Page 41 of Subscriber Wars

“Second of all, I can’t help it that you have a weak stomach and can’t digest anything but your organic rice bars.”

I belt out a laugh. “Why do you hate on my organic food? I can’t help what’s on sale at the grocery store.”

I also can’t help what my sister buys and shoves in my fridge. All I know is that I didn’t have to go to the store, and, most days, I don’t have to worry about not having anything to eat. Although, for the most part, I can’t eat the majority of it, but I would never tell my sister that. It makes her feel better knowing she’s taking care of me, so I let her do what she wants.

“I’m not hating on your food,” she finally says. “I just…”

“You just what? Thought I didn’t eat because I’m a demon?”

She narrows her eyes. “I know you eat, dummy. I used to eat with you, remember?”

I feel myself tense. We’re creeping into the no-go zone again.

“I’m just saying it doesn’t fit with your personality.”

“Maybe that’s because you don’t know everything about me like you think you do.” I push up from the sofa. “I think I’ll go lie down again and spend the last few minutes with my pillow before you leave.”

I think we’ve had enough time together. Any more and we’re liable to start full-out arguing for the rest of the day.

“Sebastian,” she says, exasperated. “Come back.”

She’s always been the one to feel guilty when she acts shitty. It’s a terrible trait to have.

“I’m good. We’ll reschedule our strategy meeting for tomorrow.”

I just want her to go—far, far away. At least until tomorrow.

With an exasperated sigh, she mumbles something I can’t quite catch.

“Did you say something?” I prod.

Her mouth purses and she gives me a flat look. “I said, fine. I’ll do that stupid dance with you.”

Valentina’s guilt is a dangerous tool to use against her, but since I love to see her uncomfortable, I’m going to use it for my own selfish desires. Consider it payback for ordering the salmonella fish tacos. I push off the doorframe and shrug. “If you must. I think I can muster up enough energy for one dance.”

She rolls her eyes, and it sends a stupid amount of excitement through me.

I hope she sucks. I hope she has the rhythm of a newborn.

Fishing my phone from my pocket, I nod to her. “Go get my tripod.” I act like I know where she hid it, but in full disclosure, I’ve yet to find the damn thing. This way, I’ll get both things I want from Valentina.

She grumbles to herself but gets up and pushes past me to head to my room. I follow her and see her get on her knees. My dick twitches, and I cough. “Hurry,” I tell her, “I’m getting tired.” And hard. The last thing I need to explain to my enemy is that seeing her kneel at the side of my bed makes my dick a throbbing missile in my pants.

“Would you shut up and just go sit down? If you didn’t hoard all those old movie mementos under your bed, I wouldn’t have to pull a muscle trying to get the tripod out.”

“Who hid the tripod under the bed?” I argue. “Lay off my memorabilia. One day it will hang in my studio office.”

Ugh. I cringe as soon as I say it. Those words were what the old Sebastian would say to the old Valentina.

“It’s still a bunch of shit to comb through in the meantime. No wonder you need an entire townhouse to yourself. You have way too much shit.”

And a guilty sister with a doctor husband. She wanted a place she could check up on me and traipsing through the dorms was where she drew the line.

“I keep hearing a lot of talking but no tripod,” I chide. “I’ll meet you in the living room when you finally manage to retrieve it.”

Really, I just want to get out of here since she’s slid partly under the bed, and her ass is sticking up and although it’s partially covered by her hoodie, I can still see the curve of her cheek, peeking out from underneath the fray of her jean shorts.

Yes, another room is good. And cold water. And visions of grandma.