot ones were really nice and normal dudes, but a couple of them had turned out to be enormous, cocky assholes who had me cheering for the guy they were fighting because I wanted them to learn a lesson in humility.
Nice, I was not—or half the time I wasn’t. But that was everyone. At least that’s what I was going to tell myself.
This man who was trying to be my friend again gave me a slightly brighter smile than the one before. “I told you back then boys were dumb.”
I snorted, and it felt natural. Right. “They still are.”
Zac’s smile turned lopsided in the blink of an eye, and I could see the affection flare back up behind his eyes. And that was natural and right too. Familiar. “When’d you lose it, Peewee?”
Why my virginity was the first thing that popped into my head, I had no fucking clue. Then I got it. It. The weight. The “baby fat” as I’d clung to calling it.
“It took a few years, but… ta-da.” I snorted and shrugged. “I’m happy.”
That very white smile that had been a product of three years of braces according to Boogie—because in my head it felt like he’d only had them for a couple months—went full beam on me. “Happy looks good on you.” His nostrils flared a little. “You’re somethin’, kiddo.”
Something.
Considering all the women he’d seen, the actually beautiful women he’d seen, I was going to take his compliment for what it was: he’d cared about me, and what I looked like had never mattered to him. It was a compliment from a wonderful man who had told me not to let dumb boys get to me. Who had gone to school to pick me up with Boogie when I’d been sixteen, scowling the whole time because Boogie had told him I’d been upset that this boy had called me an ugly name since I wouldn’t let him copy my homework and it had gotten to me.
“Thanks, Snack Pack,” I told him sincerely, clinging to that memory, him demanding I tell them who’d made me cry. I never did tell him, but he’d really tried to get it out of me. Him and Boogie. “So,” I shrugged for about the eightieth time, “you want some frozen yogurt?”
He gave me a side look that said, “What do you think?
I smiled at him and handed it over. “Hey, was that Trevor I saw run upstairs when I got here?”
“I’m sure it was. He’s here this week. Most of the time he’s in LA, sometimes he’s in New York, and every once in a while, he makes some house calls to the couple other players he manages just to make sure they aren’t screwin’ up.”
“You and CJ let him stay here? Or is this CJ’s house and he lets you stay here?” I finally asked, trying to figure this shit out.
“This is Trevor’s place. His ‘Houston’ house.” He used quotation marks and waggled his eyebrows. “He’s from League City.” That was a