Page 65 of Playboy Pitcher
What the hell just happened here?
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. “Look, Willow—”
“Are you okay to drive?”
“What?”
“Back there, the alcohol. Are you okay to drive?”
Seriously? She’s worried about my sobriety after what we just did? “Yeah, I just had one beer. But listen, what just—”
“Good,” she says with a curt nod. “Then I’d like to go home, please.” Facing forward, she places her hands in her lap and stares out the windshield.
That’s it. End of discussion.
If I wasn’t so goddamn pissed, I’d laugh. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Getting used as a pawn is the story of my life.
But I thought she was different.
I let her in. I shared more of myself with her than I ever have with anyone. Stupidly, I thought something happened tonight, but breaking down Willow’s walls would take years I’m not willing to invest.
She was right.
Thisisjust business.
I start the ignition. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Chapter Twenty
I don’t bother turningon the lights. Slamming the door, I spin around and collapse against it, my heart hammering in my chest.
What have we done? What haveIdone?
No. No, no, no.This was just supposed to be a simple outing. One dinner to appease the Neanderthals on the team who couldn’t handle a strong-willed woman. One night Ben promised them in return for their cooperation.
Was that all I was? A trade?
Dropping my backpack to the floor, I press the heels of my palms against my closed eyes. How did this get so complicated so fast? I had everything planned seamlessly. All the i’s dotted, all t’s crossed.
Ben got the team.
I got my freedom.
Drake got screwed.
The end.
But tonight, with the stage and that damn song he picked…
“This Girl Is On Fire.”
Why did he pick that song?
It felt like he got me. Like he listened. Like I wasn’t screaming into the wind anymore because someone finally heardme. Like he had one hand on my back pushing me to be more, and the other under my feet ready to catch me if I fell.
For the first time in ten years, I took a chance and leaped…right off a cliff.
“I’m sorry, Ben. I don’t date baseball players.”That’s what I told him the first night we met at that bar. I meant every word.
