Page 14 of Wild Pitch

There’s so much more to Riggs that these people have never seen. They don’t know who he really is.

I straighten to my full height, mustering up all the confidence I can find. “That man over there,” I say, lifting my chin back to the table where he sits, “is amazing. He’s selfless, loving, and would give the shirt off his back to anyone in need. It’s a shame you’re too bitter and spiteful to see it.” I turn to the others. “It was nice meeting you all. I should get back to my date now.”

I turn on my heel, making a beeline straight for Riggs. He catches me out of the corner of his eye and turns to face me as I approach. Without even giving it a second thought, I put one hand on the back of his chair, lean down and press my lips against his. I’m sure they’re all still watching, so I put on a show, using my tongue to trace his plump lower lip until he opens for me. His hand ghosts over my waist as we kiss, and just that simple touch is a reminder of the way he made me feel two years ago.

I haven’t forgotten what it felt like to be with him. Quite the contrary, in fact. I’m not shy about my sexual explorations. I was raised to be prim and proper, never giving my body or pleasure away to whoever I wanted. I lost my virginity to Conrad, but he never gave me what I needed. It was only about him. I was just a tool he used to get himself off. So, being with Riggs the first night I was in Massachusetts? That was the first time I really felt like what I was doing was for me. And I haven’t been able to replicate that since.

I’ve been open to new partners. I’ve told them what I liked, and they’ve tried to give it to me, but they’ve nevermatched up. I think that’s part of the reason why I’m so angry with Riggs, and why his mere presence in my life makes me want to rip my own hair out. It’s not even his fault. He tried to get me to open up to him. He tried to get me to share more of myself than just my body. I didn’t want that. I still don’t. But the fact that he still has such a hold on me this long after we were together isn’t an easy pill to swallow.

Those women weren’t wrong. He does sleep around. It’s something he’s quite proud of, and that’s fine. He never leads anyone on, and they know the score before they make the decision to have sex with him. But the way that they spoke about him, like that’s all he has to offer, was fucked up. I have no problem showing them they’re wrong.

He growls into my mouth and his hand on my waist tightens almost to the point of pain. I whimper quietly and that breaks the spell that he’s under. He quickly rips his head back but never loses eye contact as he stares at me with a look that’s equal parts confusion and heat.

“Fuck, Mayhem,” he says on an exhale. He’s still in shock, and I barely register the fact that everyone at the table is staring at us until someone clears their throat.

I slip back into character, the corners of my mouth lifting in a sweet smile. “I was gone too long,” I say, just loud enough for everyone around us to hear. “I missed you.” He swallows thickly, nodding before grabbing my wrist and pulling me down into his lap. I can feel his thick cock pressing up against the back of my thigh. I try not to act surprised, but can’t help the wetness that begins to gather in my panties, knowing that one kiss turned him on so much. He must’ve wanted me to feel it,otherwise he would have just let me sit down in a different chair.

My instinct is to say something smart—to try to piss him off. But for some reason, I settle into his chest and wrap my arms around his neck loosely. The table slips back into their quiet conversations, and we move on as if this is all so normal for us. Like we won’t be at each other’s throats the second we’re alone, just like we always are. It’s just…us.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t make it clear to all these people that they’re lucky to have a guy like Riggs Valentine on their team.

ELEVEN

RIGGS

It’s early morning,and I’m sitting at the kitchen table getting ready for the day. The team has to be at the stadium several hours before game time for media, so I’m trying to multitask—drinking my coffee, answering emails, and clipping my toenails. Gross, but I’m not a heathen. It has to be done.

I’d love to say I’m flying through all my morning tasks, but I keep getting distracted by everything that went down at the charity event last night. The more I try to wrap my head around all of it, the more confused I am.

The first thing that has me messed up is how quickly Monroe slipped into the role of my girlfriend, commanding an entire room full of people and making them fall in love with her. That’s not something you do if you don’t have years worth of experience. So where did she learn that?

The other thing that has my mind going a million miles an hour is that kiss. One minute, she was talking to that group of women, and the next, her mouth was pressed tomine, sucking every breath from my body. Once I got over the initial shock, I practically had to hold myself back with the need to take her in front of everybody at the table. And the small whimper when I tightened my grip on her luscious hip? I was instantly hard for her. I had to pull her down into my lap to hide the steel rod under my dress pants. It was like I was fourteen again, unable to control my body as her tongue slid against mine.

She hates me. I’m supposed to hate her right back. But last night made it impossible for me not to think about how explosive things would be if we didn’t have such animosity between us. We both know how fucking good we are together physically.

“Please tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing at the table where we eat,” a groggy Monroe says from behind me. I immediately shove the nail clippers under my thigh, hoping I can convince her that I’m not.

“Checking my email and enjoying a cup of coffee before I have to leave for the day? Because if that’s what you think I’m doing, you’d be right.” I swallow nervously as she approaches before stopping right next to me and reaching out for my leg. I squeeze my thigh against the hard wood of the chair, the metal of the clippers biting into my skin through my thin sleep pants.

Her eyes go wide as she grabs my arm and attempts to pull me up, but I resist. “You’re clipping your toenails in the kitchen!” she shrieks. “That’s disgusting, Riggs!”

My jaw drops in faux indignation, hoping I can convince her that I would never do such a thing. “I am not!” I turn my body, doing my best to drag the clippers under my leg, but she doesn’t let up. She just continues wiggling her hand between me and the chair, squeezingher fingertips in only inches from where the evidence of my crime is hidden.

“Lift your leg, then!” she grits through her teeth as she continues her assault. Every muscle in my body is rigid, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting her under me.

“You’re acting crazy!” I say as her nails dig into my skin. I hold my ground, refusing to let her move any part of me until she’s finally so gassed out that she gives up. As if she didn’t just use every bit of her energy, she stands to her full height, blowing a rogue strand of hair out of her face before pulling her phone from the pocket of her shorts. She’s got a hip jutted out, her sassiness on full display as she begins typing on the device with one eyebrow lifted in defiance.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not loving the smug expression on her face.

“I’m texting your mother,” she replies. “Imagine how disappointed sweet Libby Valentine will be to know that her pride and joy is out here acting like he was raised in a barn. You’re going to break her heart, you know that, right?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I hear thewhooshof the message being sent and I bare my teeth at her in frustration. And to think I was almost softening for her a little bit. She’s the same snarky bitch she’s been since I’ve known her. Clearly, that’ll never change.

I only get a few seconds to begin plotting my revenge when my phone rings on the table beside me. Monroe chuckles quietly as we both look over to see my mom’s name and photo flashing on the screen. I stare at it for a few rings, hoping she’ll hang up, but I already know shewon’t. She’s on the other end of that line in Hope Harbor, waiting to scold me for my actions.

“Are you going to answer it? It’s your mom,” she says with a saccharine smile across her face.

---