by Kristy Marie
Good shit like that doesn’t last long for people like me—to bastards like me. People like me are angry motherfuckers. Sporadic and irrational are the founding traits of our personality.
It’s science, or maybe it’s the whole nature versus nurture thing? Or maybe it’s because I’m a greedy asshole and I took what I didn’t deserve.
You grow up knowing everything is shared when you have a sibling your own age. You learn to be clever and react quickly when something catches your eye.
In this case, I knew from the moment I saw Anniston McCallister that I wanted her.
Really. Fucking. Bad.
I wasn’t sharing her, and I sure as fuck wasn’t doing temporary with her.
So I became ruthless.
I charged my way through every boy who dared flash a smile in her direction, including my brother.
She was mine. All fucking mine.
Where I went wrong in this quest for permanence was growing complacent. I grew comfortable as I obliterated every dick out of her life. Spending time with her became easy…
Until now.
Until I’m left with four fucking weeks.
And I want every goddamned minute of them.
So fuck Thad and his stupid nachos and ridiculous shorts.
Fuck his and Anniston’s friendship.
And fuck him for stealing even forty-five seconds of my time left with her.
I know that sounds trivial and petty, and sure, I should be less upset about losing less than a minute of Anniston’s attention and more upset over the mediocrity of my performance, but I’m not. I’m man enough to admit I’m being an asshole about something stupid.
But you don’t understand.
Anniston McCallister behind the plate is like not washing my socks before game day. It’s a must-have or everything turns to shit.
The fact is, I can’t remember a time when I haven’t seen those blue eyes shining in excitement through the fence. Let me put it in perspective for you: having Anniston’s sole attention feels like what I imagine standing on the mound in game seven of the World Series with your last pitch deciding the fate of the championship. The hope in the fans’ eyes as they stand, cheering for you, rooting for you to reach deep within your soul and channel every ounce of power into one solitary pitch.
That’s what it feels like when Anniston’s eyes are on me.
It’s that moment Thad took from me.
So call me needy, call me a diva, I really don’t give a fuck.
I’ve grown accustomed to Anniston’s attention and maybe even… her love. Either way, I can no longer live without it. And as the days draw nearer to my departure, I should feel anything other than angry. I should be happy. I’m finally leaving this small town and getting out from under my father’s business. But I’m not happy. Because each game, each practice, is a countdown to losing my constant. My biggest fan. My girl.
Who is going to stare at me from behind the net when I’m in Washington? Who will call the pitches they know I can throw? Who will inspire me to dig deep, fight the feeling of failure, and chase my dreams?
No one! That’s fucking who!
Because the only person in my life who inspires these feelings is staying right. Fucking. Here. In Madison. With my brother—let’s not forget that little tidbit—and the other thousands of men I warded off for the last seven years.
I’m leaving her alone, unprotected from the hound dogs of central Georgia.
And it crushes my soul.
To the extent I can’t sleep. I barely eat—unless she cooks for me, let’s not get too dramatic. All I can do is think about leaving her behind.
For someone else to love her.
To steal her away.
Seeing her standing there behind the fence, blonde hair falling out of my hat, was just like staring back at the fourteen-year-old girl who showed up to my game for the first time all those years ago. I’d found myself in the middle of a tied game with a full count and twitchy hitter. I remember wiping the sweat from my brow and rubbing the ball in my hands until my breaths evened out. There was no point looking into the stands for support. My parents had never come to any of my games. They had better things to do than sweat and watch their son sling a ball around in the dirt.
I’d grown accustomed to pitching to a faceless crowd. I’d grown tired of the game with each throw. What was the point? At first, baseball was something I loved. Later it became an escape.
Standing on that mound in ninth grade? It had become a chore.
I was bored.
Baseball was routine, nothing like it used to be when me and my dad would spend the evenings in the front yard tossing the ball around.
So I pissed the talent away with my moods.
Until I heard her voice.
“Stop fucking around, Von Bremen, and finish this!”
I remember my head snapping up, locating that voice I talked to every night on the phone. Anniston McCallister had become the constant in my life. Someone I looked forward to seeing every holiday when I could return home.
The girl I had spent my whole summer laughing and arguing with stood on the bleachers, blocking several parents’ view, with her hands cupped around her mouth.
She was beautiful.
She was loud.
And she was at my school.
At my game.
Wearing my number with what looked like a homemade shirt.
And she dropped an F-bomb that sent collective gasps all around the bleachers.
I was so goddamned proud in that moment I could have volunteered somewhere stupid with Thad.
And then she went and raised those scrawny arms in the air like she was silently asking me what the fuck I was doing.
I was done.
Then and fucking there.
And then she gave me the sign. I only knew two pitches back then, and she knew one was better than the other.
She gave me the sign for the curve.
And when I threw it—perfectly on the corner—her arms went up and her scream deafened all of the uppity women next to her.
But it wasn’t that moment that sealed Anniston’s fate.
It wasn’t her smile either.
Nope.
