Page 46 of Renegade Ruin

“Were they your father’s?”

Surprise smacks me in the face when her face falls and her gaze darts to the floor. “They’re mine.”

“Because you inherited them?”

Her jaw tightens, making me painfully aware I’ve said the wrong thing. “No, they’ve always been mine.”

My mouth gapes, and she laughs. This time it’s genuine. Something I haven’t heard from her in some time.

“Is that such a surprise?”

“Sort of,” I admit.

“Of course. I couldn’t possibly know a thing about baseball, right?”

“I know you better than that.”She knows the game better than anyone gives her credit for, and now that I think about it, so many of the conversations we’ve had tangled in each other's arms about stats and baseball history make more sense.

Her face scrunches, but she doesn’t elaborate. “Now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, can we move on?”

Willow turns her back on me and pads toward the desk, but I’m not ready to move on just yet. There’s more to this story, and even though I promised myself I wouldn’t push this beyond what I’m here for, I can’t help but want to know more.

When I don’t immediately follow her, she halts her steps and looks over her shoulder.

I shake my head. “Not until you tell me why you have these.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes, and for a split second, I think she’s going to tell me to fuck off. Which she's well within her rights to do. Instead, like always, she surprises me. “My father got me some every year for my birthday. First it was guys from the Renegades. Then from every team in the league. Soon we bonded over finding rare cards. Happy?”

No. Not even close.

Mostly because I am trying to reconcile how it’s possible she can be both the woman who frustrates the living shit out of me with her calculated behavior and still be the innocent woman I met on a balcony.

I set the binder down on the bar cart and take a step forward, following as she continues toward the desk. She turns and leans against the front, gesturing for me to sit. As much as I’d rather stand, I choose to pick my battles and lower myself onto the plush leather Chesterfield chair. She looks down at me, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to be scolded in the principal's office.

Hell, maybe I am.

Willow takes a long pull from her glass, downing half its contents before setting it on the desk beside her. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

I swallow hard and my hand itches to tug at my hair, but I don’t want her to pick up on my nerves, so I fist the fabric of my jeans instead. “It’s not so much a talk as a proposition.”

My eyes don’t dare leave her face, searching for any hint of trepidation. But if she’s surprised, her poker face doesn’t let on and I’m hit with the realization that this is how she operates with the league.

With me, her eyes have always been a window to her soul, just as they were moments ago talking about those damn baseball cards. Right now, she’s on the defense, and instead of allowing me access, she’s hiding all the bits she feels like she needs to protect.

I shouldn’t hate it as much as I do.

Willow nods. “I’m listening.”

I want to tell her I don’t want the business side of her, but the truth is, that’s what I need. She’s right to keep me at arm’s length.

With this in mind, I relax my shoulders and come out with it. “I…I want another night.”

She starts to say “no” at the same time I force “hear me out” from my lips.

“Fine,” Willow grits out and crosses her arms across her chest.

“Last Sunday night was exactly what I needed to get through the next day. What you said, about not feeling, you were right. Sometimes it’s not about moving on, it’s about learning to live. And that night I felt alive.”

She drops her hands to the side of the desk to hold her weight as she leans back and crosses her legs in front of her. “So, what are you asking me for?”

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