Page 59 of Pitcher

“I can handle myself,” I say calmly. Theo needs to chill the fuck out; his face is red, and he looks like he could destroy property with the bat in his hand.

An evil laugh filters through the humid air, clinging to the back of my neck.

“Is that right?” he sneers, unlatching the gate and barging his way in. His cheek twitches with barely controlled rage, and I take an instinctive step back. “Tell me, Anniston,” he mocks, crowding me against the fence, the fastballs whizzing past his head like small rockets. “Tell me what you would have done if Rhys had you in this position.”

Before I can even digest his words, Theo shoves me against the fence, his hips pinning me to the harsh metal. He drops the bat, grabbing my hip with one hand and my jaw with the other.

“Fight me, Anniston. Show me how you would have fought him off.”

A stupid noise escapes me. Damn him.

Damn.

Him.

I try shoving him away, but he’s too strong and I get zero traction.

“Fine!” I scream at the stupid smirk on his face, but he doesn’t let me go. “I knew you would come after me,” I admit, hitting him in the shoulder. I hate that he makes me crazy. I hate I care if he goes out with other girls. I hate I love him and I’m not sure he feels the same.

Tears well in the corner of my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. Not even when he frowns.

“You wanted me to come after you?”

I nod.

It’s the truth. I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me, but now I just admitted I was a jealous roomie, my heart sinks to my toes. What am I doing? Am I really about to tell Theo I was jealous that he was with Vanessa?

“I, uh… I was—” Madly in love with you. “—hormonal. And tired.” I pat him on the chest and force him to the side, so he doesn’t step back into the pitches. “I’m sorry. I knew Rhys was a dickbag. I think I was just hurt. It wasn’t how I wanted to spend my birthday. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Smooth, Anniston, real smooth.

Theo looks stunned, scratching his chin and running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“How did you want to spend your birthday?”

I shrug. “I wanted to go watch the Braves one last time with you.” I shrug again. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.” Squatting, I pick up his bat and tip my chin at the ball machine. “You want to hit some more?”

He shakes his head, a frown firmly planted on his face.

“I’m sorry. I should have run with you this morning,” I add. The bat hangs heavy in my hands, and the guilt over his test hits me. “I should have studied with you and reminded you to take your medicine this morning.”

The bat eases from my hand before it’s replaced by his warmth.

“Look at me,” he demands.

It’s hard because the tears really want to fall, but I hold firm and keep them sealed up where they belong and lift my head to meet the concerned depths of his royal blues.

“I’m sorry for being an asshole and making you feel like a little girl unable to fend for yourself. I was so worried about you, and the thought of Rhys—”

His mouth is like a semitruck barreling down the freeway when it crashes into mine. This kiss isn’t soft. It’s angry and brutal. Our teeth clash and our tongues fight for the upper hand. And then it’s over as quickly as it began.

Damn you, Von Bremen.

He steps back, his lips wet with the evidence that we, in fact, just kissed. And by the way his jaw is working, he wants to do it again.

And again.

Until we’re writhing and naked beneath each other.

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