Page 25 of Playboy Pitcher
Willow’s eyes widen. “Ben…”
The moment my name whispers past her lips, the man I have bent backward, ready to break like a goddamn wishbone, smirks. “Benson LaCroix.”
I tighten my grip. “Sorry, I don’t give autographs to assholes.”
“I don’t want your fucking autograph.” Turning his head, he shoots me a narrowed look. “And considering who I am, I suggest you takeyourhands off me, hotshot.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or knock his teeth out. He’s not the first person to judge me, and he won’t be the last. I know the image I portray, and it’s by design, carefully constructed so pretentious dicks like this guy underestimate me.
I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth and a fork in each hand. I can smell his new money stench a mile away. However, just as I get in his face, Willow’s voice catches my attention.
“Ben, don’t. Let him go.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“This has nothing to do with you.”
“I watched you throw a punch at his face, Willow,” I shout, my control slipping. “He grabbed your arm. I saw you fighting him.”
“No,” she argues, shaking her head. “It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”
“You heard the lady,” the guy gloats, his voice hoarse from the arched angle of his neck. “Now get your hands off me before I sue you for assault.”
Glancing back at Willow’s clenched jaw, I curse under my breath and shove his head so hard, he stumbles on his designer shoes. I couldn’t care less about his threats. I grabbed his hair, not his face. Without a mark on him, it’s his word against mine, and something tells me even with this act she’s putting on, Willow wouldn’t back up his claim. The only reason I relented is because I don’t have the energy for this shit.
If the girl gets her kicks by having a dickhead treat her like a ragdoll, then so be it.
The dumbass stares at me, one hand smoothing the front of his suit jacket, while the other rubs that pathetic beard.
This guy is familiar. Where do I know him from?
“I didn’t realize you two were friends,” he says, tapping his forefinger against his chin.
“We’re not,” Willow and I say at the same time, then turn to glare at each other.
He’s quiet, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Well, this is interesting. Tell me, Willow, do all random men fall for this damsel in distress act, or is it just pitchers?”
Something is still nagging in the back of my mind, but it’s blocked by his smartass mouth. I don’t like what he’s insinuating, and by the way Willow flinches, his words might as well have been a backhand across her face. As I watch her chest deflate and her shoulders curl inward, my anger resurfaces.
Two-fold.
“That’s it,” I explode, lunging toward him with a surge of testosterone-infused bloodlust. “See you in court, motherfucker.”
His response is to take a giant step back, throw two limp hands up, and flash a smug smile I want to rip off his face. “No need. We’re finished here.” Reaching inside his jacket, he pulls out a white business card and tucks it underneath her windshield wiper with a wink. “Don’t keep me waiting, princess.” Crossing the street, he disappears toward the parking deck.
Instead of following his lead and walking away like any sane person would do, I stand there waiting for…shit, I don’t even know what I’m waiting for. Maybe an explanation as to what the hell just happened. Obviously, a simple thank you would be too much to ask for.
“I didn’t need your help.”
I roll my eyes.Oh wow. Didn’t see that one coming.“Because you were doing so well on your own,” I grumble, stepping off the curb.
“What are you…?” Her words trail off as she watches me walk toward the front of the car. When she realizes what I’m doing, she lets out a gasp. “No!” Launching herself off the side of the car, she takes a running leap in the air just as I snatch the business card from the windshield and hold it over my head. “Give me that!” she screeches, jumping and swiping the air like she’s not barely five foot three.
“Pipe down, Puddles.”
“That doesn't belong to you!”
Says her.“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
