Pitcher Page 8

  Every move is small and dainty, and my God, do I want to rough her up. I want to demand she show me how she licked that Popsicle in my vintage ’67 Mustang.

  But I don’t.

  “All done,” Coach announces with a little more happiness than I feel is warranted for breaking up mine and Anniston’s cuddle time.

  Anniston pulls away and wipes her mouth. Her face is flushed when she says, “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  I could break the tension with a shitty lie about the kiss being like kissing my sister, but I don’t want to. She expects me to lash out because that’s what I do. I’m rude and shy away from emotions, especially when it comes to her.

  But I can’t do it.

  The kiss wasn’t bad.

  It wasn’t like kissing my sister.

  It was patient.

  It was full of unspoken words.

  The kiss, even if it was meant to be a distraction, was epic.

  It should be memorialized, not tarnished or branded with a lie.

  So instead of being a dick, I go with a subject change instead.

  “We can get that stupid stuffed crust pizza garbage you like.” I try to shrug, but Dr. Phelps is wrapping my shoulder, and I end up making a face of pain.

  The fake smile Anniston flashes me feels foreign. I don’t get her fake smiles. I get real ones. Always.

  “Okay. I guess we can get your stupid meat lovers’ toppings, even though I’d rather have ham and pineapple.”

  The kiss wasn’t that good. I’m not eating fruit on my pizza.

  “Stuffed crust meat lovers it is,” I confirm, looking back to see if Dr. Phelps is almost fucking done. Things are getting awkward in here, and I’m ready to go. Anniston and I need normalcy. “Can we go?” I ask Coach.

  He leans behind me to look at Dr. Phelps’s progress.

  “Yeah, you can go. Take it easy for the next few days. All right?”

  I nod my consent. At this point, I would agree to anything to get out of here.

  Anniston grabs my phone, and I ease off the table.

  “I assume you’re riding home with me,” she says, unlocking my phone and doing who knows what to my contacts. I know she deletes names. I know my once two thousand contacts did not disappear when I upgraded my phone. I let her keep her form of retaliation.

  I scare off her dates, and she deletes mine.

  We’re petty like that.

  We’re in love like that.

  “Why would I ride with you?” I ask absently. Where the fuck is my bag? Did I bring it in here or leave it by my locker?

  “Uh,” she says all smug, “because you have only one functioning arm at the moment.”

  No.

  “I’m not leaving my car here.”

  Seriously, I don’t have many friends here. People speak to me, but we’re not friends. There is no way I am leaving my car out here to be keyed or worse.

  Anniston sighs and looks at Coach.

  “He can’t help you,” I argue. “I’m not leaving my fucking car, Anniston.”

  She rolls her eyes before finally turning the phone around.

  “Thad will get someone to drop him off. He can stay with us tonight.”

  “No.”

  She arches a brow, and I almost growl.

  “Fine. But pizza and porn night are still on.” I arch my brow, mimicking hers, then add. “You’re sleeping with me. Thad can take your room.”

  The apartment is quiet when I finish with my shower. A quick look around the corner reveals an exhausted Theo asleep on the sofa. Thad is relaxed in the chair watching TV on mute.

  “You can turn it up,” I tell Thad, nodding in Theo’s direction. “The noise won’t wake him.” Not when he’s this tired.

  “It’s fine. I’m not really watching it anyway.”

  I shrug, drying my hair with Theo’s oversized towel. I couldn’t use my towel; it’s wrapped around my body. “Do you want anything from the kitchen?”

  It’s the least I can do since he brought pizza and Theo’s car home.

  “I’m good, thank you,” he says politely. His momma would be proud of the man he’s become.

  I nod, realizing he’s not up for talking, and slip inside my bedroom to change. I go with my own pajamas tonight, a sleep shirt and knee-high socks. Yes, it looks ridiculous, but it’s comfy. And when you’re tired, nothing beats comfort.

