Page 11 of Playboy Pitcher

None of itnice.

“Just wait a goddamn minute.” Moving in front of Hoyt, I glare at him, then drop forward, my palms landing on the table. “Are you telling me some spoiled bitch who doesn’t know dick about baseball is in charge of our futures?”

A throat clears behind me. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I like the Yankees. I may not be a fan per se, but living in the city, I do know the game.”

Chapter Four

It’slike a shot of adrenaline plunges straight into my chest. That voice. That raspy, sultry voice. Like raw honey, sweet with a venomous bite. The voice that crawled up my spine and seeped into my bones. The one belonging to a name written all over my hangover.

Willow.

No, it can’t be.

Slowly, I glance over my shoulder, my hands tensing against the table. When my gaze collides with a familiar pair of toffee brown eyes, I fight to control my reaction. Mainly because I can’t decide if I want to shove her against the door and kiss her until she can’t breathe or shove her out of it until I can’t see her fucking face.

Willow.MyWest Palm Willow is Roger Mays’s daughter.

Even if I’d known last night that he had a daughter,shewould have been the last person I suspected. Hell, she could’ve strutted in that bar wearing a tiara and hadDaddy’s Little Heiressplastered across her shirt, and I wouldn’t have put two and two together.

Because Roger Mays was a billionaire—a major league franchise owner who loved two things in life: baseball and blowing money.

I would’ve imagined his daughter to be unbearably spoiled, living it up as a professional socialite, fake from head to toe with an attitude to match.

I sure as hell didn’t expect Willow.

The exact damn opposite.

Holding her stare, I rise to my full height and fold my arms across my chest. In response, she cocks her hip and twists those full lips into a half smirk.

Well, except for the attitude. I nailed that one.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hoyt’s mouth drop open for a split second before he snaps it shut. Pushing off the chair, he strides toward her with a bewildered smile. “Willie…” He extends his hand. “It’s been a long time.”

I arch an eyebrow.Willie?

She stiffens, the name causing a hairline fracture in that confident shield. “It’s Willow, Mr. Montgomery,” she says, shaking his hand.

Hoyt just stands there, shaking her hand as if it’ll crank an explanation out of her. It doesn’t. On the contrary, her stony expression gives nothing away as a stagnant silence fills the air.

Well, what do you know?Daddy’s little girl has a few chinks in her five-carat armor.

This just got interesting.

“Of course,” Hoyt stammers. “My mistake.” Releasing her hand, he scratches the back of his balding head and lets out a slow breath. “Well, come on in. I’ll introduce you to the team.”

Chaos erupts behind me as half-naked men scatter like ants under a magnifying glass. Against my better judgment, I glance over my shoulder. What I witness is more than chaos. It’s emasculation in motion.

Men who give interviews wearing nothing but towels with half their ball sacks hanging out of the bottom suddenly have baseball gloves tucked between their legs. Even Kyle, who’d proudly walk around with a picture frame hanging from his dick, tugs his jersey from his locker only to fashion what looks like a diaper around his waist.

A fucking diaper.

They can climb into equipment bags and wear them as dresses for all I care. I’m not covering shit. This is my locker room. My team. My sandbox. If Daddy’s princess wants to sit her ass down and dig around in it, she can do it with me wearing nothing but a jockstrap and a smile.

A smile that curves into a triumphant smirk. After all, her disappearing act last night deserves a little payback. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I collide with a stony stare and flat expression.

Batter up, Puddles.

I give her a wink, my cock twitching with thoughts of breaking that ice queen facade.