Page 54 of Pitcher

They are her lucky charm.

The ace in the hole.

Her precious.

And she wore them last night in the midst of my horny teammates. I couldn’t deal. I could not fucking deal. At all.

So I entertained Vanessa’s ramblings. I let her invade my personal space and make Anniston jealous like she was making me. I’m supposed to let her go, and I can’t.

I tried.

I tried acting like we’re only friends. I tried to see if Vanessa made my dick hard.

She didn’t.

The only thing she did was get in my damn way when Rhys thought he was about to take my girl home and get lucky.

Not a freaking chance.

Not while I’m still here.

So fuck Rhys.

Fuck the entire baseball team who thinks they are going to take a run at my girl when I leave.

It’s not happening.

Getting up and choosing to ignore Thad’s texts, I throw on some sweats and a semi-clean shirt, while I wait for Anniston in the kitchen. She has to forgive me after the birthday present I obsessed over for months.

She has to forgive me, right?

Sighing, I pour Anniston a cup of coffee just the way she likes it. Anxiety courses through me as the minutes tick by and her bedroom door never opens. The irrational part of me wants to barge through her door and tell her she’s being ridiculous. We fight all the time. Last night got a little heated, but I didn’t mean it. I was wrong; I know that. I embarrassed her—made her feel unwanted and unloved. She should know she isn’t though. I can’t take back my actions or the words I let free.

I’m sorry for what I did.

When I hear the remarks the guys say about her… I can’t handle it. Rage overcomes me, and all I want to do is snatch her up and run. Flee to the mountains or take an impromptu road trip so the guys will forget her. Hell, I’d even support her if she wanted to wear baggy clothes. But that’s wishful thinking. Anniston is unforgettable. I know that, and now guys are making their move since I’m so close to graduating.

I scrub a hand down my face and scowl at her still closed door.

Don’t do this, Ans. Don’t leave me.

Unable to deal, I throw her now cold cup of coffee into the sink and hear the cup shatter. I pause, listening for the click of the door to see if she comes out to yell at me.

She doesn’t.

“Mr. Von Bremen, can I see you for a moment?”

Motherfucker.

I nod to Professor Cline and sling my laptop in my bag with more force than necessary. After Anniston blew off our run together for the first time in years, my day went to shit. Everything went wrong. First, I ran out of shampoo and had to use hers. Now, all I can smell is her, and it’s driving me fucking crazy. As if that wasn’t enough punishment, I forgot my shake—because Anniston didn’t fucking make it!—and I was starving. So I figured, fuck it, today was shot anyway, and bought a jelly-filled doughnut, which I promptly spilled all over my shirt. I had to change into my dirty workout shirt from yesterday because, again, Anniston didn’t change out my bag!

And now, to top off the shit-tastic day, Professor Cline needs to see me after class. I already know what he wants to talk about, and I’m not in the mood. This is all Anniston’s fault. Sure, I said some mean shit and made her feel like an STD in a church choir, but seriously, she knows I didn’t mean it. My temper gets out of hand sometimes. This isn’t the first time this has happened.

Professor Cline clears his throat, and I realize everyone has cleared out, leaving the two of us. Grudgingly, I lumber down the steps to the front of the room where his desk sits off to the side. I slide my bag down to the floor, certain this won’t be a short conversation.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

I’m uncomfortable, okay? Anytime a teacher wants to discuss my condition, I break out into hives. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about my ADHD? Maybe he wants to tell me he appreciates my lack of discipline this morning and wants me to help teach next week’s class. It could happen.

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