It was when she jumped on those silver benches, turning around to high-five her grandfather, that I knew she was mine.
Because she told me in thick black tape that stretched across her back, spelling out my name.
Von Bremen.
It was the first shirt of many she would wear to my games after I packed my shit and threatened my father with failing grades if he didn’t let me attend Anniston’s school. It was low and immature but was exactly what I needed. My constant.
So again, really, today’s outburst is all Anniston’s fault.
She made me greedy.
She made me want it all.
And Thad got in the way of my peace.
“Don’t you have something better to do tonight than hang out at a baseball party?” I hold back a glare, picking at the label on Anniston’s lotion. After the game, we stopped by the house so Ans could shower Thad’s breath off of her. Okay, fine. It was dirt.
“Anniston invited me.”
Of course she did. She’s a bleeding fucking heart.
“Why? Do you not want me to come?”
I almost groan and roll my eyes, but I don’t because Thad Von Bremen would think he still has a shot with my girl. And he doesn’t. Just because I haven’t asked her out yet, does not mean she’s available. It’s an unwritten rule.
“You can come. I was just curious,” I lie. “I figured you might have a date with Sheila.”
My brother’s eyes go squinty. “Her name is Sasha, and she has a study session tonight.”
Ah, the smart girls. They always have their priorities fucked up.
“Don’t look at me like that. I do get laid, Theo.”
No, he doesn’t. Otherwise he would be at this “study session” with Sonya, fingering her under the ta
ble when she answered a question right. Instead, he’s third-wheeling it with me and Anniston by attending a victory party.
“I didn’t say anything.” I laugh, amused at his crimson cheeks. See? No pussy for Thaddeus Von Bremen.
“At least I have a girlfriend,” he counters, acting like that’s a trophy-worthy statement.
It’s not.
“Having a girlfriend is like—” I take a breath and look at the ceiling as if I’m searching for some profound words. “—having a puppy.” I bite my lip, containing my grin and hold up one finger. With as much seriousness as I can manage, I rattle off, “You have to feed them premium, organic food or they will get a stomachache and vomit.”
Thad rolls his eyes, but I keep going, holding up the second finger.
“If you don’t take them out or give ’em attention, they whine.”
Another finger.
“Their grooming will cost you a small fortune.”
I start to make my last point, but a hand covers my fingers, pushing them down.
“But if you stroke them just right, they might lick your fingers and play with your balls.”
Thad coughs.
But me? I smile so big my fucking cheeks hurt.
Did I not say Anniston was my girl?
I slide off the barstool and turn, facing a grinning and freshly showered Ans.
“Are you saying you want a dog, McCallister?”
She shrugs, taking a sip of my beer without asking. “I could go for something humping my leg every now and again.”
This time it’s Thad who laughs and me who chokes.
The fuck? She wants someone to hump her?
Her comment grounds me to reality.
Anniston is going to move on. She’s going to find a dude to hump her.
“Are you finally ready or do we need to wait a million more years?” I snap, my asshole back intact and ready to make people cry tonight.
“Come on, Teddy, just because you’re a pussy kind of guy doesn’t mean you have to hate on us dog lovers.”
Don’t lay her over this island, Theo. Don’t rip those shorts down her legs and spank the fucking sass out of her. Not tonight, dude.
Not. Tonight.
“That was cringy,” I lie. “I hope you aren’t planning to crack awkward jokes tonight.”
I shudder, and it causes her to throw her head back and polish off my beer before breezing past me and throwing over her shoulder, “Find some pussy tonight, Von Bremen. You seem pent up.”
If glaring was in the Guinness World Records, I would hold the number one spot. “I’m not pent up. You took forever in the bathroom and now I’m tired.”
And horny.
But that’s beside the fact.
“Stay here,” she suggests, slipping on her sandals by the door.
She’s crazy if she thinks that’s happening.
“Yeah, bro,” Thad adds, like he wants me to push him down the stairs. “Stay here and rest. I’ll look after Ans tonight.”
Mom will miss him, but she’ll eventually move on, right?
Ugh.
I look at Thad and then at a grinning Anniston before I kill the mood completely.
“The only rest I plan on doing is between transferring my dick from a mouth to a pussy. Now get in the fucking car before I leave both of you.”
Unfortunately, my mood hasn’t improved since we left and drove here in silence. I considered apologizing but thought better of it.
Anniston baited me and so did Thad. I reacted like I always do. Like an ass.
“Good game, Theo,” some girl coos in my ear, her breath smelling like cheap beer and mint gum.
It does nothing for me.
“Thanks,” I say flatly, taking a drink of the disgusting beer someone shoved in my hand as soon as I got here. Anniston took off about half an hour ago when my teammates pushed me out the door and onto the back patio where they were set up around a chimenea.
I didn’t want to join them. Frankly, I would rather let Wendy with the fat hands finger my asshole.
But I’m supposed to participate, because teams that have a strong bond win games.
I think it’s total bullshit.
Winning teams are because of hard work, not because we fart around and have a beer under the stars.
“Are you always that serious on the mound?”