  When I’ve managed to brush through the tangles and pull my hair into something resembling a beehive, I pad into the living room and see Theo has awakened. His clothes are rumpled, and his face is marred with a frown.

  “Are you okay,” I ask, coming around to sit alongside him.

  “Why are you wearing that?”

  Why does he sound so pissed off? I look down at the shirt I’ve worn a dozen times.

  “What do you mean? I always wear this.”

  He scrubs a hand over his face and glares when Thad laughs.

  “We have a guest,” he grits out.

  “Duh,” I respond maturely. “Thad has seen me in this before.”

  Thad coughs awkwardly, and Theo’s face turns red.

  I look between the two brothers.

  “What? At least I have underwear on. I usual—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Ans. Just stop.”

  What is Theo’s deal? He just spooned me for eight solid hours last night. I had less on last night than I do today.

  Attempting to change the subject, I go with, “How’s your shoulder?”

  He takes a deep breath, and his voice loses the hard edge it had earlier. “Stiff but better.”

  I smile, fussing with the blanket on his lap. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

  He shakes his head and then looks at his brother. “No. Just the porn you promised me.”

  Thad groans and stands. “I’m off to bed. I’ll see you two in the morning.”

  Theo waves him off.

  “Goodnight,” I add. “Thank you for all the help tonight.”

  Thad flashes me a genuine smile before staring at Theo with a look I can’t decipher.

  When the door to my bedroom closes, Theo finally turns back to me.

  “Are we going with my collection or yours?”

  I scoff. “What? I don’t have porn.”

  The twitch of his mouth says he’s joking. “I’ve seen under your bed, McCallister,” he drawls. “Terrible hiding spot by the way.”

  This man.

  “They’re yours! You put them there the last time your parents came for a visit.”

  He grins. “You don’t need to lie, Ans. I’m not judgy.”

  He’s a damn fool, but I can’t help but laugh.

  “Fine,” I relent, letting him keep his teasing. “We’ll go with yours since the ones under my bed are clopping porn.”

  I shake my head like I’m ashamed, and he laughs, pushing at my shoulder with his good arm. “They are not.”

  They aren’t furry porn based on cartoon characters, but I probably wouldn’t care if they were. That’s how hard up I am for this man.

  “You ready now or want to eat something?” I change the subject.

  He didn’t eat much tonight. Not that I monitor him like a baby, but when you live with a guy who’s also an athlete, you get used to huge portions of food. So when he only eats one piece of pizza instead of four or five, you worry he may be sick.

  “I’m fine.” He waves off my concern and kicks off the blankets I piled on top of him when he fell asleep. “Come on,” he orders, struggling to his feet. I don’t offer to help him because sometimes when he’s hurt, he isn’t in the best of moods. I’m not looking to get my feelings hurt and sleeping on the sofa, so I don’t have to sleep next to him.

  I busy myself with putting the food up and turning off all the lights when Theo finally lies down in the bed, his TV lighting up the hallway.

  I feel awkward tonight, and I’m not sure why. Last night we slept together. Hell, I can’t count the number of times we’ve slept
in the same bed. We’ve even watched porn together. Well, not really. I’ve caught him watching porn, and I might have hidden like a stalker and watched him longer than I intended.

  But never have we watched porn in the bed. Together. Under the covers.

  I shouldn’t be nervous. If I told Theo I didn’t want to watch porn in the bed with him, he would turn it off and never say anything about it. But I feel like this is a test. He knows I sabotage his dates and delete contacts out of his phone.

  He knows.

  And this is his test.

  Are we friends or not?

  I vote not, but what if I totally mess this up? I’ve never had a boyfriend longer than a day or two. I don’t know if I know what to do with a man or even how to keep one.

  “Anniston!” comes a loud voice that will probably get us a text from the neighbors to keep it down.

  “I’m coming!” I holler back softer than him, but still loud enough to get a complaint.

  Under the covers, reclined on a mound of pillows, lies the man I’d do anything for.

