Page 67 of Praising the Pitcher

“I don’t feel anything,” I lie through my teeth. “We’re just friends.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” my sister throws back in true Haven fashion. “My bullshit meter is reading extra high today, FYI.”

“It doesn’t matter!” I throw the football across the room, and it smashes into the chair in front of my desk, causing it to swivel. “There’s no point in trying to get me wound up right now because none of it matters.”

“And why is that?” She sounds calm, but I can hear the annoyance bubbling.

“Because she’s your friend,” I say, and even though it’s the truth, it’s only half of it.

“And D is yours.” Her voice lifts. “Your very best friend. And yet, that’s not stopping us from⁠—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” I grimace, not knowing where she was going with that. With her, it’s hard to say. “I don’t need to know anything that goes on between the two of you.”

I look at her long enough to catch an eye roll.

“I wasn’t going there, asshole.” She scoffs. “My point is, if you like her, which you do—I can tell when you stare at her with your stupid heart eyes—you should just tell her how you feel.” She sighs, running the top of her finger over a fray in my comforter. “Because I’m pretty sure she feels the same way.”

That catches my attention, but I play it off like it’s no big deal.

“Oh yeah? Is that why she’s on a date with Benny right now?” I toss out bitterly, like I didn’t fucking tell the girl to go on said date.

My sister simply stares at me. “For a King, you’re so dumb sometimes,” she utters with a soft shake of her head. “Seriously. How do we even share the same genes?”

I stare blankly at my sister. This is coming from the girl who was in love with my best friend for years and acted like she wasn’t.

“Says the girl who used to doodle Dallas and Haven forever in her journal but then pretended like she hated him …”

Instantly, her eyes narrow and she smacks the bottom of my leg. “Shut up, you little asshole.” She rolls onto her back. “I knew you used to snoop.”

“In my defense, you never locked your door, and you left your diary everywhere.” I shrug.

That lightens the mood—for a moment anyway. Eventually, she sighs into my quiet room.

“What are you scared of, Noah?” My sister’s voice is soft now, laced with concern. “Be real with me.”

Suddenly, my throat feels dry, and I swallow, trying to relieve it. I sigh, knowing if I’m not honest with her, she’ll just stay here all night and keep asking. But before I can even articulate a thought, she speaks again.

“Getting hurt?” she whispers, not an ounce of judgement in her tone.

It takes me a beat to respond, but I know I can’t run from my sister’s questions, so why should I even bother?

“That, but more … hurting someone else,” I admit. “My relationship with Nat⁠—”

“Bitch,” she utters, but then flashes me an apologetic glance. “Sorry. Go on.”

My sister and my ex were close friends—best friends, even. I hate that they had to stop simply because I decided to date her and fall in love. Now, Natalie is having a baby, and my sister isn’t even going to get to be part of that.

All because of me.

Well, and because Natalie decided to spread her legs for my best friend …

“I never used to be insecure.” I say words out loud I’ve never said before. “When I was with Nat, I never wondered if she was really home when she told me she was. Never got jealous if another man gave her attention because I knew—well, I thought I knew—it didn’t matter.” I exhale a frustrated breath. “And then she showed me I was wrong. That I should have been checking in more often on where she was and who she was with.”

I’m met with silence, and coming from my sister, that’s not a usual thing. Finally, she responds, her voice low and thoughtful.

“You’re worried your own insecurities will hurt Gigi,” she whispers. “Because of everything that happened with Nat—bitch face.”

“Yeah,” I barely mutter. “Gigi’s dad has fucked her up enough. He’s spent her entire life projecting his own uncertainties and shortcomings on her. She deserves someone who’s going to build her up.” I swallow back a lump of emotion. “Not some insecure, jealous fuck like me.”