Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots, #4)

by Tessa Bailey

“Do me a favor.” “In addition to this one?” she sputtered, running to her bedroom closet and hunkering down in front of the stackable drawer holding her multitude of sports bras. “Yeah. When you get into the car, sit as far away from me as possible just in case sucking is contagious.” “I’m going to sit close enough to choke you to death. You won’t even see it coming.” “Choke me after the game. Save your energy for pitching.” “We’ll see.”

From five yards away, she’d been interesting to look at. Obviously pretty. Up close? Her scowl made him wonder how much a bouquet of long stem roses cost.

“Gauthier with the baseball lingo,” someone said. “I think I just sprouted wood.” “Really? Because I fucking lost mine.” Redbeard’s grin finally, rapidly, dropped and he socked the guy who’d lost his boner in the shoulder. “There’s a lady present, jackass.” “Sorry, Chloe,” yawned his friend. “What? Nah, Chloe is used to our bullshit.” She could feel Redbeard staring at her from the assemblage of hockey dudes. “I was talking about the pitcher. She’s feeling me.” A jolt of surprise ran from Skylar’s shoulder down to her fingertips. He was . . . talking about her? She’d been the target of myriad intimidation strategies, but this one took the cake. Skylar resented being taken out of her pitching zone, but this shithead needed to be put in his place. “No, I’m not,” she called sweetly. Redbeard went back to smiling. “You will be.” “Only if I have to check for a pulse after the game,” Skylar said, doing her best to sound bored. “Because we’re about to murder you.” “Trust me, I’ve got a pulse, sweetie. You’re making it race.”

“Are you just trying to psych me out?” she asked. “You are, aren’t you?” “Holy shit.” Redbeard frowned. “It’s almost like . . . she doesn’t know she’s hot.” A teammate slapped him on the shoulder, though he barely flinched at the assault. “You better marry her before she finds out she could do way better.” “I know, right?” Then to her, “Can’t wait to tell the grandkids how we met, Skylar.” “Hey.” Elton strode past her toward first base. “Stop talking to my sister.” Redbeard’s head dropped back on a loud groan. “Why does every attractive woman have to be somebody’s sister?” What exactly did that mean?

“I was thinking, Rocket. Why don’t you and I place a little side bet?” “No.” “At least hear me out,” he said, chuckling. “I’ve heard more than enough from you.” “I’m better one-on-one.” He winked. “Happy to prove it.” “Earlier, it sounded like you prefer one on two.” Another chorus of ohhhhhs from his teammates. He inclined his head, eyes twinkling, yet verging on regretful. “Touché.” “Take his head off already, Sky,” complained Elton. Redbeard was undeterred. “Permission to approach the mound, Your Honor.” Skylar came very close to launching a pitch into the man’s eye socket. This whole situation was infuriating, right down to the sexism and entitlement. Could she handle herself? Yes. That didn’t mean she should be required to. Odds were, he wouldn’t be giving this same flirtatious treatment to a male pitcher, would he? Singling him out in front of everyone for his own amusement? If it wasn’t for Madden standing up and slowly removing his catcher’s mask, appearing on the verge of decking Redbeard, she would have whittled the hockey player down to size in front of both teams and gotten on with her day. But her pulse started to race with reckless joy at the possibility that Madden was jealous. Over her. Could he be? Like, actually, actually? Hope almost caused her to float. Was giving this insufferable hockey player the time of day worth getting Madden’s attention? After years of pining in silence? Bet your butt. “Permission granted to approach the mound,” she blurted, find...

“Gentlemen, please serve as witnesses,” boomed his obnoxiously deep voice. “If I make it on base, me and the pitcher have a coffee and orange juice date at a TBD location.” Madden spat, yanked his face mask back into place, and dropped to his haunches. She wasn’t imagining this, right? Mad was jealous over her. “I’m not worried,” Elton drawled. “She won’t let you make it on base.” No. She wouldn’t. She had far too much pride for that.

Before she could enter the ruckus, Robbie ducked his way out of the brawl with a supreme air of nonchalance, as if he hadn’t been the one to instigate it. He bent his knees, tossed her into a fireman’s hold over his shoulder, ignoring the way she pounded on his concrete-reinforced back, trying to free herself so she could get a piece of at least one Bearcat. “Put me down,” she shouted through her teeth. “Let me save you,” he called up to her, making an oof sound when she punched him in the butt. “If someone accidentally hit you, this would go from a friendly Saturday morning brawl to an emergency room visit for a lot of baseball players.” “You started it!” “Your brother threw the first punch.” “You deserved it.” “Maybe so, Rocket, but let’s focus on what’s important.” “Like what?” “Look where I’m standing.” Skylar twisted around to judge their location. His feet were planted firmly on first base. He’d won the bet. She sagged in defeat.

