Page 48 of Playboy Pitcher

I barely get the words out before she’s knocking down my excuses like bowling pins. “It’s always later. Well, screw later. You tell me what’s going on right now, or I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” I snap.

“I don’t know. But I’ll think of something, and it’ll suck for you. So, you’d better go ahead and tell me what the hell you’ve done.”

“Nothing.”

“Will!”

I sigh. She’s not only right, but as relentless as she is stubborn. If I don’t come clean now, she’ll find out some way, and itwillabsolutely suck for me. More than admitting the words in a gas station parking lot.

“I got married.”

“What the fuck?” she explodes.

I pull the phone away to salvage my eardrum, returning it when her tirade is over. “Where are your manners?”

“Where’s your brain?”

“Don’t get an attitude with me,” I hiss. “This was your idea.”

“My idea?” she lets out a shrill, high-pitched laugh. “Don’t pin your crazy on me!”

If I could reach through the phone and smack her, I would.

“Oh, it was absolutely your idea. Remember your little story about the Wall Street tycoon and his arranged marriage? How the daughter and her betrothed got around everything by marrying and then divorcing?”

“Willow! That was a movie. Make-believe. You know the difference, right?”

I stomp my foot on the pavement, because, yeah, I’m the adult here. “Don’t start with me. We have a prenup. It’s all legit. We divorce, and he gets everything. No muss, no fuss.”

Silence fills the line, and I’m about to check to see if she hung up on me when she sighs. “In what universe do you think this is going to work out? Benson LaCroix is a high-profile guy. You’re delusional if you think you can keep this under wraps. Not only that, have you stopped to consider how this will look? When you divorce, it’ll be obvious what you two have done. You think Ben won’t be ridiculed as the sleazeball who dirty dicked his way into owning a major league franchise?”

Warning flares inside me, but I shake it off. “You’re overthinking this.”

“No, you’re underthinking this. Drake will tie your little prenup in so much legal red tape, you’ll both end up rolling up into court in his and hers matching wheelchairs.”

I slam my palm on top of Buford’s hood, ready to argue, when I glance through the windows of the store and see Ben standing at the cash register. “Shit, I have to go, but I wanted to tell you that since I’m going to be here for at least another three weeks, I’m moving into Dad’s Jupiter estate. I can’t afford to keep living in a hotel.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says, her voice softening. “You’re in over your head, Will. That’s why I’m not sorry for doing it.”

I jerk my head up. “What do you mean, you’re not…” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ben push the door open and step out of the store. “I have to go. Talk to you soon. Love you, bye.”

Ending the call, I toss the phone into the backseat and pull the pump out of the fuel tank, returning it to its cradle. Ben narrows his eyes as he reaches the car, so I give him a wide smile as I round the front. “Ready?”

When we’re both seated, Ben hands me my soda and candy, and I waste no time ripping into the bag and pouring half of it into my mouth.

He makes that disgusted face again. “That stuff is bad for you, you know.”

I roll my eyes and start the car. “Says the guy eating a processed meat stick.”

He smiles. “Point taken.” As we pull back onto the highway, only an hour away from Jupiter and reality, Ben takes another bite and chews thoughtfully. “Well, now what?”

I sigh.Just five minutes of peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask?“What do you mean, ‘now what’? We go back to Jupiter.”

“And do what, exactly?” he prods, his tone thick with syrupy arrogance. “In the span of a few days, you’ve acquired a baseball team and a husband. What’s next? World domination?”

Popping another handful of Skittles in my mouth, I shove them in my cheeks like a squirrel and grin. “The Storm went fifty-four and a hundred and eight last season, Ben. Someone has to turn this team around.”