Page 22 of Pitcher

Yeah, oh. We’re complicated, Bo.Some would even say we’re stupid for not being together. It’s not like I haven’t tried to incentivize Von Bremen to take the leap into relationship territory, but somehow the timing is always off.

Truth be told, we’re scared. We’ve been through so much. What if we take this step and destroy the only good relationship we have?

Yeah, it’s a fine line. And we walk it every single day.

I chance a look through the glass doors leading out to the patio and see Theo glaring at me. A girl with chestnut hair is wrapped around him, playing with the curls sticking out of the bottom of his hat.

My curls.

Immediately I sober, glaring right back at the man I’m riding home with. Maybe. I might decide to ride home with someone else now.

“So are you two like… together?”

Bo is not letting this go. Good. I could use a distraction since Theo is obviously celebrating without me.

“No, we’re just friends,” I grit out before turning around and flashing him a fake smile.

Friends. Fucking friends.

Ugh.

Bo grins, and it’s easy and extremely cute. “Good. Just friends is great.”

Is it, Bo? Really?

I try not to frown and agree like I’m supposed to. “Yep.”

Back in the game, Bo extends his hand to me, the pong ball elevated in his fingers. “Blow and give me good luck.”

And this is why Bo and I would never work.

Skill and luck are two separate things. We aren’t at a wishing well here. We are playing a game. A game that requires skill. A skill Thad and I have and Bo lacks. Blowing on his fucking ball is not going to help any of us.

But the hope and innocence on his face makes me feel like shit, so I do it anyway.

“Maybe I’ll just keep this ball instead?” he teases.

Ugh. Yeah, see? No, this will not work, but before I can respond my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Theo: This isn’t Vegas. Douche doesn’t need you spitting on his ball. He already sucks enough.

This motherfucker.

How dare he insult me for blowing on the boy’s ball for luck?

Anniston: This isn’t a pay by the hour motel. You and Monica need to take your horrible manners to a back room and not where everyone can witness your tasteless attraction.

I watch as he reads my message, a slow grin pulling across his face. A second later, another text dings.

Theo: Her name is Martha, and she’s giving me tips on deep conditioning my hair.

He’s fucking with me and trying to make me laugh. It’s not going to work this time.

Anniston: Her name is Monica, and she’s a Poli Sci major. Take it somewhere else.

I start to tuck my phone away when a terrible wave of pettiness hits me, and I send one more.

Anniston: Like I’m about to.

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