Page 72 of Playboy Pitcher

She’s not the only one who has walls.

Willow lets out a ragged breath and closes her eyes, as if ignoring the situation will make it go away. “I’m sorry I avoided you, but if you’ll just let me explain—”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Standing, I drain the rest of my beer and then slam the glass down as I shove my chair under the table. “See, the time for talking was yesterday. When I called you all day, and you ignored me.”

Opening her eyes, she retreats behind that damn shield. The one secured with spikes and barbed wire. “We said one night. You agreed. Why are you punishing me?”

“You’re right. We said one night.” Glancing over my shoulder, I wink at a busty blonde in a dress so short, I can see her ass. “And now it’s her turn. The difference between you and her, Puddles, is that she’ll be honest about what she wants from me.” Turning around, I leave Willow sitting there in shock.

This is exactly why I don’t believe in love.

It’s too easy to use as a weapon.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I feel her watching me,those guarded eyes boring into my back like a bent chisel. Unfinished business hangs thick and heavy between us, crackling in the air. I should probably end this right here. I don’t want anyone else. This whole act was to prove a point. To lash out.

I wanted to hurt her, not humiliate her.

But I don’t turn back around. I can’t. The whole bar is watching and waiting for the show to begin. They’re a studio audience with front-row seats to a fan favorite.

The Playboy Pitcher.

Last night, I told Willow a truth that cuts so deep it doesn’t even bleed.Image is what people believe. It doesn’t make it true.Those weren’t just words. They’re my brittle foundation. A wretched label that’ll end up etched on my tombstone. I didn’t lie to her that night in the hotel room. I’ve never met that Alicia Evans woman in my life. And those pictures? Complimentary, but still not me. But that’s how the fame train works. Once it starts rolling, you either jump on board or you get run over.

The public isn’t interested in truth. They want scandal. They want that rebellious bad boy good enough for a fuck but not for forever.

That’s why the cut doesn’t bleed. The real damage is inside. The place no one bothers to look.

Just as I reach the table of faceless Annies, a sea of cell phones rises as patrons record every moment for their social media. I’m not shocked. My antics create overnight internet sensations.

Isn’t that some shit?

You know you’ve fucked up when someone else posts the dumb shit you do, and it makes them famous.

“Hey there, Playboy. You look good tonight.”

“I was about to say the same to you.” I wasn’t. She looks like a cheap whore who took a nosedive into her mother’s makeup bag. Nothing about her appeals to me, from the bleach blonde hair to the fake tan to the plastic face.

How the hell did I ever find this attractive?

How did I manage to convince myselfthiswas my type?

Willow.

She twisted something in my head, and now it’s all knotted and fucked up. Up is down. Right is wrong. And this slut isn’t getting anywhere near my dick tonight. But the blue-haired dragon breathing fire behind my back doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m Kenly,” she purrs, sliding out of her chair. She doesn’t offer me her hand. Annies aren’t interested in etiquette. They want a good, hard fuck and a story to tell.

She could tell me her name is Rapunzel for all I care. I won’t remember it in five minutes anyway. “How about I buy you a drink, Kerri?”

“Kenly,” she corrects me.What-the-fuck-ever.“I’m not so much thirsty as I am hungry, Playboy.” Lowering her gaze, she stares at my dick and licks her lips. “What do you say we slip out back for a few minutes?”

I’ll hand it to her; she gets straight to the point.

It’s exactly like I told Willow. The difference between an Annie like this and her is that an Annie will always tell you exactly what she wants. There’s no guessing. No games. No all-night drives or sleepless nights. With Kimmie, I know exactly what’s on the table—one hell of a blow job.

If I took this girl out back right now and let her suck me off, there’s no doubt in my mind it’d be good. No, it’d be better than good; it’d be mind-blowing. Annies pride themselves on being rated by ballplayers. If they suck dick well enough, their name gets pushed up the major league hierarchy.