Page 28 of Wild Pitch

“Do you feel better?” I ask softly, hoping this conversation has eased some of the weight off her shoulders.

“Yeah, I do,” she says with a sleepy smile, her eyes growing heavy as we just watch one another in silence. I should say goodbye so she can get some rest, but when her eyes close, I slide my hand over on the mattress, pretending I can feel the softness of her skin as I ghost my thumb over the sheet.

“Goodnight, Riggs,” she says, making no move to hang up.

“Goodnight, Monroe,” I reply, watching as her breathing slows and evens out. I fight to stay awake, not wanting to miss a single second of seeing her this peaceful, but finally fall under to the sounds of her soft snores.

NINETEEN

MONROE

My phone ringson the counter, and I wipe my flour-covered hands on the dish towel before using my pinky finger to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey,” my mom says, her high-pitched voice sing-songing as if she’s completely unaware of the miserable life she lives.

“Hi, Mom,” I reply, putting it on speaker before returning to the other counter where I have a ball of dough ready to be rolled out. Riggs won’t be home from his Philly trip for another thirty minutes, and I promised him my homemade, from-scratch pizza for dinner. He’s been so insistent that I focus on my business plan, but I’m starting to go crazy not helping out around here, so I didn’t take no for an answer when I told him I’d be cooking tonight.

“You didn’t tell me you’re in Florida now,” she scolds, making me freeze where I stand. “And you have a new boyfriend? Why am I finding this out from the ladies at the country club instead of from my own daughter? Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

I don’t bother wiping my hands again as my fingers begin to fly across the screen of the iPad Riggs keeps in the kitchen. I typeRiggs Valentine girlfriendinto the search bar, and several results appear, all containing the same set of photos from the last home series. It was after our kiss in the hallway, when we walked out to the player parking lot holding hands. One of the pictures is a grainy close-up of me looking like a fool in love while he held the car door open for me. Another is a blurry shot of him leaning over the center console, where he stole one last quick kiss before driving us home. The lot has heavy security, but the photos look like they were taken from far away with a high-speed zoom lens. There’s also one of us that I’ve already seen from the first game, where he climbed the wall to kiss my cheek. At the time, the article called me alucky female fan, but now that there’s more evidence of us being together, the media is putting two and two together.

Fuck.

“Monroe Elizabeth, did you hear me?” she says, reminding me that she’s still on the line. I don’t owe her an explanation, but I also wasn’t prepared for her to ask because other than team events that only select reporters are allowed to attend, we haven’t been out in public as a couple. But it’s out now, so I may as well address it.

“I heard you. Yes, I’m in Daytona right now, staying with my boyfriend for a while.” I don’t go into detail about how I ended up here because I don’t want her running back to my dad. If he found out that I’m starting my own business, he’d get it shut down before I even had the chance to make my first dollar. I also can’t tell them that this thing between me and Riggs isn’t real. They’d use that against us in a heartbeat if they knew. Especially if itmeant getting me to go back to California, which I willneverdo.

“Everyone’s talking, you know. Saying he’s trash. You know those professional athletes have women in every city, right? I’d hate to see you get cheated on, honey,” she says, as though my dad hasn’t been caught in compromising positions with more than one administrative assistant over the years. It’s a way of life in their circle, even though none of them talk about it. The women at the country club don’t marry for love anyway. They do it for money or social status.

Which is why I couldn’t bear to go through with marrying Conrad. He’d have cheated, and I’d have been expected to hide it, pretending everything was fine. What kind of life is that? I’d rather be single forever. In fact, that’s why I chose to keep all of my interactions with guys in Massachusetts completely casual. I wasn’t raised in a household that showed me a good example of a loving marriage, and Conrad treated me more like a business partner than a future wife. I’m sure I’ll be ready to take that step when I find the right guy. But for now, there’s no shame in having fun.

“Mom,” I say on an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t care what those asshole friends of yours think about me. I thought I made that pretty obvious when I skipped town and left the Decker family fortune in my rearview.”

She gasps, and I’d bet every cent I have that she has her hand on her heart in fake shock. “Monroe, that language isn’t very ladylike. I raised you better than that.”

“Actually,” I reply smugly, “you didn’t. They’re bitches. Every last one of them can eat my ass.”

She chokes on another gasp, sputtering as though I’veoffended her instead of telling the honest truth about the women she pretends are her besties. She knows damn well that they’d tell her to lose their numbers if she woke up tomorrow with a few less figures in her bank account. “When did you get so disrespectful? I think you should come home. You’ve obviously lost your way.”

“Thanks, Mom. But I’m alreadyhome,” I snap. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish making dinner for my very faithful boyfriend. Bye.” I end the call, resting my elbows on the counter and dropping my head into my hands.

I haven’t had a conversation with my mother in two years where she didn’t attempt to get me to move back to Rolling Hills. It’s neverHey honey! How’s everything on the east coast?orWe’d love to come see the house that you bought on your own, with no help.It’s always her scolding me about what I’ve done wrong and telling me the answer is to drop the life I’ve built and go back to the one I risked everything to leave behind. It sucks that my parents can’t just be proud of me for doing such a big thing.

“Hey there, sweet thing,” Riggs coos, stepping into view. I was so lost in my annoyance with that phone call that I didn’t even hear him come in.

“Oh my God, the pizza!” I cry, standing up straight and rushing to the counter where the ball of dough sits and pressing it flat. “I’ll be fast, I promise! I’m sorry it’s not ready yet!” I move quickly, kneading my fingers into it, flattening the crust with panicked, jerky movements. Just as I go to reach for the bowl of tomato sauce, gentle hands snake around my waist from behind.

“Hey,” he says quietly, pressing his cheek to mine. “Slow down, Mayhem. It’s not a race.” He ghosts his lipsdown my face, nuzzling into my neck and biting down gently. I sigh as his teeth graze my skin, and when he tightens his arms, I sink back into his warm chest. A sense of calm washes over me as I relish in his protective hold, and all the weight I was carrying from the conversation with my mom just minutes ago falls away.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and I turn my head, giving him a reassuring smile.

“It is now,” I say. “But I really do have to get this pizza in the oven, or you may wither away.”

He chuckles. “We wouldn’t want that.” He backs away, and I miss his touch immediately as he turns to the sink and washes his hands. He slides in next to me, ready to work. “You do the sauce and cheese. I’ll do the toppings.”

I raise a dubious brow. “Can I trust you to place the pepperoni evenly?”

He scoffs. “What do you take me for? Some kind of degenerate?”

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