Pitcher Read online

  Eyes the color of my favorite blue Skittles narrow at my remark before they roll. “Did you pack your ADHD meds?”

  Of course I did.

  Wait.

  “Ugh. Fuck,” I groan.

  I hate when she’s smug.

  “Don’t worry,” she chides. “We can stop back by your house on the way out of town.”

  She pats my shoulder almost arrogantly, and a rush of adrenaline hits me. I snatch her back, making her squeal in my arms.

  “You’re stuck with me for the next four years, McCallister. No take backs.”

  Slow, almost purposely, as if she needs a minute before she faces me, Anniston turns in my arms. Her eyes shine brightly in the sun before a quivering smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

  “No take backs,” she agrees and swallows hard.

  No take backs.

  She just signed a deal with the Devil.

  Anniston McCallister is mine.

  All. Mine.

  One month until our college graduation, or Doomsday as we like to call it.

  “Violet reports,” I raise my voice so it sounds squeaky and pitches across to the kitchen, “that the highlight of the year is upon us!”

  Theo, who is chest deep in the refrigerator, pulls back to glare at me. After more than three and a half years of living together, I’ve yet to miss an opportunity to embarrass him. And after the night I had, this morning’s Daily Grind—the University’s Paper—was exactly what I needed to brighten my day. He knows what’s coming, and that makes this even better.

  “She says, and I quote, ‘Theo Von Bremen returns to the mound after the longest pitching rotation ever.’” I roll my eyes but continue. “‘His stellar—’” I mouth the word stellar and wiggle my brows. “‘—pitching skills are unparalleled to anything Cantor University has ever seen before.’”

  I glance at Theo who finally found what he was looking for—a freaking water—and smirk. “Violet needs to refresh her reporting skills. Cantor University has seen these unparalleled pitching skills before.”

  He flips me off while chugging his water, but I don’t stop. “In fact, they’ve seen it several times. In the last ten years, Cantor University has had six players drafted to the MLB. The most in its history.”

  Violet has clearly been drinking the Von Bremen Kool-Aid. But whatever, so have most females on campus.

  “Is Violet the girl who gave good head?” he asks me, his brows furrowed like he really has to think hard about it.

  Must I always be the voice of truth in this relationship?

  “Don’t most of them give good head?” I find a piece of gum wedged in the sofa and throw it at him. It lands at his feet where he stares at it before cocking a brow in my direction. “It was a bad throw,” I supply with an eye roll. I’m not the star pitcher here.

  “I guess… head is head, but her name sounds familiar. Usually I don’t remember names unless they were spectacular in some way or another.” He shrugs unapologetically.

  Unfortunately, I love this asshole.

  Yep, I said it. I may be mocking poor Violet, but it’s only because I’m jealous. And I really shouldn’t be jealous if she gave Theo the best head he’s ever had. Theo’s personality is an acquired taste, much like wine. The package is beautiful on the outside, but the inside is sour until it rolls around the palate for a little while. Take it from me. I’ve loved Theo Von Bremen for years. Not months. Years. I loved him before he started going to the gym and bulking up. Not after puberty. Before. Before his voice changed. Before we moved in together. Before we became best friends. Before he banged all the Violets of campus.

  And it’s all been for naught.

  Granted, I’ve never broached the subject of more, but neither has he, so I left it. Guys are supposed to make the first move, right?

  “I got it!” he shouts, finally picking up the piece of gum and popping it in his mouth.

  Ugh. Why does he have to look so damn good working that strong jaw as it breaks down that rock-hard piece of gum into something thin enough to blow a bubble with? And why must that bubble draw my eyes to his lips, pursing as if he needs kissing?

  Focus, Ans.

  Completely focused—okay, fine, I’m semi-focused—I loosen the grip on my tablet and narrow my eyes, bracing myself for the epic blowie story that was worthy of Theo remembering Violet’s name.

  You will not get jealous. I highly doubt she was that epic.

