Page 27 of The Fake Out

I shrugged. I hadn’t seen her. If I had to guess, she was avoiding me. My decision to FaceTime her two nights ago was a spur-of-the-moment thing. We were chatting, and I just wanted to hear her voice. So I’d called. It took less than a minute to gather that she didn’t view it as a welcome interruption. That hurt, but I’d done my best to push the pain away. I had never wanted to just talk to a woman before, so I’d never done anything like that. And immediately, I regretted it. Her discomfort was palpable, and the conversation was stilted.

Plus, I’d hardly been able to focus because her tits were trying to burst out of that tiny shirt she was wearing. It was all I could do to not stare at them. As soon as I’d hung up, I’d gotten into the shower to jack off, pretending it was her huge tits and not my hand rubbing my dick.

I was at a loss for how to handle my thoughts and reactions to her. All kinds of emotions rushed through me every time I even thought about the woman.

We’d gotten in late last night from the road stretch, and when I got home, her door had been closed. Since my bathroom was still out of commission, I’d skipped the shower I usually took to unwind and had just gone to bed. The last thing I wanted to do was bug her again. So far today, I’d been home from the day game for thirty minutes, and the whole time, her door had been shut tight. Again. So the chances were good that she was avoiding me. But most days, she did spend a lot of time in her room, so maybe I was overthinking it.

I scratched my head.

“Is she not home?” he asked again, yanking his phone out of his pocket.

He was tapping at the screen when a door opened down the hall. “I’m here. You don’t need to be an asshole.” Gianna stomped barefoot into the room. She was dressed in black leggings and a matching crop top, and her nails were painted a bright red.

Without my permission, my imagination ran wild, picturing her scratching those nails down my chest, then gently wrapping one soft hand around my dick.

I glanced away before I swallowed my tongue or my eyes bugged out of my head. Every article of clothing the woman owned was created to be a torture device especially for me. So why the fuck did I spend any time she wasn’t around desperate to see her? I’d be walking around sniffing oranges if I wasn’t careful.

Teeth gritted, I kept my attention fixed on the table in front of me and cracked my knuckles.

“I thought you said she wasn’t home.” Chris scowled at me.

“Clearly I am,” she snapped.

I’d yet to get a single word in, but with the two of them, that wasn’t unusual.

“You really need to find someone besides me to cut your damn hair.”

“You know I don’t like people to touch me. I don’t give you shit about constantly getting new sheets everywhere you go. Don’t give me shit either,” Chris muttered, his mouth falling into a tight line.

This was normal for them. The bickering. So it made no sense that I had to fight to stay in my seat and appear unconcerned rather than tell Chris to fuck off. What made my reaction even more strange was that I never argued with him. Hell, I owed him so much.

I rubbed a hand down my face and pulled out my phone to distract myself. Once I’d unlocked the screen, I read through my sister’s text messages. Isabella was graduating from high school soon and wanted to make sure I’d be there. Like I’d miss it.

“You’ve been doing it for ten years. I don’t see why it’s an issue now.”

“Chris.” Her voice got louder, grabbing my attention.

Quietly, I watched the interaction. If he overstepped, then, brother or not, he’d have to leave. I didn’t even care that this was his apartment. I would toss him out.

But they both just stood, arms crossed, glaring at each other. Like a contest. Finally, Chris broke.

“You can’t mean that I should find someone new today,” Chris scoffed. “We have your thing tomorrow, and I need it cut.”

Gi huffed, and her shoulders dropped. “I don’t get why everyone loves you. You are the worst. But fine. I’ll cut your hair.” She spun on her heel and stomped out of the room. “But I will not be the one sweeping it all up,” she shouted as she stomped down the hall.

“I don’t get why she’s so mad.” Chris pulled the stool Gi used for painting off the tarp and brought it to the center of the room.

“When did you ask her about the haircut?” I knew from experience with my own sisters that sometimes it was just timing.

He shrugged. “I told her I was coming like a half hour ago.”

“Oh.” I tried not to, but I couldn’t help but laugh. He was such an idiot. “That’s probably why she’s pissed.”

“What?” He lifted a hand and cocked his head.

“Typically, when you want a favor from someone, you ask them.” I shook my head but still chuckled. “You can’t just tell them. Don’t be a dick.”

Eyes narrowed, he scanned the room. “Huh.” With that, he pulled out his phone and busied himself with it.

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