Page 87 of Playboy Pitcher

No, my brain shouts, and I don’t even know why. Maybe subconsciously it’s trying to hold on to the one thing I believed to be unbreakable about my father. His unyielding respect for a game he put above anything else, including his family.

But I was just a stupid kid who should’ve listened to the man’s own words.Everything has a price if you want it bad enough.

Feeling exposed, I pull the sheet up over my chest. “Have you considered confronting him about it?”

He pins me with an empty stare. “Just like you did?”

I wince at the truth in his accusation, pulling the sheet tighter. Even as the connection we’ve forged strains under bitterness and anger, I’m not hurt by him. Quite the opposite. I hurtforhim. I’m not the target for his pain, just a convenient outlet, another move straight out of my own playbook.

“Even if he did do it, what does it matter? You’re a damn good pitcher. I don’t care who your father is; he couldn’t have bought your way into the draft.Youdid that yourself.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll never know if I could’ve made it on my own. My whole life I’ve never been allowed to take a risk and fall on my face. Just this once, I wanted to know if I was good enough,” he says, his voice thick with pain as he pounds his fist to his chest. “To do something on my fucking own.”

Those words.

That pain.

It all makes sense now.

“That’s why you do it,” I say softly.

“Do what?”

“The act. You want to be Playboy Pitcher to punish your father. To soil the perfect career he wanted for you. To make him pay for crimes you don’t even know if he committed.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a flash of fear in them. Fear of the truth spilling out and stripping his defenses. “Are you a psychiatrist now?”

“No, just observant.” Needing to revive the peace we shared before the past drowned it in a river of unresolved pain, I release my hold on the sheet and let it pool around my waist.

Ben’s dull eyes flare to life, his breathing becoming shallow. “Observant how?”

Pulling the sheet off him, I lick my lips as his stiff cock rises to greet me. “Why don’t I show you instead?” He tenses as I crawl between his legs and run my hand down his hard length.

“God, yes,” he groans, biting his lip while bucking his hips. “Suck it.”

Flashing him a wicked grin, I bend my head and open my mouth, just as I hear my phone going off in the kitchen. Startled, I turn toward the sound, only to have Ben grip the back of my head and guide it back down.

“Ignore it,” he rasps, bucking against my face. “I need you to…” A tortured groan rips from his throat as I take him deep in mine. “Yeah, like that…”

The only thing on my mind is pushing him over the edge—until my phone chimes again. And again. And again. Releasing his cock with a wet pop, I lift my head, my eyebrows bunching at the sound.Who the hell keeps texting me?

Then, my heart plummets.

Emma.

“Willow…” Gripping my hair, Ben turns my head so that our eyes meet. “The phone can wait. My dick can’t.”

“Just one minute. I promise.”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Ben releases my hair, growling as he flops onto his back. “In one minute, I’ll be dead.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Sprinting into the kitchen, I grab my bag off the floor and retrieve my still chiming phone. However, one glance at the screen and chills scatter down my naked skin. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit,what?”

Glancing up, I find Ben leaned against the wall, the pair of boxers he slipped on straining against his powerful erection.

“They know,” I whisper.