Page 21 of Wild Pitch

Take the ibuprofen, eat the chocolate, and I’ll rub your tummy…and any other parts of you that you ask me to…later tonight.

xo,

Val

I wanted him to be the asshole that I made him out to be in my own head so badly. But he justisn’t. I’ve seen him with family and friends, so I knew he had a caring side, but when I was the one needing help, I expected the bare minimum. When he picked me up from where I collapsed in the hallway and didn’t leave my side all night, I was shocked. Then, finding my favorite candy and a note that was equal parts snide and sweet, made my heart thump harder in my chest.

We approach a dark wooden door, and Taylor swipes a card over the digital pad beside it. She waits while the lock disengages before pushing it open and walking in with me following closely behind. There are several women and children moving around the room, some of whom I recognize from the charity event. I slip the same mask of confidence I used that night over my face and smile at them as she leads me to my seat.

“Help yourself to any food or drinks. Everythingis catered and it’s an open bar,” she says with a smile. “Friggle will be up here to visit with the kids soon, so try not to fight any of your boyfriend’s battles with the poor guy.” I chuckle, recalling the videos of Riggs teeing off on the mascot’s creepy-looking face.

It’s not funny, but it kind of is.

She lowers her voice so only I can hear. “He’s an amazing guy. A little misunderstood, but I’ll fight to keep him on this team until my last breath. Having you here has already helped so much, and you haven’t even gotten to meet Mr. Durst. Word is getting around though, so you can probably expect him to pop in and say hello.”

I nod my head in understanding. I did my research on the team’s owner, and on paper, he seems like your run-of-the-mill billionaire. He was born into wealth, just like me, and has been running his family’s successful finance and investments firm for almost fifty years. That may seem intimidating to most people, but I’ve been rubbing elbows with people like him since I was a kid. I may have left that life behind, but I learned a few tricks along the way. I should be able to handle him with no problem.

“If you’re all set, I have to head down to the field. Riggs knows you’re up here, and he asked me to make sure you had everything you needed before I left,” she says, and there goes my heart again.

“I’m good,” I tell her. “Go wrangle those giant children before another innocent mascot gets knocked out.”

She laughs. “Enjoy the game, Monroe.”

Taylor exits, and I stand from my seat to look out the window. Players are funneling out from the locker rooms, and butterflies take flight in my stomach as Riggs runs onto the field like he owns it. I’m not sure what to expectbecause it’s his first game back since the whole debacle, but I breathe a sigh of relief when the crowd doesn’t boo him. They don’t cheer for him either, but it’s a step in the right direction. In an effort to be closer to him, I grab some food and head out the glass door at the front of the suite, where a row of luxury seats awaits behind a short wall that separates them from the fans. I’m surprised when I look over to see that I’m completely alone out here. None of these women want to see the game from outside their cushyall expenses paidglass box?

Whatever. More room for my snacks.

By the time I’m settled in with my popcorn, the first batter is stepping up to the plate. Riggs leans forward, watching his catcher for the signal, and nods in agreement when he sees it. He winds up, lifting his front knee and firing the ball straight down the middle of the strike zone. The batter doesn’t swing, but he also doesn’t look affected as he takes his stance, getting ready for the next pitch. Just like last time, Riggs waits for Ace to give him the call, then sends it low and outside. This time, the guy swings and misses. The crowd, who had been fairly silent before, begins clapping and cheering as pitch number three goes right into the catcher’s mitt before the umpire calls the batter out.

The second person up gets a piece of the first pitch, but it pops up, flying behind home plate. Ace shoots to his feet, throws his mask down, and waits as the ball descends, falling into his mitt with ease.

That’s two.

The next batter looks to be about seven feet tall with thighs bigger than my entire body. His biceps are straining against the fabric of his jersey, and the look on his face is athing of nightmares. But Riggs just stands there staring at him, completely unbothered. Just like the other two, he gets ready and makes the pitch. It’s really high, but the guy swings anyway, sending the ball down the third baseline. I hold my breath, watching as it flies over the back wall, just out of play. The wordsFoul Ball!light up on the Jumbotron, and the batter returns to the box. The next pitch is a strike, followed by another. Riggs does a fist pump before running to the dugout with his team.

“Way to go, Val!” I yell loudly before I can stop the words from coming out. I look around, but then I realize that I’m supposed to be doing stuff like that anyway. Iamhis girlfriend, after all.

The next few innings go by in a flash, and the Fury are up three runs to none. Riggs is pitching great, and the fans are back to cheering for him. He’s smiling and having a great time out there, which warms my heart because he really does deserve it.

Just as I go to open my second bag of Twizzlers, someone takes a seat next to me. I look over to find Randolph Durst in a three-piece suit, holding tightly to a giant bag of Cracker Jacks.

“Out here all alone, huh?” he says, popping one into his mouth as a Fury batter steps up to the plate.

I look around. “Seems so,” I answer. “I don’t know why everybody wants to stay cooped up in there. Being outside at a baseball game is where it’s at.”

He chuckles. “I couldn’t agree more. Randy,” he says in introduction, extending his hand between us.

“Monroe,” I reply, placing my palm in his and shaking it firmly.

He pulls back, popping another piece of the caramelcorn into his mouth and chewing. “I’ve heard so many good things about you. I’m glad you could join us here in Daytona.”

“Me too,” I tell him with a smile, surprised I’m not acting when I say it. As much as I fought the move, it really isn’t so bad. The weather here is amazing, and it almost reminds me of the better parts of California. The parts that I actually miss.

“So, tell me about yourself, Monroe. You must be a pretty special girl to have caught the eye of our star down there.”

I’m skeptical at first, because I don’t know if he’s being sarcastic or not. At this point, the next person who disrespects Riggs in front of me is catching these hands—billionaire or not. But when I look over at him, his eyes are sincere.

“There really isn’t much to tell,” I reply. “I grew up in California. When I graduated from college with my marketing degree, I decided to try something new. I moved across the country to a little beach town outside of Boston and worked at a small boutique until it closed a little over a month ago. As far as your star,” I say, looking down to the field where Riggs is leaning out of the dugout, hyping up his teammates as they go up to bat, “he’s my best friend’s brother.” Obviously, I’m not going to tell him how we really met, so this seems like a way to explain how we ended up together without having to lie.

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