Page 85 of Playboy Pitcher

Flashing him a brilliant grin, I squeal as he scoops me into his arms and carries me toward the shower.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ben cleaned me,as promised. Then he marked me again two more times against the shower wall before carrying my limp and exhausted body to his bed.

Where he crawled between my legs and made me come again.

Now, I lay sprawled out across his chest, a calm settling around us as his fingers draw lazy circles around the tattoo on my back, and mine trace the silvery-white scars on his elbow.

“This is beautiful,” he murmurs, and I twitch as his fingernail follows the compass spanning the width of my shoulder blade.

I close my eyes, knowing he’s taking in the splashes of color and sharp lines bleeding a silent trail of tears. I hold my breath, the simple words that stain my skin offering him a muddled window to my past.

“Not all who wander are lost. What does it mean?”

A question with so many answers, I’m not sure how to pick just one. I think of the last few hours I spent draped across Basile’s chair, the cathartic pain of the needle reminding me of the path I’d taken, and the one I’d chosen to face.

My eyelashes flutter against his chest as I open them and sigh. “It means not everything is always what it seems. Sometimes choices that appear reckless and selfish are sacrifices no one will ever understand. It means some people aren’t lost at all; they’re just…” I swallow the emotion threatening to break free. “Searching for freedom.”

Ben doesn’t say anything. He simply spreads his fingers and covers the compass with his hand, as if to infuse strength into it. The simple gesture draws a ragged breath from my chest. His silence speaks volumes. He’s not pushing, but I know the words are still there, hanging over us like a black cloud.

You’re hiding something, Willow.

I don’t do secrets.

In ten years, I’ve never once let myself slip up. I’ve known too much betrayal to trust in anyone but myself. One blind confession to the wrong person and my life could be torn apart. But I’m so tired. My shoulders ache from carrying the weight of this burden alone.

“Ben…?”

“Yeah?”

Just do it. Stop hiding and leap.

I try to force myself to say the words. I try to give them a voice and lay the burden at his feet. But as I open my mouth, they die on my tongue, retreating to the safe harbor of that locked place inside me.

Blinking back tears, I turn to face him. “Where did you learn to bake like that?”

Coward.

He chuckles, a sheepish grin pulling across his face. “Picked it up by accident really. My sister was into baking. Real gourmet kind of shit. I used to follow her around the house to be a pain in the ass, but as I got older, she started teaching me the basics. It just became our thing.”

My self-loathing takes a hiatus as I push off his chest. “You have a sister? I thought you were an only child.”

He grins. “Doing research on me, huh?” Grunting as I slap his chest, he locks his arms around my waist and pulls me flush against him. “Hailey isn’t really my sister,” he says, tightening his hold. “She’s my cousin. Her old man went to jail when she was little, so my dad took her in. When he married my mom, they raised her as their own.” Judging by the fierce pride blooming across his face, I can tell the bond between them is strong, and my heart melts a little. “But I don’t care what anyone says,” he adds. “She’s my sister.”

His fierce conviction doesn’t fall on deaf ears. “I can understand that,” I say, smiling as I think of the advice-slinging teenager waiting by her phone for an update.

Ben’s fingers sink into my hair, twirling the strands around his fingers when he pauses and lets out a low chuckle. “Out with it, Puddles.”

“Huh?”

“Something is rolling around in that head of yours. I can always tell when something is on your mind because you frown,” he says, tugging on the corners of my mouth with his thumb and forefinger.

“You said Hailey’s father went to jail?”

He nods, a shroud of anger blanketing his face. “Drugs. Piece of shit is lucky he didn’t kill somebody.” My body tenses as that line sinks between his eyes again. Noticing my reaction, he darts those burning eyes toward me before the fire flickers out. Raking a hand down his face, he groans, “Shit, Willow, your stepmother… I’m so sorry. I didn’t think…”

“Don’t be,” I insist, rolling off him and onto the mattress. Drawing my legs toward my chest, I fold my arms across my knees. “I’m fine. It’s not like we were close or anything.”