Is she still fucking here?
“He’s always serious,” chimes Brody, my catcher and best friend. “Only McCallister can charm the devil into smiling.”
Was my best friend.
“Ha!” I say, unamused before flipping him off.
“Who’s McCallister?”
The girl who had been lurking behind my back finally grows enough balls to come stand in front of me, working her way in between my legs.
Any other night, I would be relieved I didn’t have to charm a girl into my pants. This one made it easy. She’s not ugly. Her hair is down and wavy in a way that looks messed. Jeans with more holes than fabric cling to her toned thighs, and I can totally see a camel toe. Pair that with a sweet, rounded face that her daddy is probably proud of, and you get a decent, hometown girl, whom I will more than likely fuck before the night is over.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, opening my legs wider so she can sit on my lap. She needs no more invitation from me.
“I’m Monica,” she chirps out with far too much enthusiasm.
I look at Brody who grins, darting his eyes to the patio doors.
The fucker does it on purpose. He knows I have to look.
Hell, I haven’t stopped looking.
Anniston fucking McCallister in her barely there tank top is set up at the beer pong table with Thad and another guy I don’t know.
“Who the fuck is that guy?” I ask Brody, straightening my spine and moving Monica out of my line of sight. Brody purposely hesitates to get on my last damn nerve. “Don’t fuck with me. Who is he?”
He chuckles. “Bo. He’s new. Just transferred from Savannah State.”
What kind of name is Bo? The dead kind if he grabs her again. I don’t give a shit she is wiping the floor with these douches in beer pong. She could easily win in any other game as well. Anniston is a natural athlete. If she plays something, you better know she aims to win it.
“I heard he’s quite curious about your roommate.”
He’s baiting me. I know this, but somehow I can’t help but to respond.
“I hope you told him about Anniston’s crazy fetish with diaper bondage.”
Monica shifts on my lap and makes a noise like she needs attention or be pushed off.
“I didn’t, but I figured you’d prefer to warn him in person like you do everyone.”
How thoughtful.
“Bo is prelaw,” he adds. “He’s finishing his senior year at Berkshire.”
Poor Monica doesn’t get a warning. At Brody’s admission, I jump up, sending Monica down in a tangle of arms and skinny jeans.
“Anniston’s Berkshire?”
His nod is slow and amused.
“Yep.”
Fuck me.
Looks like Ans might get her wish. After all, Bo is a dog’s name.
Bo is a terrible beer pong partner. So bad, I want to ask him to feign injury and gracefully retire to the sofa so Thad and I can kick some ass like we always do at these boring-ass parties. You would think baseball players would know how to party, but they don’t. Football players on the other hand…
“Your turn, cutie,” he interrupts.
If I didn’t mention it before, Bo is also horrible at nicknames.
Apart from those two things, though, he isn’t so bad. He’s handsome with his surfer good looks and endearing southern charm. His hair looks like it’s in a perpetual state of chaos, and I’ve yet to see him frown.
I smile easy, letting the nickname thing go, and turn to face the table.
“If you bounce the ball hard to the left, I think you could get the cup on the edge,” Thad whispe
rs in my ear.
Instead of being my cheerleader like Bo, Thad knows exactly what kind of talk I desire in the middle of a ridiculous game. I’m not like other girls, so his strategy talk turns my smile into something more genuine. With no need to clarify, I flick my wrist and release the ball just how Thad instructed. The ball bounces right into the red solo cup, making a plopping noise.
“Drink up, boys.” I laugh. “Hell, I might even drink with you.”
I eye the several full cups on our side of the net. “From the way this game is panning out, I might end up being the DD tonight.”
Theo’s teammates groan but take it like the men they aren’t and designate the rookie to down the cheap alcohol in the cup the ball landed.
“So… do you go to Cantor,” Bo asks, leaning against the table while the guys chant for the rookie to “chug.”
Thad makes an amused noise that I ignore.
“No, I attend Berkshire.”
Bo’s eyebrows lift. “Oh. How about that? I do too.”
How unfortunate.
I flash him a smile like I’m impressed. Truth is, I’ve been attracted to dozens of guys at school, but it doesn’t matter. Because none of them knot my stomach like the man I go home to every night.
With fake enthusiasm, I return, “What a coincidence.”
Thad resumes the game by taking his turn, ringing yet another cup and making the baseball team look like little league players.
“Do you stay on campus?”
Oh, jeez. Here we go. Let it go, dude. I’m not interested.
“Uh, no. I live with my roommate.”
And he will make you cry if you show up at our apartment. He’s considerate like that.
“Oh really? Does she go to Berkshire too?”
“He goes to Cantor,” comes Thad’s voice. “Your turn.”
Bo’s expression goes from excited to confused in a second.
“He?”
Sigh. Yes, Bo. He. As in male. As in he carries a Y chromosome.
Thad grows exasperated as Bo ruins the fun of the game for him. “Anniston and my brother have lived together for four years.” Thad gives Bo this look I can’t quite make out.
“Oh.”
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.
