“I don’t have enough time or energy to focus on petty things.” The lies. I know why she’s doing it. She’s keeping me at an arm’s length by pissing me off, and she’s doing a hell of a job at it.

“Then why the fuck are you taking my batteries?” I hold the remote up in the air, shaking it as if that will help this conversation in any way.

“Because I needed them to masturbate, Ryot, if you need to know. I’ve been burning up batteries a lot lately. So excuse me for delighting in a round of orgasms. Not all of us can just stroke ourselves in the shower.”

Nostrils flared.

Jaw so tight I think I might break a tooth.

And hands ready to rip open a fucking wall, I don’t respond.

There is nothing to respond to.

So I stomp up to my room where I have a Costco-sized pack of batteries. I refill the remote. Walking back down the stairs, I hear the distant moaning of Myla combined with the buzzing sound of her vibrator.

Yup, she’s really trying to break me.

And it’s working.

I walk out on the patio, shut the door so I don’t have to hear her when she comes, and turn on the TV to the Bobbies game. It’s so late that I catch the eighth inning. The score is two to zero, the Bobbies are winning, and . . . holy fuck, Harris is still pitching.

I quickly pull out my phone and search the Bobbies game in my browser to look at the stats. Everything from a few minutes ago is quickly washed away as I glue myself to the television. Harris is . . . *gulp* he’s pitching one hell of a game. Let’s keep it at that.

I pop open my pretzels, too concerned with the game to even consider eating my protein bar, and I start munching, leaning forward on the couch.

History in the making.

Once the Bobbies get out of the inning untouched and head into the bottom of the eighth, I take a sip of my beer, but that’s all I do. I don’t move. I barely breathe because anything I say or do at this moment could jinx Harris. And I will be damned if I’m the one who . . . well, I will be damned, not going to say any more than that.

As the Bobbies step up to the plate, Myla opens the sliding glass door and walks outside with a towel.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask her.

“Going for a swim in the heated pool,” she answers, seeming almost bewildered.

“You can’t be here,” I say. “I need you to leave.”

“What do you mean I can’t be here. This is a neutral zone, Ryot.”

“It’s not that,” I say, my eyes still on the TV. “It’s the game, okay? It’s important. Just go back to your room. It’s almost over.”

“It’s really nice out and I want to take a dip in the pool. I’m not going to go back in the house. I need some fresh air.”