Page 27 of Wild Pitch

My stomach clenches and flips with anxiety as my mind goes through every bad outcome. And while I know I won’t be able to sleep feeling this way, I turn off the lights and pull the covers over my waist in an attempt to get some rest. But the only thing I see are those deep blue eyes that pull me in every time I look at them.

Just as I’m about to obliterate every ounce of self-respect I have left by double-texting her, my phone vibrates, lighting up the space beside me. I unlock it quickly and find a text from Monroe.

Thank fuck.

MONROE:

Not bad. Just got back from a walk on the beach.

RIGGS:

It’s a little late, isn’t it?

MONROE:

Yeah. Needed to clear my head.

I sit up, turn the light back on, and settle with my back to the headboard before pulling up her contact info and pressing the button to FaceTime her. If she’s struggling with something, I want to help.

She answers after two rings, her makeup-free face filling the screen. She’s so fucking beautiful like this, andit’s a challenge not to say it out loud. Her long, brown hair is gathered into a bun on top of her head, with little wisps hanging down, framing her heart-shaped face. Her plump lips shine, probably with that berry flavored lip mask she keeps on the bathroom counter, and I wonder what it would taste like if I kissed her right now.

“Hi,” she says softly, and I immediately notice how red and tired her eyes look. When I saw her last, she was well-rested and content, but whatever happened has her looking like she’s been through the wringer in the short time since I’ve been gone.

“Hey there, sweet thing,” I reply. “Wanna talk about it?”

She sighs, and I watch as she makes her way through the house, following her with my eyes as she pulls back the covers on her bed. Part of me is disappointed that she didn’t go into my room, but why would she? Technically, we’re nothing more than a fake boyfriend and girlfriend who’ve fucked a couple of times. I can’t expect her to sleep in my bed while I’m away, no matter how much I’d love it if she did.

“I’m just struggling with my business plan,” she says. “The bones of the website are done, but it looks exactly like every other marketing firm out there. No matter how much I try to come up with ways to set myself apart, I’m still going to end up lost in a sea of competition. I need to stand out as someone who truly wants to help small businesses succeed, but how can I do that when there are thousands of other companies trying to suck their budgets dry? Short of literally giving them free marketing plans to prove what I do has the potential to work for them, how can I get their attention?”

She looks defeated and I wish I could take it all away. I hate that she’s doubting herself like this when I know how amazing she really is. I think carefully before replying. “What if youdidgive them free marketing plans?” I ask.

Her brows pull in. “Then we’d never make any profit. You may as well just flush money down the toilet at that point. I’ll make sure to tell you what bridge I’ll be living under when I lose everything I own, so you can come visit me.”

I bark out a laugh. “Glad to see your bratty fucking attitude is still alive and well,” I quip. “I’m serious, though. When I was a kid, my mom used to bring us to the grocery store every week. Grace, Tanner, and I would practically be vibrating with excitement by the time we got to the aisle where the workers were handing out free samples. It didn’t matter what they were—we wanted them. And nine times out of ten, we talked her into buying whatever we tried. Couldn’t you give out small samples of what you could do for them, so they could see it before they decide between you and someone else?”

She pauses for a second, considering my story. “It could work, but that would take up a lot of time. Every business is at a different level of marketing. Some of them have a good grasp on it, but others have been barely surviving on word of mouth. In a perfect world, they’d all be set up with social media and have a basic idea of what to do before they hire a—” She pauses, and her eyes go wide. “Oh my God, that’s it,” she says, a smile blooming across her face.

“What?” I ask, smiling back because she’s so fucking pretty, I can’t help it.

She straightens, adjusting herself so she’s sitting on thebed with her legs crossed. As she moves, the phone briefly points down, and I have to stifle a groan when I see what she’s wearing. A tight white camisole stretches across her braless tits, her piercings visible through the fabric. A thin strip of her creamy skin peeks from the bottom, leading to the waistband of her pink lace panties.

Fuck. Me.

Her face comes back into the frame, and I do my best to ignore the fact that my cock is reacting to that split-second glimpse of the body that I’m already missing so much. God, I wish I was holding her right now.

“So, the worst thing about starting with a new client is not knowing if they have a social media presence or if you’ll have to spend time doing that before you can get into the good stuff. The main problem small business owners have with setting up those accounts is that they either don’t know how to do it, or once they figure it out, they don’t know how to get followers and keep them engaged. This seems simple to the younger generation that was raised with social media, but to some of the older clients, it’s overwhelming. If I could cut that part of the process out and have it already in place when I step in, I wouldn’t have to waste valuable time doing it when I could be focusing on bigger things.”

“Okay, so how can you do that?” I ask.

Her smile gets bigger, her eyes sparkling even more with excitement. “How-to videos on my website,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can do a weekly series on how to set up accounts on each platform, get followers, and drum up engagement. I can show them how to connect with influencers and post about their products or services, so that if they decide to work with me, thegroundwork is done. It’s like a free sample of my work that also makes my job easier in the end.”

“Sounds like you just solved your own problem, Mayhem,” I say, smirking at her. “I might be able to retire early once this thing takes off and you’re making the big bucks.”

She scoffs. “Don’t even think about it, Val. If I’m being forced to pretend like I can tolerate your cocky ass, you’re staying on that team until you physically can’t pitch anymore.”

“I don’t know, sweet thing,” I chide. “I think you kinda like me.”

She rolls her eyes playfully but doesn’t reply. My pulse speeds up and a blanket of calmness covers me as I scoot down in the bed and turn onto my side, propping my phone up on the pillow next to me. She dims the lamp before doing the same, and because we sleep on opposite sides, it’s like we’re together, lying face-to-face.

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