Page 40 of Playboy Pitcher
“Then how do you explain this?” Letting go of my hold on him, I fling my arm toward the king-sized bed sitting in the middle of the room like the devil’s throne. “I specifically requested two double beds.Two, Ben.” Spinning back around, I shove two fingers in his face. “Thatis one bed.” My chest is heaving so hard I’m seeing spots, but I don’t care. I’m so pissed I don’t know whether to bust his nose or knee his nuts.
And that’s when my brain decides to flip through a Rolodex of useless shit and pull out a tabloid interview starring the dickgate queen herself. The one where she claimed Ben tricked her into sex, so she leaked the dick pic in revenge.
“Is this what you do?” I ask, nodding my chin toward the bed. “Do you con all your conquests into sleeping with you? Is that why Alicia Evans decided to make ‘Big Ben’ an internet sensation? Too bad going viral made your ego as big as your…” Biting my lip, I look away.
Damn it.
Ben chuckles at my slip, the sound low, deep, and wicked. Hooking my chin with his thumb, he pulls my attention back on his face. “If you weren’t so busy carrying out your Rip Van Winkle impression, you would’ve heard me on the phone with the hotel manager. It seems some local bigwig’s daughter is getting married tomorrow and half the town’s staying here. Reservations got messed up, and this was the only room available in the whole damn place.”
“Then let’s go to another hotel.”
Ben drops his hands and exhales a tired sigh, every one of those six hours etched in the dark circles lining his eyes. “Willow, it’s almost four thirty in the morning. We have less than three and a half hours until City Hall opens. I think I can resist you until then.”
It’s not you I’m worried about.
Echoing his sigh, I scrub my palms down cheeks. Stopping at my chin, I steeple my fingers and capture my bottom lip between them. “So, a wedding?”
Catching on, a slow smile creeps across his face. “Irony is a bitch, huh?”
“So how are we supposed to do this?”
Kicking off his sneakers, Ben walks toward the bed and winks over his shoulder before flopping onto the mattress. For a split second, I think he’s going to ignore me completely, but then he rolls onto his back and folds his hands behind his head. “Ladies choice, but I prefer on your knees so I can grab on from behind and…fuck!” Grunting, he grabs his chest as a perfectly-aimed high heel knocks the cocky right out of him.
“I meant sleeping arrangements, you asshole.” I’m about to go off on another rant, when my phone rings. “This conversation isn’t over.” Turning away from that smug grin, I cross the room to where Ben sograciouslykicked my bag on his way in.
Bending down, I unzip it and dig for my phone. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone, but I’m already walking a thin tightrope with Hoyt. Our last conversation was anything but pleasant, and suffice it to say, he wasn’t buying the shit I was selling.
To be fair, my excuse of having Benson drive me to Miami to clear out my father’s mansion was weak at best. Hoyt knows I don’t give a shit about that mansion or anything inside it. They can set it on fire and roast marshmallows in the blaze for all I care. But the idea that I’d willingly bring Benson LaCroix along with me was the equivalent of shining the Bat Signal right over his house.
Only in this case, the Bat Signal was a middle finger.
I can still hear his voice shouting at me in that Tennessee drawl.“Don’t hand me that load of shit, girl. You’re up to somethin’ and it ain’t good. Mark my words, whatever it is will blow up in your face. You’re gonna get hurt, Willie, and you’re gonna drag Ben down with you.”
Finally finding my phone, I pull it out and glance at the screen.Shit.It’s Emma. And it’s not the first time. Since our last text, there have been eleven missed calls and twenty-seven texts. Most of them either curses or vulgar emojis. I feel bad for ignoring her, but she’s the one person I can’t deal with right now.
For the simple reason that she’s the only one who could talk me out of it.
Rising to my feet, I send her a text. Short, sweet, and to the point.
I promise I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.
I don’t wait for a response. Turning my phone off, I retrieve my bag from the floor, and with as much dignity as possible, I walk into the bathroom and slam the door. Safely on the other side, far away from smug smiles and ringing phones and ticking clocks, I sink to the floor, letting my head fall back against the door.
This has to work.
If it doesn’t, I lose everything.
Ben becomes a tabloid punchline.
And Drake wins…again.
Life has a strange way of coming full circle. The night I met Ben, I told him I had a strict rule against dating baseball players.
I guess fate found a loophole.
Chapter Fourteen
I standin the middle of the bathroom floor with a toothbrush hanging out of my mouth, staring blankly at the inside of my empty duffle bag. This can’t be happening. Of all the things to forget…
