Page 91 of Playboy Pitcher
Ned crosses his arms, his gaze darting between Ben and me. “You mean to tell me two complete strangers met in a locker room, and from what I hear, insulted the fuck out of each other, then forty-eight hours later decided what the hell, let’s get married?”
“Yes,” I confirm, squeezing the shit out of Ben’s hand. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He casts a suspicious look toward Ben, who shrugs. “When you know, you know.”
I could kiss him right now.
Ned lets out a hearty laugh and slaps the table. “Give me a break. LaCroix. You can’t commit to one woman for more than a day, much less a lifetime.”
Ben stiffens, and I bite my lip, stifling a whimper as he crushes my hand. “Maybe it just took finding the right one.”
“And that’s Willow?” Ned chuckles again. “Right.”
What the hell does he mean,right? Like I’m some consolation prize only good enough to screw until something better comes along? Who the hell does this Lucky Charms looking troll thing he’s talking to? “Is that so hard to imagine?” I hiss.
Ned sucks his tongue against his top teeth, a popping sound bouncing off the walls as he offers a wink. “No offense, sweetheart, but look at you.” To emphasize his point, he motions a hand toward my hair and then down the tattoos covering my arms. “You’re not exactly the bring home to meet the parents type.”
I can’t help it; my breath catches, and a wounded animal sound lodges in my throat. I want to punch myself for letting him get to me. I want to punch myself for being weak. Then I want to punch Ben for making me that way.
“Watch it, Riggins.” The low growl coming from beside me drags me out of my pity party and tosses me ringside where Ben is laced up and ready to fight. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
What the hell just happened?
I’m still blinking in shock when he turns toward me with a crooked smile and brings our joined hands to his lips, kissing them. “I can’t wait to introduce her to my parents. They’ll love her as much as I do.”
A rush of heat burns my cheeks. I’m still floating in a bubble of shock when the room erupts with rapid-fire questions stemming from every corner. A few ask intimate details about Ben and me, but mostly, worries spread like a disease about the media.
What will they think?
What will they say?
Tearing myself away from Ben’s unyielding stare, I clear my throat and address the room. “Don’t worry. I have it covered.”
When a flurry of protests erupts, I slam my palm onto the table. “I believe I said I have it covered,” I repeat, infusing power in each word. Ben squeezes my hand, and my chest inflates. Looking each of them in the eye, I curl my lip. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the owner of this team. I don’t answer to a damn one of you. So, when I say I have it covered, it means shut your mouths and do your fucking jobs. Do I make myself clear?”
An awkward beat of silence turns into two, then three, then five. Just as I’m about to do something stupid like apologize to a table full of misogynistic assholes, Hoyt smiles with pride. “Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear.”
Reluctantly, more affirmations follow, ending with an eye roll from Ned. “Whatever,” he mumbles, picking up his pencil. “If you want to drive this self-destructive bus, then be my guest.”
“What about the PR problem?” Jack asks, clearing his throat. “The Storm’s name isn’t exactly held in high regard right now.”
Turning, I pin him with a lethal stare. “What did I just say?”
His answer is a curt nod. One by one the men stand, straighten their matching suit jackets, and file out of the conference room with their newly severed balls in their hands.
Last to leave is Hoyt, who lingers in the doorway, his face beaming with pride. Giving me a wink, he closes the door behind him.
And then there was one.
Releasing my hand, Ben sits back in his chair and turns those iron eyes on me. I fidget under the weight of his stare, my heart pounding in my chest as his jaw saws back and forth. “You want to tell me what the hell just happened?”
Ironically, I do. I want to tell him everything. How I listened to my gut. How I stood up for myself and protected us both. How I would’ve told him I was flipping the script if I’d had time.
But time is the one thing I don’t have.
Neither of us do.
“Later.” Grabbing his hand, I pull us both to our feet. “We have somewhere to be.” He only half resists as I pull him toward the door.
