Page 34 of Pitcher

Because I’m a closet asshole.

“Don’t mind me.” I wave off, covering one side of my face in a show of giving them privacy. “I just need to use the bathroom.”

It could be true.

“Oh God, I forgot you had a roommate,” the girl of the night adds.

I drop my hand so I can glare at her when I catch Theo’s gaze in the lamp light. His cheek twitches as he peels himself off the bottled blonde. He scratches the side of said cheek with his middle finger, and I almost smile.

Almost.

But Barbie interrupts me. “I bet you’ll be so happy to get your own place.”

My eyes scan for something to throw at her, but I see Theo shake his head.

Whatever. I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life.

I forge down the hall and act like she isn’t shirtless and stroking my man’s leg like she’s about to pounce.

No siree.

I march my petty ass straight into our shared bathroom and grab a pair of panties—not the crime scene ones—and a bottle of perfume, and head into Von Bremen’s room where I proceed to spritz the ever-loving fuck out of his navy sheets.

And when I think I have them completely saturated, I shove my undies under his pillow for good measure.

Two can play this game, Barbie.

He will be relieved to have his own place, my toned ass.

You have no idea the shit I do for this man.

No. Idea.

Do not think I am his annoying little sister.

Do not think I didn’t feel his fingers slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants that were covering my ass.

Do not think I was asleep.

Do not think I didn’t feel him lift me and carry me to my room before laying me down and kissing my lips.

Do not think he minds living with me!

Deep breath, Anniston.

Deep fucking breath.

You know he likes to do this.

You know he retreats anytime feelings come into play.

You know this.

Right. I know this.

Barbie is one of a million. Well, not a million. Hopefully, he kept it under twenty-five. The point is, Barbie is no one. She’s not a threat to me.

She’s a distraction.

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