Page 45 of The Pretender

“Fine,” I nearly growl out. “I’ll find you something.”

Without waiting to see her grin in victory, I stalk over to my dresser and start rummaging through the drawers. I find several shirts I think would match my clothes, but with each one, I find a reason for her not to wear it. I like it. I don’t want to burn it. She might look too good in this one. You know, the basics.

Finally, in the drawer I never use. The one with the sweaters my mom sends for Christmas, and the stupid pajama sets my sister makes us take pictures in, I pull out a flannel top. One that belongs to the pants I’m currently wearing. I’ve only worn it once in a stupid Christmas card photo that I refuse to look at, but, for some reason, I’ve never thrown it out.

Considering Vee loves flannel, it’ll be perfect. I won’t mind tossing it when she’s finished. And besides, flannel will kill any boner I might get by seeing her in it.

“Here.” I toss her the shirt, and she catches it in midair.

“You want your ‘girlfriend’ to wear a flannel shirt in a video?”

I shrug. “It matches my pants. It’ll look totally ‘Gram worthy.’”

I don’t add that the baggy flannel will also make me and my dick less likely to poke her in the back. I feel like she might not take that comment well.

“Okay. Can you finish setting up while I change?”

I groan just thinking about her changing in my bathroom.

“Are you feeling sick again?” she asks, and dammit if her concern doesn’t make my stomach feel weird.

“I’ll be fine,” I lie.

No need to tell her the truth. She’ll think I’m being a typical horny dude, and I am, but it’s different when it comes to Valentina. Our history complicates things, and it’s not a territory I want to inch back into. That ship of ours has sunk to the bottom of the ocean where pirates and a Megalodon shark have ravaged it into nothing but pieces. We’re incapable of being put back together.

“Okay.” Vee gives me one more once over before she heads into the bathroom and closes the door. When I hear the lock click in place, I finally take a breath.

Why does this girl make everything around me so damn complicated? Even breathing seems hard when she’s near.

My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s been going off all morning and, just like the last fifteen times, I send it to voicemail. I have been busy dying, so I haven’t had the strength to deal with my mom or my sister. They are just going to have to give me a fucking second to call them back and chat for an hour about when I can come home and visit them.

I don’t like visiting my parents. At all. My sister, I see more often, but that’s because she forces herself into my life and, since she pays for my house, she also will pay for a locksmith to let her in if I ‘pretend’ I’m not here. She’s pretty relentless when she wants to be.

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah,” I return through the door.

“Will you bring me my bookbag?” Her voice sounds close to the door, as if she’s speaking through the crack. “It’s by the door.”

“Why?” I return. What the hell does she need from her bag in order to change her shirt?

“Sebastian!”

“Fine.” Whatever. I lumber into the living room and down the hall to the foyer and see her bag on the floor. It has a dog hair on the front, so I dust it off and take it to the bathroom. “Here,” I say, “Open the door so I can hand it to you.”

She does and mutters a quick, “thanks,” before snatching it out of my hand and closing the door in my face. When she re-locks the door, I mutter, “Okay.”

Women are the strangest creatures. I’ve never understood them and I doubt I’ll ever truly figure them out completely.

I plop down in Vee’s chair. It’s surprisingly comfortable. It might look like it’s in need of a new home in a good dumpster, but it does have this comforting quality about it. I sit back and rest my head against the wicker. I feel tired but not tired enough to sleep more. Luckily, I will perk up with new energy as soon as Vee does whatever the fuck she’s doing and comes out of the bathroom. Watching her dance, albeit in my shirt, should be very entertaining.

My phone buzzes once. It’s a text and not a call. I texted Maverick earlier today and he never responded. I swipe the screen and see the text is not from Maverick, but from my sister. Again.

Mom #2: Do you want me to leave the Hamptons to come kick your ass? Answer your phone.

I grin.My sister might live in this fancy house and vacation in the Hamptons but uppity, she will never be.

Me: Don’t feel good. I’m alive though so let me watch porn in peace and heal.

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