"This isn't funny," I complained, my voice muffled by the hand I'd pressed against my burning cheek.
Phoenix only laughed harder, his face filling the screen with unbridled glee. We were on a video call while I walked toward the house where I tutored, my phone held at an angle that probably gave him a great view of my reddening ears. The morning air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of dew and freshly cut grass, but my face felt hot enough to catch fire.
"Stop laughing, Phoenix."
"I can't!" he wheezed, wiping imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes. "I seriously can't. The image of you getting interrupted by a dog is just too good."
