Page 52 of Playboy Pitcher
And the look she’s giving Cruz is one of caution. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Only because you avoid answering them.”
Willow cocks her chin, appraising him. “Okay, how’s this for an answer? I grew up on these fields. I learned to hit a triple in a major league stadium when all of you were fielding grounders in little league. My old man and I had issues, and I tried to hate this team to punish him for them. But being back here…” Her gaze lowers briefly before she holds her head up high. “Well, let’s just say I’ve realized you can leave the game, but it never leaves you.”
I see her chin tremble and curse under my breath. She’s baring too much of her soul, and these assholes will eat her alive for it. So, I do the only thing I can think of to reel her back in.
I antagonize her.
“So, what’s your grand plan, boss? To get us a pennant?”
Her sharp gaze snaps to mine, those toffee-colored eyes melting under the heat of her fury. “You have a problem with me, LaCroix?”
“Hey,” Tuck calls out. “How come you can’t remember our names, but you know his?”
With a half smirk pulling at her mouth, she sways those hips until she’s standing a few feet in front of me. “Well, being famous for doing stupid shit really isn’t something to be proud of,” she says, that raspy voice driving me insane. “Is it, Playboy?”
The immediate reaction from the assholes behind me spurs me on. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”
For a second, I think she’s going to call my bluff, but, thankfully, she rolls her eyes and looks away.Thank God. If she’d come any closer, my body would’ve given everyone the clear answer.
“Starting right now, we play by my rules, boys.” Willow makes sure to hold everyone’s eye except mine. “Your manager, your coaches, they all report to me. I’ll be here every day in your face and under your skin until you return to Miami. If you’re not performing to my standards, you go home.”
Strike.Wrong thing to say. A wave of dissension ripples through the crowd. The word “bitch” is thrown around again, and a few players nudge me in solidarity.
What am I supposed to do?
So, I roll my eyes at them.
Unfortunately, Willow takes it differently and is in my face before I can blink. “Especially you, Playboy. Hope that expensive Miami specialist Doc sent you to was worth it because your ass is on the line too.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Your pitch needs some work.”
You want to play? Let’s play, Puddles.
“What do you know?” I volley back, stepping closer. “You’re just a girl. I could strike you out blindfolded.”
A wicked smile spreads across her face. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Care to put your money where your mouth is,boss?” I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me, but I can’t stop. This feels like foreplay, and I don’t care who’s watching.
Her fists clench by her side. “Loser takes ten laps around the field.”
I can’t wait to see those tits bounce while she’s running.
Never taking my eyes off her, I hold my hand out. “Ball.” Someone places a baseball in my hand, and I allow myself a smirk before turning toward the pitcher’s mound. “I’ll go easy on you.”
“Eat shit,” she growls.
True to my word, my first pitch is so weak, even I cringe. The ball sails over home plate into Tuck’s mitt as Willow stands there with the bat resting against her shoulder looking insulted as fuck.
I grin. “Strike one.”
“Not an earned one,” she grumbles. “I didn’t swing because that was a bitch throw. My grandmother could have crushed that ball and she’s been dead for twenty years. Are you going pitch like a big boy now?”
I pound my fist into my glove. I’ve been trying to keep her from making an ass out of herself, and she repays me by insulting the one thing I pride myself on? The one thing that defines me?
