The Pass (Smart Jocks #5) - Rebecca Jenshak Page 0,6
blank stare.
With an eye roll, I say, “Yeah, dude, she’s the one with the long, blonde hair.”
“Cool. I’m going to find Chloe. Pick us up at Freddy dorm in thirty minutes?” He lifts his arms and taps the archway and then leaves.
I’m on my feet and jogging up the stairs to get ready before he’s out the front door. After taking a quick shower, I flip through my closet to find something to wear.
Joel stops in the open doorway of my room. “Hey, everything good? I haven’t had a chance to talk with you since you moved in.”
“Yeah, it’s great. I really appreciate it.” Not only is living in The White House cheaper than the dorms, it’s across the street from our practice and game facility. It’s all upside.
“Going out tonight?” he questions.
“Yeah, Nathan and I are going to The Hideout. You want to come?”
“Nah, I’m heading over to Katrina’s. Have fun.”
I figured as much. He’s almost never here, I’ve come to realize. He stays at his girlfriend’s place most nights.
I go back to finding the right T-shirt and jeans combination. As I’m pulling on a white shirt, my phone pings. I’m only a little disappointed when it’s Tara instead of Sydney.
Tara: Hey! Are you still coming home next weekend for my game?
Me: Planning on it.
Tara: Yay! Best big brother EVER.
Chuckling, I toss my phone on the bed. I can almost see Tara’s face and hear her voice through her texts. Only fifteen months younger than me, Tara and I are close. Our parents raised us like twins, putting us in all the same activities. If one of us wanted to play a sport or learn an instrument, the other one had to, too.
Those six months she thought she wanted to be a ballerina were rough. I totally showed up those little girls with my kickass pirouette though. And her interests did have some benefits. For example, I was voted the best dressed guy in my senior class thanks to Tara picking out my entire wardrobe. Sadly, I’m still hopeless without her help.
I button my jeans and walk to my bed and pick up the phone again.
Me: Are T-shirt and jeans okay for a sort-of date?
Tara: Define sort-of date? Where are you going? Is it just the two of you?
Me: Going to a bar and then maybe back to my place to hang out and no, there will be other people with us.
Tara: That doesn’t sound anything like a date.
Me: I said “sort-of”.
Tara: Boys are dumb.
Me: Noted. Now help me, please.
Tara: Send me a picture, full-length.
Me: Calling you so this is less painful.
I press the button to FaceTime her and prop up my phone on my desk. Stepping back so she can see my entire outfit, I feel a little ridiculous when her face appears on the screen.
“Where are you?” I ask by way of greeting. It’s noisy and people are walking around behind her.
“I’m at the lake house for the weekend.”
“Oh, nice. Did you take the boat out?”
“Focus, brother.”
“Right.” I hold my arms out from my sides. “Well?”
Her lip curls up and she tilts her head side to side. “It’s okay.”
My shoulders slump and I groan.
“I’m sorry, T, but it’s so boring. The white T-shirt is played out.”
“It’s classic,” I argue.
“Corinne,” Tara calls. “Tell Tanner his outfit sucks.”
My sister’s long-time friend, Corinne, appears next to her. “Hey Tanner.”
“Hey, Corinne. Help a guy out? I look okay, right?” Again, I hold my arms out. Corinne always takes my side. Ganging up on my sister is our favorite pastime. But the look on her face as she scrutinizes my outfit is not encouraging.
“It’s not bad.” She smiles hesitantly.
“Great, I was hoping she’d take one look at me and say, ‘Eh, not bad’.”
Tara and Corinne roll their eyes at me in perfect synchronization.
I tip my head back and stare up at the boring white ceiling. Fuck, I’m a boring white ceiling.
“Can you two help me or what? I have five minutes before I have to leave to pick her up.”
“God, he’s such a drama queen,” my sister says to her friend who nods in agreement. “Picking her up is a good move though, props for that.”
I smile tightly. No reason to tell them I wasn’t actually the one who decided that part.
“Do you have anything that isn’t black, white, or gray?” Corinne asks.
I go to my closet and pull out the first three shirts that meet that criteria and bring them closer for their inspection.