  “Violet was the journalism major that dated Reese all last year.”

  Oops. Sorry, Violet. My bad for thinking the worst of you. Keep up the hard work by reporting inaccurate statistics.

  “Yeah, you remember we met her at his birthday party, and she said you were a saint for living with me.” His smile morphs into a frown like he just realized she was insulting him.

  Hello, Violet. My name is Anniston, and I think we just became best friends.

  Not really. No girl is ever my friend. Unfortunately, I’ve always had a bff, and he has a dick. A big one. And because of said dick size and rumors of said dick size, I’m considered a threat. Or a frenemy. Same thing.

  I’ve had my share of fake friends just so they could get closer to Von Bremen. I don’t even try anymore. Theo and Thad are the only friends I need. Unless Violet wants to call me. I would totally buy her a coffee.

  “Violet seems like a really nice girl,” I taunt. “If she heard about what I went through last night, I think she would offer to buy me lunch today.”

  Theo groans, and it ratchets up my smile.

  “I mean if she—”

  “Do not bring it up,” he cuts in. “Last night was your fault.” He glares at me and takes another swig before punctuating each word individually. “All. Your. Fault.”

  You would think women are more easily embarrassed, but that’s not true here. In this house, the man turns red faster than I do.

  “I told you not to order the fish tacos.”

  “No. You said you wouldn’t order the fish tacos.”

  I try to hide my grin.

  “You did not say it gave you explosive diarrhea!”

  At his outburst, my stomach clenches and I fold over laughing for the millionth time.

  “It didn’t give me diarrhea,” I clarify.

  “Oh no,” he corrects himself. “You said it gave Thad diarrhea the last time y’all were there.” He eyes me with a look of betrayal. How would I know it would happen again? Thad could have had a stomach bug a couple of months ago. It’s completely possible.

  “Who eats fish tacos anyway?” I scrunch up my nose. “You should have ordered the beef ones like we always do. Then I wouldn’t have had to open the windows and ask Ms. Carmine down the hall if I could use her shower.”

  Okay, so I feel a little bad about it. But really, it could have been a virus this time too.

  “I wanted something different! Brody said they were good.”

  I flash him my you-should-have-known-better look and turn off my iPad, setting it down on the sofa where he’ll probably knock it off later by flopping down like an injured seal.

  “Well, now you know. Variety isn’t always the best thing for you.”

  Hint, hint. Keep a girl a little longer than a few hours, Von Bremen.

  “I know that now, no thanks to you.”

  I ignore that cute little hate glare he has going on and, instead, offer him something I know will make him feel better.

  “How ’bout I make your game-day cookies a little earlier so you can have two?”

  Those navy eyes brighten with one word. Two. The boy always wants two cookies. What he gets: one cookie. Refined sugar is Theo’s demon. And if he wasn’t going to go run this off in a few hours, then I wouldn’t give it to him. Theo after sugar is like driving on the autobahn. It’s all fun and games until someone slows down.

  “Okay, go shower and I’ll make your cookies.”

  With a wary glance, Theo chugs the rest of his water and tosses the bottle in our recycling bin. “Pro
mise?”

  Have mercy.

  “Yes, I promise, you can have two. Hurry so we can stretch your shoulder before you leave.”

  The man who kills bugs for me pops a ridiculous grin on his face. “Deal.”

  We’re late.

  It’s all Theo’s fault.

  “I can’t believe you had to stop by three stores to find your passion fruit bubble gum for game day,” he teases sarcastically, shoving two pieces in his mouth.

  My eyes roll at his blatant lie. We all know who needed the gum. You don’t come between a player and his game-day ritual. These guys have a strict superstition that must be followed. If he requires passion fruit bubble gum, then passion fruit gum he will get. Even if it does put us at the field ten minutes before first pitch.

  “Go, weirdo, before Coach benches you. I’ll lock up.”

  Gah, the grin he gives me is downright kissable.

  “That’s my girl.”

