Page 9 of The Pretender

Because, once upon a time, he told me everything.

CHAPTERTHREE

Sebastian

University CamFlix Competition Submission

Entry Number: 75

Sebastian and Valentina

First Interview Continued, or otherwise known as the fifteen minutes I didn’t shove Vee off the sofa

“How did Sebastian sabotage your video to start the war between you two?”

That’s the question everyone wants to know, but not one she likes talking about.

I can’t stop the snort that comes out of me. “Should I tell it, sweetie, or would you prefer to do the honors?” This entire interview has been a delight. I love fucking with her while she can’t do anything about it.

Her cheeks puff with a fake-ass smile. “I’ll tell it. I’d hate for your fans to think you were a camera hog.”

She intends for that comment to sting. It doesn’t. It’s no secret I enjoy being in front of the camera but seeing her squirm, while trying to spin this story into something less embarrassing, makes my fucking year. I nod, forcing down a shit-eating grin and extend my hand to the camera. “By all means, spill the tea, sweets.”

* * *

Not even rubbingit eases the stiffness. No, not my dick—although that maintained a decent pudge earlier—but my neck. This particular stiffy is brought on by sleeping on a flat pillow. The other stiffy was brought on by my delightful neighbor.

That I hate.

Most days.

Okay, probably around six out of the seven days of the week, if I’m being honest.

She puts the bat in batshit crazy, and for some reason, that gets me rock fucking hard.

My dick is a traitorous bastard.

“Sebastian.” Maverick, my friend, snaps his fingers in front of my face, effectively pulling my gaze from the window. “Focus. I don’t have time to sit here all day and play matchmaker. I have shit to do.”

He has time; he’s nowhere near as popular as he thinks he is. I level him with a flat look. “PlayingWho Wants to Be a Millionaireon the iPad is not having shit to do, Mav. It’s called being a boring motherfucker.”

Once deemed the best of my friends, Maverick has gone and abandoned me for a girl. His entire life now revolves around date nights and endless texts about what’s for dinner. It’s disgusting. You’ll never catch me abandoning my guys and poker nights in favor of cuddling with a certain someone. If I’m cuddling, you bet your ass it’s going to be because she was mind-blowing amazing in bed, and I want to make sure she stays put for round two.

“I’m answering emails, dick. Not playing a game. Not that it matters to you since you’re only half-ass giving Brad, here, your attention.”

He motions to the film student in front of us who, I’ll admit, I almost forgot was here for an interview. The neighbor’s window and this pounding headache have been quite the distraction this afternoon.

“My name is Brick,” the potential cameraman says, correcting Mav, who is already focused back on his phone screen.

“He doesn’t care,” I return, glancing one more time at the window. “All Maverick cares about these days is stupid sea lions and macaroni and cheese.”

Maverick’s head pops up at my comment, but he doesn’t bother denying my observations. Which really aren’t observations at all—more like facts. “Brian,” Mav addresses the guy, but keeps his gaze on me, “do you have a problem with being the voice of reason? How ‘bout being the designated driver because that’s really the job you’re interviewing for. Sebastian needs more of a nanny than a cameraman. I’m not sure why the flyer says otherwise.”

See what I mean? Having a girl has made him soft. Before Ainsley, he would have dropped at least a couple of F bombs in that spiel. I couldn’t be more disappointed.

“I’m not sure I understand the question,” Brick answers slowly, his eyes widening.

I wave off Brick’s concern and kick the wicker chair under Mav—the one I dragged from my neighbor’s patio—and hold up my middle finger. “Ignore him. He takes joy in other people’s misfortunes.”

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