Page 115 of Playboy Pitcher

In an odd and fascinatingly awkward move, Stacey shifts her extended arm and pats her long, dark hair. “I’m sorry, are you a friend of Ben’s?”

Emma smirks, the metal in her mouth shining like silver-capped fangs. “No. I’m his stepdaughter.”

Stacey glances over at me, her eyes wide. “His what?”

I mentally will this kid to shut up, but she’s like a rabid dog. “Oh, didn’t he tell you? He’s married to my mom.”

My beer bottle makes a loud clanging sound as I slam it against a glass side table. “She’s your sister.” When Stacey arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow, I add, “And I’m not married to her. At least not anymore.”

“Not true,” Emma says, singing the words like a damn two-year-old. “Until tomorrow morning, you’re still hitched, my friend.”

Yep, things always can get worse.

Retrieving her purse from the couch, Stacey forces a smile as she walks a brisk pace toward the door. “I, uh, I…”

“Have to go.” Emma smiles. “Of course. Let me show you the door.”

I could intervene. Stacey is a nice girl who definitely doesn’t deserve to fall ass deep in my clusterfuck of a life. However, I can’t bring myself to care enough to stop Emma as she chases her into the foyer.

They’re out of my line of sight, but I don’t need a visual to know what comes next. The audio is loud and clear.

“Happy trails, Susie,” Emma growls seconds before the door slams, jarring the walls and that ice pick still drilling into the side of my head. I close my eyes as the sound of squeaking sneakers blazes a trail back into the living room. “You’re an asshole.”

Opening my eyes, I grab my beer from the table as she flops down beside me. “Sure, have a seat.”

“I should punch you in the balls for cheating on my sister.”

“I’m not cheating on anyone.”

“Are you telling me you’ve never…?” Raising her eyebrows, she motions her hand in a circle. I’m not sure what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but I’m assuming she’s asking if I’ve fucked her.

Or whatever sixteen-year-old girls think adults do.

“What do you want, Emma?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Rolling my eyes, I heave out a sigh. I see where this is going, and it’s right in a damn circle if I don’t shut her up. McBaine women are relentless when they want something. A family trait I learned a little too late.

“Fine. I may have gone out with her once or twice, but it’s nothing like that. She was actually here for Kyle.” When Emma narrows her eyes, I clarify with a smug grin, “Stacey is his sister. She just stopped by to say hello. I was just about to send her home when you barged in like a fucking freight train.” I wait for a smartass comeback, but she keeps her lips pressed in a tight line. “Speaking of which, why are you here?” I turn a sharp eye on her. “Andhow? This is a gated community with access code entry.”

“I stole a copy of your marriage certificate. You think I can’t figure out a stupid four-digit access code? You’re not exactly a hard nut to crack, Ben.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“1128. Your college and major league jersey numbers. I bet your password on your laptop is ‘password,’ huh?”

Password69, but that’s beside the point.

“It’s late, kid. Does your sister know you’re here?”

“You can say her name, you know,” she hisses, first tucking her legs underneath her and then crossing her arms. “It’s Willow. And no, she doesn’t. Because of you, she had a date with a wine bottle tonight and passed out. I drove myself.”

“You don’t have a license.”

Obviously, common sense isn’t high on her priority list because she cocks her chin and shoots me an accusatory glare. “Are you going to badger me about stupid details, or do you want to hear my plan?”

I don’t know what possesses me to ask, “What plan?”