Page 96 of Playboy Pitcher

I’d like to think I had a hand in building Emma’s foundation. In reversing her circle. If a life of misery is my punishment for securing her happiness, I’ll gladly take it ten times over.

“My marriage to Ben is temporary,” I say finally, blinking back the emotion stinging the back of my eyes. “In a little over two weeks, we’ll get a divorce, and you and I will go back to New York where we belong.” Her hand stiffens, so I quickly add, “I’ve put you through so much upheaval, the last thing I want to do is let you get attached to someone who isn’t going to stick around.”

Pulling her hand away, Emma climbs to her feet and slumps against the wall. “How do you know that?” she asks, staring down at me. “Have you asked him?”

My chest tightens.No. I’m afraid of the answer.“I don’t have to. We made a deal, Em. I’ve seen him practice.” The tightening worsens as I think of the pain he tries to hide as he continually pushes himself past his limits. “His elbow is getting worse. It won’t last past Spring Training, much less the season. He needs this team. The only way I can give it to him is by leaving him.”

“That’s not true,” she says stubbornly. “There’s another way.”

I know what she’s getting at, but our conversation is cut short by the sound of the obnoxious doorbell. Emma flashes me a wicked grin, sprinting toward the foyer before I can climb to my feet.

Shit!

“Emma! Wait! Stop, don’t you dare open that”—I come to a skidding halt behind her, only to stare up into a pair of shocked blue eyes—“door,” I finish, palming my forehead.

Oh boy.

Ben blinks, that familiar line tucked deep between his eyes. “Mal?”

Emma grins. “Hey, Playboy.”

My eyes ping-pong between them. “I’m sorry, do you two know each other? And who the hell is Mal?”

“Willow, you’re being rude.” Shoving me out of the way, Emma makes a sweeping gesture inside. “Welcome to this lavish mansion we don’t legally own but have unlawfully moved into. Please come in.”

Ben glances at me, but all I can do is shrug. This is Emma’s show. We’re just along for the ride.

Cautiously, he steps over the threshold like the damn thing is boobytrapped and holds up a bottle. “I, uh, brought wine. Not a fan of the stuff myself, but it just seemed like…” Scratching the back of his head, he gives me a pinched stare. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think we’d have company.”

Pushing up on her toes, Emma slings an arm around Ben’s neck. “Good thing I’m family, huh. Now, come on, I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

Holy shit, what the hell did I get myself into?

Shaking my head, I follow along behind them. Halfway there, Emma tips her head back and peers up at him. “You’re not like, picky, or opposed to having your stomach pumped, are you?”

* * *

Raking his fork through the blob of pasta on his plate, Ben glances to his left where Emma sits staring at him like he’s the main course. “So, this is the person you wanted me to meet?”

I nod. “Emma is my sister.”And I swear she’s not going to slash your tires and serve you a nice dessert of coffee and chloroform.

“Stepsister actually,” Emma pipes up. “Willow is my legal guardian.” The pride in her voice hits me like a punch across the face. I glance away, but I catch Ben staring at me out of the corner of my eye. Oblivious, Emma continues. “But it’s just been the two of us since I was six, so all that step-stuff doesn’t matter to us. Blood isn’t important, right, sis?”

Lifting my wine glass, I force a smile. “Right, kiddo.”

There’s a brief strained silence before Ben cocks an accusing eyebrow at her. “I thought your name was Mal.”

“It is,” Emma says with a shrug, and I clear my throat. Sticking her tongue out at me, she turns to Ben and adds, “Kind of. It’s Emmaline, Emma for short.” When Ben doesn’t say anything, she leans toward him. “Orrrr…Mal? Get it? Em-MAL-line?” When he still doesn’t say anything, she shakes her head and lifts her soda. “Thank God you’re pretty.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, breaking the tension. “You two still haven’t explained to me how you know each other.”

An uncomfortable look passes between them until Ben finally holds up his hands. “You’re on your own.”

“We sort of hung out a few times at the stadium,” she mumbles into her glass.

My fork slips out of my hand and clatters onto the plate. “Youwhat?”

“It’s fine,” she sighs. “The first time, you didn’t even know I was in town.” Turning to Ben, she rolls her eyes. “A little overprotective, that one.”