Page 51 of Playboy Pitcher

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” As short as she is, it’s almost comical to watch her glare up at him. Kind of like the Keebler Elf trying to throw a punch at the Jolly Green Giant.

“Kyle Abbott, ma’am. I’m a right fielder.”

“Yeah,” she says, pursing her lips. “I’m not going to remember that.” Willow starts to walk away, then stops and looks back over her shoulder. “Wait, didn’t you pose naked in an edition ofSports National?”

Kyle’s signature smirk returns. “Saw that, did ya?”

She shoots him one back. “Nope.”

He isn’t smiling anymore. In fact, he looks confused. Willow shows no mercy as she pats his arm and moves past home plate.

Kyle stands dumbstruck as the team erupts into howls of laughter.

Lifting her chin, Willow turns to address the team. “Gather around, boys. Let’s chat.”

I hold my breath. This could go either way, and the last thing I want to do is be put on the spot. Defending her is not in my best interest. Unfortunately, leaving her to the wolves is not in our agreement’s best interest. Luckily, I don’t have to choose. The team folds in, forming a semicircle around the pitcher’s mound.

And me.

Willow nods. “Okay, since our resident comedian set up my lead in, let’s go from there, shall we?” She doesn’t give them a chance to protest. “The last time you all saw me, I made no secret of my intention to sell this team. My father may have left it to me, but I didn’t want it.”

“Didn’t? Does that mean you’ve changed your mind?”

Willow’s eyes scan the crowd, finally settling beside me.

Shit.

“And what do you do?” she asks, tilting her chin.

“Catcher. Name’s Tucker Collins.”

Silence blankets the field as Willow steps closer, looking him up and down like a science project.This is so not going to end well.“Yep, not going to remember that either.” Giving him a wink, she addresses the team again. “However, blondie did ask a question, and the answer is no, I’m not going to sell the team.”

There’s an air of confusion, but I say nothing. All I do is stare at her, trying somehow to communicate a truth she’s not hearing. They don’t trust her, therefore, they won’t listen to her.

“Ben? What do you think?”

Tuck’s question takes me off guard, forcing my hand. So, I make a snap decision. One I hope she understands. “This isn’t softball, sweetheart.” I smirk, holding her stare. “We play hard and fast here. You think you can handle it?”

Her jaw clenches. “Big talk from a guy who sat the bench most of the season.”

My whole body stiffens.Damn, she went right for the jugular.When I don’t come back at her, she continues her speech.

“As I was saying, I’m not selling, but I’m also not going to sit around in some ivory tower and continue to let this team go to shit either. My father might have passed the buck and allowed some people to make some extremely bad decisions resulting in”—pausing, she gestures a sweeping hand to all of us—“in, well,this. But that buck stops with me.”

“Why?” All eyes turn to the far end of the semi-circle. Not because of the question, but because of who asked it.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a simple question. You wanted to sell, and now you don’t. Why? What changed your mind so quickly?”

“And you are?”

“Cruz Serrano, first baseman.”

I can see the wheels turning in Willow’s head. She’s remembering what I said in the car on the way back from Georgia. About how our first baseman told us she spent time in France. The woman is like a human vault. She hoards conversations and random fragments of information away like artillery.

Words are her weapon, but they’re also her weakness. She likes to think she’s this fortress of mystery, but I’m starting to see beyond it. I can read her now, a fact that would send her walls shooting up like a rocket if she knew.