Page 47 of Playboy Pitcher

The tension in Ben’s body deflates like a popped balloon. “So, this Basile, he was an artist too?”

“The best. His work was featured in the gallery, but his main gig was his tattoo shop. Since I only worked part-time, I hung out at Bas’s place a lot.” My smile wavers as I think about those carefree days in the beginning. Bas and I were like family. He was my big brother. My protector. Without him, I’m not sure where I’d be. Wherewe’dbe.

“Is that where you learned to draw ink?”

I nod proudly, blinking back tears. “Bas taught me everything I know.”

He shakes his head. “Sounds like one hell of a life. Why would you leave it?”

I almost tell him. Our conversation has been so comfortable and easy, the words almost slip out. But, thankfully, I catch myself and swallow them back down before making a dangerous mistake.

I don’t trust Ben, but I don’t distrust him either.

It’s complicated.

Besides, if anyone found out the real reason I left Paris, there’d be a witch hunt, and everything would unravel. I’ve worked too hard and have come too far to let that happen.

So yet again, I straddle the fine line of his ground rules. “My stepmother OD’d.”

Ben’s jaw drops. “Oh my God, Willow. I didn’t know. I—” When I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a pained sigh, his hand lands on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m getting a headache.”

“Of course,” he says flatly, and I almost groan at the loss when his hand slips off my shoulder and returns to his lap. “Well, if you want to pull over, I don’t mind—”

“Ben, we need to talk.” And that’s the end of this episode ofWillow’s Sordid Past. I don’t want his sympathy. I want to change the subject and for him to stop trying to open doors stuffed with skeletons he has no idea exist.

“Okay.”

Taking a deep breath, I say the words I’ve been avoiding. “What happened last night… It can’t happen again. This is a business arrangement. It has to stay strictly business.”

He nods. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” I say with more conviction.

They are the last words we speak. Ben switches the radio back on, drowning out the awkward silence before turning to stare out his window.

I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t look at me either.

I broke his rules.

I lied.

* * *

“I’m going inside to grab some snacks. You want anything?”

I glance up while shoving the pump into Buford’s fuel tank. Ben is already halfway across the gas station parking lot and heading toward the convenience store by the time I yell, “A Dr. Pepper and a bag of Skittles.”

Cocking his chin over his shoulder, he scrunches his face and makes a gagging sound before turning back around.

“Make it two bags,” I yell again. He doesn’t stop this time. He just gives me a thumbs-up before disappearing inside.

I don’t act right away. I give it a good fifteen seconds to make sure Ben doesn’t come back out before opening the car door and grabbing my phone. Keeping my eyes across the parking lot, I turn the power on and hit the speed dial button.

She answers on the first ring. “You’re an asshole.”

“Em, I don’t have much time. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll explain everything later.”