Page 29 of Wild Pitch

I shrug, and he reaches out, swiping some leftover flour from my forehead. The gesture is sweet, and my heart picks up speed at the way he’s looking at me as if none of this is fake. It doesn’t evenfeelfake anymore, to be honest.

After we left the beach the other day, we didn’t really talk about what happened. We came inside, changed our clothes, and snuggled up on the couch to watch a movie. That seems to be our go-to activity on the nights he doesn’t have games, and even though we had rough, semi-public sex just minutes prior, none of it felt awkward. I woke up the next morning in his bed, where he had carried me after I fell asleep on his shoulder, feeling him kiss me goodbye before he left for the airport for another two nights away.We fell asleep on the phone last night, and I woke up to a dead battery, feeling all kinds of things about how he helped me figure out a solution to my problem, even though he was probably exhausted himself. Today is his first day back, and although I feel like we’ll eventually have to talk about us, I’ve had enough heavy conversation for the night.

We work as a team, preparing the pizza as though we’ve done it a million times before. When it’s done baking, Riggs makes me stay put as he takes it out, cutting it into slices before serving it to me where I’m curled up in the cozy corner of the sofa.

We eat and laugh, making the stress from earlier a distant memory as we lounge without a care in the world. The reality of this arrangement is so much different than I expected in the best way, and I’m actually feeling grateful that I agreed to do it.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m having an amazing time with Riggs Valentine.

TWENTY

RIGGS

I turn off the shower,stepping out and taking a towel from the warmer before drying myself off. We don’t have a game today, but it’s Friends & Family Appreciation Day, so the whole team will be bringing their loved ones to the stadium for a bunch of organized activities. Then, the gates open to the fans so we can all interact with them. In the past, I’ve usually begged my parents and Grace to come so I wouldn’t be alone, but this year, I decided that it’s another good opportunity for the team to see how much I’ve changed now that Monroe is in my life.

I woke up the morning after our phone conversation feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Although it was only business related, it felt good to know that she trusted me enough to tell me what was on her mind so I could help her through it. Not that I did much, but it was nice to be a part of it.

When I got home, she seemed happy to see me. She didn’t run and jump into my arms or anything, but she returned the hug I gave her, and I didn’t miss the way shemelted into me when I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind. When bedtime rolled around and I asked her if she wanted to sleep in my bed, she said yes, surprising the shit out of me since she was in her own the night before. Nothing happened, but I got to hold her until morning, which felt better than I expected after being away for a couple of days.

Everything just feels so…domestic. And as much as I thought I’d never want anything like this, I’ll admit I don’t hate it.

I make my way to the closet, opening a drawer and taking out a pair of black boxer briefs. I pull them on before reaching for my black track pants with the Fury logo. I finish off the outfit with a teal t-shirt—becauseteam spirit—and turn to head downstairs, where Monroe was busy making breakfast when I came up here to shower. I don’t even hit the bottom stair before she hurries through the room like a woman on a mission. She runs straight into me, staring down at her phone with a look of panic on her face.

“Whoa, Mayhem,” I say, grabbing her shoulders to steady her. “What’s wrong?” I immediately think it’s the worst-case scenario, that something bad has happened to one of her family members or something, but it doesn’t take long for her to clear things up.

“You didn’t tell me about the charity basket!” she screeches in a voice that only dogs can hear. “There’s less than an hour before we have to be out of here, and I don’t have anything prepared!”

“The what?” I ask, genuinely confused because I have absolutely no idea what charity basket she’s talking about.

“The basket of stuff all the WAGs bring to Friends &Family Appreciation Day to auction off!” She’s completely distraught, hands shaking at her sides as she looks around the room as if it has all the answers she’s looking for, before training her eyes back on mine. “Taylor just called and said they do it every year. It’s this big competition between all the wives and girlfriends of the players. Whoever’s basket goes for the most money gets bragging rights for the whole year. I’m not letting those bitches beat me, Riggs! I have to win!”

I raise a brow. “That’s what has you down here foaming at the mouth like a fucking bulldog? A charity basket?” I ask and immediately regret it, because by the look on her face, that was the wrong question. I can hear her back teeth grinding as one eye twitches, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been more scared of this woman since the day I met her. I put both hands up in surrender, hoping like hell that she doesn’t rip my nutsack off in a fit of rage. “It’s no big deal. We can stop on the way and pick some stuff up.”

Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to say either. Because she scoffs as she shoves past me, running up the stairs like her ass is on fire. I exhale, rolling my eyes and letting her do her thing while I get something to eat. No matter what I say, I have a feeling it’ll be wrong in this situation, so I’m staying out of it.

Thankfully, there’s some food left over for me when I get to the kitchen. I take my time plating some eggs and bacon, adding a little extra salt and pepper because no matter how much Monroe has been telling me I need to chill on the sodium, she’ll have to pry these shakers from my cold, dead fingers.

Just as I sit down at the table, a white jersey andpermanent marker are shoved into my face. “Sign this,” she demands, popping one hip out in a spectacular show of attitude. I want to say something smart to rile her up more, but I think better of it, uncapping the marker and scribbling my autograph across the front of the garment.

“Thank you,” she says, leaving the room again while I get back to my food. I make quick work of eating because I’m still not ready to go, setting my plate and fork in the sink and heading back upstairs. I can hear her rustling around in my room before I even get there, and to be honest, I’m a little nervous about what I’m going to find. Sure enough, the place has been ransacked, and in the middle of it is my Mayhem, digging through the drawers of my dresser.

I step into the closet doorway, leaning against the frame and crossing my arms over my chest. I watch her for a few seconds, unable to stop a silly smile from pulling at the corners of my lips. I'd never say it out loud, mainly because it would probably piss her off, but she's adorable like this. She's standing there in one of my shirts that barely reaches her thighs, and a pair of panties. Her messy bun still hangs lopsided on her head because she hasn't showered yet. Monroe is a knockout, seven days a week. But first thing in the morning, when she’s all mussed from sleeping? That’s when she’s the most beautiful. I love the way she does her makeup for a night out, but there’s something about her bare face and wild hair that drives me crazy.

Mine.

“What?” She says, looking up at me from where she’s leaned over into one of the drawers. I didn’t realize I had been staring for so long, but apparently she did becauseshe’s looking at me like she’s waiting for an answer. One that I absolutely can’t give her right now.

I love the way you look in my clothes.

I love the way you look in my house.

You make me want more.

“Nothing,” I say, pushing the heavy thoughts from my mind. Just a couple of months ago, I was sleeping my way around Daytona, thinking I was living the high life. But now I know that I was just trying to fill an empty space while attempting to protect myself from people with bad intentions. There was never a doubt in my mind that I could trust Monroe. Even though we started this thing as enemies, I don’t think either one of us is feeling that anymore. And now that it’s been stripped away, we’re left with the exact thing I wanted the very first night I met her. I felt it then, and it’s even stronger now.

She’s the piece I’ve been missing my whole life.

I swallow thickly, clearing my throat. I don’t know if she’ll ever want to hear the things that are going on in my head, but now is definitely not a good time to discuss them. “Is there a reason you’re rifling through my shit?” I ask, attempting to lighten the mood. For myself, because my mind is going in a million different directions that I never expected it to, and for her, because she looks like she’s about to come unglued over an auction prize.

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