Page 66 of Playboy Pitcher
He even said it himself: “Once you touch fire and get burned, you learn not to stick your hand in a flame.”
Not only did I stick my hand in the flame again, I jumped in with both feet.
I leaped.
I married a baseball player, and then I lost every shred of sensibility and gave myself to him. Even worse than that? I think I might be falling for him.
My arms feel like concrete blocks, so I drop them, letting them hang listlessly by my side. I tilt my head back, and it smacks against the door with a dullthunk. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“Well, for starters, you can tell me where you’ve been all night.”
Letting out a scream, I throw my backpack across the pitch-black room. I’m not sure what the hell I think that will accomplish, considering I’m now standing defenseless.
Spinning around, I fling myself against the foyer, blindly slapping the wall until my fingers brush the light switch. With a flick of my wrist, the huge room is flooded with light, and I scan every corner until my eyes land on a bony figure leaned against the main staircase with her arms crossed.
“Emma?” I blink again just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. “How did you get in here?”
She snorts. “Please. Any self-respecting New York girl knows how to pick a lock. I have to tell you, Will, for a billionaire’s pad, this place has weak security.”
I blink, still not believing what I’m seeing. “Okay, now tell mewhatyou’re doing here. You’re supposed to be in school back in New York.”
“Yeah?” Pushing away from the staircase, she strolls toward me, chin cocked with two tons of suspicion in her eyes. “Well, you’re supposed to be in your car driving back there, not hitched to some ballplayer, acting like—”
Nope. Not going there.
“How are you even here?” I say, cutting her off.
She rolls her eyes as if I’m the stupidest human to ever breathe air. “There are these things calledair-o-planes. They defy gravity and fly through the sky, taking people from point A to point B in record time. You should try them sometime.”
I’m not in the mood for her attitude tonight. “Don’t start with me, Em.” Pushing past her, I swipe my discarded backpack off the floor and hook it over my shoulder. “That was fucking stupid.”
Her face falls, and a sharp pang of regret pierces my chest. This isn’t us. I’m taking out my self-loathing on her, and it isn’t fair.
Scrubbing my hand across my forehead, I sigh. “I mean reckless. You know you can’t just…” I stop again, catching myself and biting my tongue so hard, I taste blood. “How the hell did you afford a flight from New York to Florida?”
Emma’s response is a shrug as she turns her back to me and heads toward the kitchen. “Let’s just say I’m not the only one worried about you.”
I follow behind her, my stomach starting to twist in that damn knot again. What the hell is she talking about? But more importantly, whohas she been talkingto? All we have is each other. No one would give a shit if I drove away and never came back. Besides unpaid rent and overdue bills, the only lingering sign of me ever being in New York would be the people walking around with my designs on their…
Fuck.
I grip the granite corners of the kitchen island. “Tig.”
Of course it was Tig, the owner of Tig’s Tattoo and Piercing on 8th Avenue, and also my boss. As much as I’ve brushed him off, closed him off, and told him off, no tactic in my arsenal has kept him at arm’s length. It’s useless. He’s determined to adopt Emma and me like stray puppies.
“He’s worried about you, Will,” she says, slamming the refrigerator door closed and opening a cabinet. “We both are. After our call yesterday, I went to see him. When I told him what was going on, he knew I’d be the only one to talk some sense into that hard head of yours. He bought me a ticket and gave me a ride to the airport. Not to mention some spending money to boot.”
“You told him?” I shout. “Jesus Christ, Emma!”
“Oh, calm down. You know Tig won’t snitch. He just wants to help. You have to start trusting people, Will. It’s not healthy to be so suspicious all the time.”
The text I got in Ben’s car flashes through my head. “I can’t afford to trust people,” I mutter under my breath. “Especially now.”
She doesn’t hear me, which is just as well. This isn’t the time to unload that burden on her.
“Why is there nothing to eat in this house?” she grumbles.
“I just moved in yesterday. I haven’t exactly had time for a housewarming party.” Reaching above her head, I drag a jar of peanut butter off the second shelf and shove it in her hand. “I also wasn’t expecting company.”
