Page 22 of Playboy Pitcher
It’s wellafter seven p.m. by the time I exit the front of the stadium. After wounding Jack’s fragile ego by dismissing both him and his useless entourage, I spent over an hour arguing with Ned and Hoyt on how best to take a franchise so far into the red it dripped blood and push it firmly in the black.
At least far enough to buy me some time.
Time.I let out a defeated laugh, my head throbbing with every click of my heels against the concrete. For all his grandiosebequeathing, it’s one thing my father didn’t leave me.
Instead, he left me a burden and a bastard.
Pausing mid-stride, I toss my head back and listen to the wind rustling the palm trees while staring up at a sky as dark as my mood.
Dark, but peppered with stars that are visible, but just out of reach.
Ah, yes. Same song. Different dance.
God certainly has a sick sense of humor.
“Ithadto be Drake.” Exhaling a rough sigh, I pass the ticket booth and turn the corner onto the quiet sidewalk where Buford, my seven-year-old Chevy Spark, sits dutifully next to the curb where I left him.
One of the only two true loves in my life. Dependable. Reliable. Low maintenance. And would never, ever let anyone else touch his stick.
“Hi, baby.” Smiling for the first time in what seems like hours, I hit the unlock button on the key fob and rush toward him. “Miss me?”
“If you’re that hard up, princess, maybe we could renegotiate a few terms.”
Spinning around, I stumble off the curb, my keys falling out of my hand as my palms slam against the side of the car.
Of course.
That rustling sound I heard wasn’t a palm leaf. It was karma warning me that my day was about to get exponentially worse.
“Drake.” I speak his name again, hoping whatever black magic conjured him also makes him disappear. It doesn’t. “No thanks.” Wrinkling my nose, I give him a cloyingly sweet smile. “I’d rather fuck a porcupine.” Bending at the waist, I go to retrieve my keys, when I’m jerked up and slammed against the side of my car.
Damn, that hurt.
“That was a mistake.” His voice is rough, like he’s spent the last hour chugging shattered glass and gin. The closer he gets, he smells like it too. Even bathed in half-lit shadows, I can recognize the glazed look in his eyes.
He’s been drinking; a fact that should alarm me enough to not antagonize the situation. Instead, all I feel is cornered and come out swinging.
“Not a porcupine fan, Drake? Why? Did you cheat on one of them too? Maybe snatched a few quills to tack to your bedpost along with all those V-cards?”
He smiles with the sincerity of a serial killer. “You’re scared.”
“You’re delusional.”
He cocks his head. “Am I? You know exactly the mistake I’m referring to.” I raise my eyebrow, and he inhales slowly. “What you did in that conference room, taking what’s owed to me,” he growls, and I fight a wince as his fingers dig into my skin. “But instead of admitting you acted like a spoiled brat to exact some ridiculous teenage vendetta, you’re standing here throwing out juvenile insults like it’s fucking Mardi Gras.”
“Do you have a point to make?”
“You just made it,” he says proudly. “When you feel cornered…” I slump in relief when the pressure on my left shoulder releases, only to stiffen as his finger slips around my neck to trace my hairline. “When these little hairs stand up, and you feel that control you covet so much slipping away, you toughen your walls.” I stare stone-faced into his eyes, refusing him the satisfaction of the flinch reverberating inside my chest. He leans in and brushes his lips against my ear. “The sharper the tongue, the thinner the nerve, princess. You forgot how well I know you.” I feel his lips curve into a wide smile. “Allof you.”
I hate him. I hate his face. I hate his voice. I hate his touch. But mostly, I hate that he’s right. I hate that he has images in his head I can’t erase from mine.
I shove the heel of my palm against his chest. It barely moves him, but it gives me enough room to think.To breathe.“First of all, you know nothing about me,” I hiss. “You never did. Secondly, the Storm belongs tomyfamily. The only thingsyou’reowed, the universe already delivered.” Pausing for dramatic effect, I add, “A has-been career and a raging STD.”
Drake’s smirk fades, his grip on my right shoulder tightening. “I’m warning you, Willow.”
I believe him, which is why I take advantage of my current position. Yanking my pinned shoulder out of his grasp, I duck, swiping my keys off the asphalt at the same time. “And as far as making a mistake in taking control of my franchise? I don’t think so.” Gripping the key fob, I hover my thumb over the alarm button when, yet again, I’m pinned against the car.
This time, by my throat.