  “I figured you’d want to watch the one with the pizza delivery guy and the hot college student.” He tries to shrug but forgets his shoulder is taped up, so he settles for an eye roll.

  “What if I wanted the one where the baseball player boned the batgirl?” I return with a smile, sliding under the covers and purposely trying to avoid touching him.

  “Hmm…,” he muses. “I’m not sure I have that one… Unless you want to dip into my private stash?”

  I half laugh. One, the stupid videos those girls filmed on his phone have long been deleted. He would know if he ever watched them. And two, Theo doesn’t bang the batgirls. He likes the ones who know nothing about the sport other than they run and throw a baseball.

  Please… a batgirl.

  “I think dipping into your private stash would end up with us praying for your soul tonight.”

  All a lie.

  He may frequent bedrooms, but he’s a giving lover, or so I’ve heard. He’s also very upfront with what he’s looking for. Basically, a wet hole. He doesn’t care which.

  “You may be right,” he adds quietly, the air in the room changing into something more serious.

  I glance over to see what his deal is. His eyes are focused intently on the blue screen while his hand clenches the remote.

  “Are you okay?”

  I lay my hand over his and he flinches.

  Okay. Don’t touch him.

  Sighing, he turns off the TV and scoots down into the blankets. “Would you mind if we just went to bed? I’m more tired than I thought.”

  What happened?

  Were we not just playing around?

  Swallowing thickly, I nod and offer him a sad smile. “Sure. I’ll just put in my headphones and listen to music.”

  With a curt nod, he rolls over and turns off the light on his side, never turning back to face me.

  Okay then.

  Finding Theo’s headphones on the bedside table, I plug them into my phone and turn out the light, plunging us into darkness.

  Sleep normally comes easily to me but not tonight. Tonight, my mind races and I worry if I said something wrong. Is Theo mad at me? Does his shoulder hurt?

  I’m confused and probably more emotional than I should be about him shutting down and not snuggling with me like he usually does.

  I’m scrolling through my phone while Dermot Kennedy’s soulful voice fills my ears when I come across a video that plays over the music.

  “You’re ridiculous,” says the girl in the beautiful ball gown, twirling barefoot in the grass.

  It’s a video of me and Theo on prom night. No one had asked me to prom, and I almost didn’t go when Theo said we could go together.

  “It’s not ridiculous. Come dance with me. It’s the last time it’s acceptable for you to step on my feet and get away with it.”

  In the video, I stop twirling, my hair already falling down out of the intricate updo that took Grace an hour to do.

  Theo zooms in on my face, recording the want in my eyes. I remember I wanted to dance with him more than anything. But after he was pulled away by girl after girl, I gave up, wandering out to the baseball field where I didn’t have to hear the swoons and breathy promises of a great after-party at hotel rooms they had secured.

  I wasn’t that mad.

  I was used to Theo being center of attention.

  I was used to being his sidekick.

  I was used to coming second in his life.

  But then he came, his bow tie unknotted, his hair disheveled, and a frown on his face. He had asked what I was doing on the field. I remember telling him I liked the way the grass felt between my toes.

  He didn’t laugh.

  Instead, he took off his own shoes and asked me to dance.

  My voice in the video interrupts the memory.

  “Okay,” I say hesitantly.

  The camera switches to selfie-mode and Theo’s dimple fills the screen. He’s smiling, taking my hand, and twirling me around before handing me the camera. I fumble, but I find a hold with my hands around his neck and his around my waist.

  “Say you’re gonna miss me, McCallister,” he says softly.

  I remember panicking, wondering what the right thing to say was. Funny. Nothing has changed four years later. I’m still the same girl who wants more from him but is too scared to say it. Too scared to lose the only person I have left. The only person who’s looked out for me. In high school the fear came from rejection. Now, as an adult, the fear is being alone. Without someone to have dinner with. To watch games with. I wish someone would have sent me to charm school where I could have learned to be more social with girls.