  He turns his cheek to the side, and if we had more time, I would aggravate him and ask if he needs anything else, but since we don’t, I give in to another ritual and plant a good-luck kiss to his dimpled cheek.

  “Go get ’em, Teddy.”

  “Ugh. Don’t call me Teddy.”

  I’ll call him anything I want. After all the years we’ve been friends, I have earned the right to call him Teddy.

  “Fine. Go get ’em, T-Dog.”

  His face is one of horror.

  “I take it back. Teddy is fine.”

  See? I knew he would come around.

  I chuckle, snagging the keys from his hand.

  “Remember, throw first-pitch strikes. You do better in the count when you throw a strike first.”

  He nods seriously.

  “Hurry. Get out of here!”

  Like he just remembered we’re running behind, his eyes go wide, and he scrambles out of the car, yelling over his shoulder, “Sit where I can see you!”

  Have mercy. This man….

  Efficiently, I have my water and fold-up chair tucked underneath my arm. I need a free hand to lock Theo’s old-ass car that has no key fob. When I get everything situated, finally, I jog up to the field, already sweating.

  I don’t bother with the bleachers and take my spot behind the fence, right behind home base where Theo can see me.

  “Ms. McCallister.” Frank, the umpire for tonight, nods at me with a stern look, also taking his spot behind the catcher.

  I grin, unable to promise that I won’t call him names or argue with his calls tonight. We both know how this goes down.

  “Anniston!”

  I turn at the familiar voice. A replica of Theo, Thad stands behind me with a big, stupid grin on his face. His hands are full with a tray of food and drinks.

  “I have nachos.” He waggles his brows, and it makes me laugh.

  Grinning—and really excited for my nachos—I glance back at the mound, spotting Theo warming up. His gaze is fixed on me and Thad.

  I wave awkwardly.

  “Focus, Teddy!” I yell, not giving a fuck about using the nickname he hates so badly.

  His cheek twitches, and very slowly, his stare tears away from the two of us.

  “Watch my slider,” he yells back from the mound, digging a hole by the plate using his cleat. “I keep missing the corner.”

  I nod, knowing he needs my help, and look back at Thad with a sad smile. “Start without me. I’ll come when the inning is over.”

  Thad flashes me an understanding smile and nods, already heading into the stands.

  I turn back to Theo.

  “Okay, Von Bremen, paint me a corner.”

  A triumphant grin emerges, and it makes me smile.

  “Come on, Frank! The tailgaters in the parking lot could see that was a strike!”

  Frank ignores me for the two hundredth time this inning. Seriously, his eyesight is getting bad. Someone has to tell him.

  I give Theo, who looks about ready to explode, our sign for a curve ball. I don’t care what Brody, his catcher for today, is calling. Theo needs to get this guy to reach for the ball by throwing it closer to his hands. Theo’s been pitching him down and outside, trying to get him to chase, but he’s been smart. A curve ball will work.

  Finally, Theo nods and goes into his wind up. I’m clenched, probably more anxious than Coach Anderson since Theo will lose his no-hitter if this guy hits the ball. Or worse, walks.

  The crowd hushes, waiting on the pitch, when I hear a whispered voice in my ear.

  “I polished off all the nachos. I rate them a 3.5 on our nacho scale.”

  Fuck.

  I totally forgot about Thad being here, and I normally never forget nachos. With my gaze still focused on Theo, I whisper, “Just a 3.5?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Sounds like you saved me some calories. How ’bout I make up for the shitty ballpark nachos with some of my famous pancakes?”

  Thad’s eyes light up at the mention of someone cooking for him. We go out to eat a lot. It’s rare we have time to cook anymore.

  “Absolutely,” he agrees. “I’ll bring beer.”

  I can’t even laugh at the beer comment because Theo throws a pitch and it’s straight down the middle. The batter doesn’t miss, crushing Theo’s no-hitter with one smooth swing, dropping the ball into the outfield with a double.

  “Fuck!” Theo shouts behind his glove, glaring at me and Thad.

