Page 32 of Pitcher

When Hines and Grace died, I made a promise I would do something with my life, something that would make them proud. I stand by my promises. And no matter how much I want to stay with Theo, I need to do this.

Madison is my home.

I don’t hate it like he does.

I don’t wish to travel and see the world. I just want to make a difference. And Madison is a wonderful town to start with.

Shaking off the sadness of losing my best friend, I hurry and change into Theo’s clothes, so I don’t keep him waiting.

When I’m done, I find him exactly as I left him, head bowed and playing on his phone. His gaze is slow and lazy as he starts at my feet and ends with the messy bun on my head.

His throat works as he tries for a smirk and fails.

“You look like…”

I make a show and give him a little twirl, knowing I look like a drowned cat in his clothes.

“Mine.” I stop midtwirl, but he’s quick to amend his statement. “I mean my fangirl.”

It feels like I’ve been shot.

Really? He thinks I look like one of those girls who pine over him in his tight baseball pants? I don’t think so. I feel my face go squinty.

Fuck his fangirls.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask, trying not to get all bitchy.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Yeah. You want to ride with me?”

Fuck, no, I don’t. Not now. I need some alone time to calm my hormonal ass down.

“Nah. I don’t want to leave my car. I’ll meet you at home.”

I take a deep breath and smile at my roommate. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

And making me feel treasured, only to take it away and make me feel like no one.

He nods, turning away and heading out the door, leaving me standing with my heart in my hands and his clothes on my back.

I’ve calmed down and put my crushed heart back where it belongs.

In my hollow chest.

“Do you want bacon?” I call out to a shirtless Theo who is lounging on the sofa, scrolling through the movie options.

“We live in the south,” he says with a horrified face. “We always have bacon.”

I figured, but you never know. Most days we go healthy. When we don’t, we always run it off.

“You don’t have to be a smart-ass,” I return with a frown.

Okay, so I’m still a little sensitive. Let’s blame it on my period.

“Hurry up, McCallister, so I can hug your emotional ass.”

His smile is what causes the flutters to tickle my insides.

But rather than let him know how excited I am for him to “hug my emotional ass,” I flip him off.

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