  I could have had more friends and then losing Theo wouldn’t be so detrimental.

  But that wasn’t the case.

  I stuffed every memory and every dream in his pocket. I kept him close. I loved him in secret, and in a couple weeks, I’ll have nothing. All of it will be a distant memory.

  “I might miss you a little,” teases the younger girl in the video.

  She’s lying. She’s going to miss him a whole hell of a lot. But back then he meant when he went away to college, before we knew we would end up living together.

  “I’m gonna miss you a little too,” he returns softly.

  Gah, we were so stupid back then.

  Okay, fine. We’re still stupid. We’ve made no headway whatsoever since then.

  I stare at the screen, watching the girl smile and twirl in the arms of the boy she dreamt of marrying. As their bodies sway, the crickets chirping in the background, I find my hand inching down my sleep shirt until I reach the hem. Carefully, I slip it up my hips, so as not to wake Theo sleeping next to me.

  Theo’s laugh in the video makes me smile, and my hand works underneath my panties. Chills break out over my stomach, and I close my eyes, listening to his eighteen-year-old voice on the video.

  “I won’t bite, McCallister. You can come closer.”

  The pads of my fingers find the sensitive nub at my center and apply pressure, causing a groan to slip from my lips.

  “I am close,” I argue on camera, the audio of the video playing the background noise to my fantasy. Delicately, I massage the bundle of nerves until my panties are damp against my skin. Shivers take over as my skin turns from chilled to blazing hot.

  “Oh, God,” I murmur, biting the sheet at my chin, my back arching as my knees bend, allowing my hand better access.

  “Not close enough,” he says, and I nearly come from his statement alone. Faster, my fingers work, dipping lower and smearing the wetness around. I’m lost in his voice when suddenly the video stops playing.

  What the hel—

  I can’t see shit, but what I can see has me swallowing harshly. A hand—not mine—hovers over the pause button.

  Fuck.

  He can sleep through an earthquake and this wakes him? You have got to be shitting me.

  Theo pulls the
earbuds from my ears, and I let him.

  I’m not about to do it myself and let him see where my hand was. Although, he probably already knows, but let me have this hope.

  Clearing his throat, his unplugs the headphones and tosses them on the floor.

  “You know,” he starts, scooting closer and slipping his hand under the covers, placing it on my stomach, “I waited all night to dance with you.” He makes a noise low in his throat. “I looked everywhere for you.” His hand creeps down to my thigh. “And there you were, dressed like a royal princess, playing in the damn dirt.”

  I go to argue that I was in the grass and not in the dirt, but his hand covers the hand currently still in my panties. He doesn’t make a move to slip under them. He just leaves it there. Resting. Flinching.

  “I knew then, I was never going to be able to let you go.”

  Oh God. Can you come from just words alone? I think I’m about to give it a shot.

  “Press play,” he whispers by my ear. When I hesitate, he adds, “Unless you’re scared.”

  He was never going to let me go.

  I’m never going to let him go either.

  I press the play button, and his voice sounds over the speakers this time.

  “Now you’re close,” he praises on camera.

  I couldn’t have timed it better. I don’t know what exactly woke me, but I’d like to think my body has an internal alarm when Anniston McCallister is being naughty.

  “Now you’re close,” says my younger self when things were much simpler between me and Anniston. Before her grandparents died and set our relationship back. I couldn’t very well ask her out when she was grieving. And then when we moved in together, things just got even more fucked up.

  I was pent up. She was grieving, working hard to make her grandparents proud. She didn’t need me to barge into her plans and derail her. She needed a constant. She needed a friend. And I thought that’s all we’d ever be.

  Until I woke up to her moans.

  Until I woke up to her pleasuring herself to our prom video.

  It’s a sign.

  She could have been getting off to anything. Magic Mike. Fifty Shades of Grey. But she wasn’t. She was turned on by us dancing. And if that doesn’t make me rock-fucking-hard, then I don’t know what else will.