  Thad chooses to ignore his brother’s tantrum and continues our conversation as if he doesn’t feel the daggers shooting from Theo’s harsh gaze.

  “I’ll meet you both at the apartment. Is eight o’clock good?”

  My smile wavers as Theo’s no-hitter game is obliterated, just like his attitude.

  I manage to hold my smile though. Thad can’t help the fact Theo’s pitch was off.

  “Sounds like a plan. We’ll see you later.”

  Apart from the one batter, Theo sits the rest of their team down one right after the other once Thad leaves. The Yellowjackets are once again the victors thanks to Theo’s pitching skills.

  Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I wait for Theo to come out of the clubhouse. I’m not sure if he’ll shower at school or go home. You can never tell when he’s mad.

  “You need a ride?”

  I jerk at the voice behind me.

  “Uh… no. I’m good,” I tell the right fielder, Max. I don’t know him really well, but he’s always nice to me when we cross paths.

  “You sure?”

  He really is cute with his tan skin and dark hair. The dimple is probably what does it for me. It’s deep just like Theo’s.

  “She’s fucking sure.”

  Quickly Max’s smile turns serious when he hears Theo’s menacing voice behind me.

  Uh-oh. A shower didn’t settle him down.

  I smile, not letting Theo’s sour attitude piss all over Max’s solid performance. “Thanks anyway, Max. You did good today, by the way.”

  Max keeps his focus on Theo but manages to tip his chin in my direction.

  “Thanks, Ans—I mean, Anniston.”

  “Let’s go,” Theo barks, grabbing my elbow and pulling me toward the parking lot. I wave at Max and struggle to keep up with Theo’s pace.

  “Did you want to work on your curve ball?” I ask hesitantly.

  He clips out a quick, “No,” before unlocking the door and meeting my eyes over the top of the car. “You suck.”

  My mouth falls open. “I suck?” I swear my eyebrows are to my hairline. “Why do I suck?” Was I not the perfect cheerleader? Did I not coach him to a victory?

  “You weren’t paying attention. I lost my no-hitter.”

  Okay. I see how this is going to go down. Petty.

  “Do not try and pin the one hit on me, Theo.”

  His glare never wavers, so I continue trying to talk sense into this man. “What are you going to do when this season is over and you’re in Washington without me, huh?”

  His jaw cle
nches and the precious dimple I love so much never appears. “You could come with me.”

  I sigh. We’ve talked about this.

  “You know I can’t.”

  “You can’t or you won’t?”

  Maybe a little of both.

  “You know I want to go to med school here in Georgia,” I counter.

  He scoffs, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. “Washington has good schools too.”

  I’m sure they do, but when Theo decided he wanted to go pro with his baseball career, I knew I would always come second. I knew we would be separated eventually, and as the last month of our senior year ticks away, both of us are feeling a little insecure. We’ve always had each other.

  “Let’s not talk about this right now, okay?” I attempt a smile. “Let’s celebrate your win instead.”

  It takes him a minute, but eventually he agrees and comes around to unlock my door like a gentleman.

  “I told Brody we’d make an appearance at his party tonight.”

  Ugh.

  “Sounds fun! I just need to text Thad. I promised him dinner.”

  Theo slams his door harder than necessary.

  “He’ll live.”

  I’m a bastard.

  Especially on days that end in Y.

  It’s a well-known fact humans like to point blame. Me especially. So the fact that I’m a bastard really boils down to two root causes. Or people. Same difference.

  Anniston McCallister and yours truly.

  One could argue Anniston is simply an innocent bystander in all of this, but I’m not that one, and Anniston—no matter how much she would like people to believe—is not innocent.

  She’s not.

  Anniston McAllister showed me early on in life that everything is temporary.

  Life is temporary.

  Girlfriends are temporary.

  Bad seasons are temporary.

  The point is, I knew before she insulted me, my relationship with her would be temporary.

  She is beautiful, smart, and for some unknown reason, wants to be my friend.