“So, tell me about yourself.” Original. “No thanks.” “Besides pitch like a Hall of Famer, what are you into?” “Cannibalism.” Robbie chuckled into his second robust bite, leaned back into a sprawl, and studied her while he chewed. “Are you mean to everyone or just me?” Skylar crossed her arms and propped them on the table. “Are you surprised I’m a little standoffish after you made a joke out of me in front of everyone, then punched my brother in the face?” She exhaled toward the ceiling. “You better hope Elton’s black eye is gone before we visit my parents next week or Mother is going to be pissed. She taught me everything I know about cannibalism. You’re big. You could feed us for a month.” “See, now I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” “I’m not,” she deadpanned. “I see.”

“Whatever.” She uncrossed her arms, scooped up her mug of orange juice, and took a hearty gulp. “I already hated your guts by that point, anyway.” “Because you overheard what I said when you arrived at the field?” He dropped his head back on a groan. “I knew it.” “Why else would I have mouthed the words ‘fuck you’ before introductions were made?” “I don’t know, I just figured you hate redheads.” “I do. But only when they’re named Robbie.” “Very specific of you.” “It’s who I am.”

“Don’t you need a new teammate for the Page . . .” “Stakes? Yes.” She leaned forward, then way back in her chair. As if she comprehended where he was going with this line of questioning but wasn’t sure if Robbie was quite that crazy. Spoiler alert: he was. “Why?” He spread his arms wide. “Look no further.” “That punch knocked your common sense loose. Looser, I should say. You’re proposing we compete together, as a team, in the Page Stakes?” She shook her head slowly, one corner of her mouth lifting with secret amusement. “Honestly? You have no idea what you’d be in for. I should let you come, just to watch your dawning horror.” Robbie scratched his beard. “Your family is that fucked-up, huh?” “My dad wakes us up with a trumpet. He keeps a local nurse on speed dial, just in case any of us require medical attention.” “I’m in.” “What . . . is wrong with you?” “Same thing that’s wrong with you. I’m competitive to a fault. I don’t care if the prize is a Pepsi can, I want to win it.” With you. “And in the process . . .” He tried to shrug off the warning twist in his chest, but he didn’t quite succeed. “We make your catcher a little jealous. Let him see who and what he’s missing.”

“All right, look. I’m not suffering from some delusion that she’ll change her mind and want me instead. You should see her talk about him.” He laughed, but the sound verged on deflated. “She’ll never talk about me like that. I’ve managed my expectations. I will come out of this unscathed. And more importantly, single.” Mailer bashed his fist against the locker and cheered. Sig and Burgess looked dubious. Robbie managed to keep his smile intact through two lasagnas and three episodes of Reacher, but when he got into bed that night and stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing but challenging brown eyes, the smile was long gone.

“Hey,” he said, grinning at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “Miss me?” “No, but I’m looking forward to it.” He let out one of those brief cracks of laughter. “This is so us, right? Starting off this adventure with contempt. Setting the tone.” Skylar implored the ceiling for patience, then put the Honda into drive. “Are you going to be this annoying the whole hour and a half drive?” He flashed his teeth. “I’ll put my unique charm on the back burner for now. We’re going to need the full ninety minutes for you to educate me on your town, your family. You.” She felt his attention travel down the side of her profile. “If we’re going to be convincing, I’ll need to know more than just the casual details.”

“Mailer and I have a deal that whoever moves out first has to pay the other back for their half of the condo. Just in case one of us gets traded. Or . . . other horrible things that shan’t be named.” “Like a career-ending injury?” He clutched at his chest. “Jesus, woman. You of all people should know you’re not supposed to put that possibility out into the universe.” “Sorry,” she muttered, genuinely chagrined, because he was right. She did know better. She blamed her lack of tact on the topic weighing heavily on her mind. How she’d bring it up. How he would react. “For what it’s worth, you’ve obviously had numerous blows to the head and you’re still playing.” “Good point,” he said without missing a beat.

“Anyway, unlike me, you are googleable. I memorized your bio on the Bearcats website, so I know you grew up on Long Island. Attended Quinnipiac. Drafted in the second round last year by the Bearcats. Can eat a breakfast sandwich in three bites.” “I can eat a breakfast sandwich in one bite. I was being polite.” She made an interested sound. “Could there be a gentleman lurking in there after all?” “If there is, I doubt we’re going to find out this week.” He reached up and took hold of the handle over the door. “Not when there’s an aluminum can trophy on the line.” “That’s the spirit.”

“Okay, like, this is serious. You’re being serious. You don’t think you’re enough to keep someone’s attention.” He sounded so incredulous. Why? “I mean, I haven’t kept anyone’s attention before, so . . . the proof is in the pudding, isn’t it?” “Maybe you just haven’t liked any of the guys enough to bother. Have you thought about that?”

“We’ve established that you like women and women like you. Hooking up is pretty much your specialty.” In her periphery, she noticed Robbie’s shoulders slump ever so slightly, but couldn’t imagine why. He’d bragged about this exact truth a matter of days ago. “Maybe you could teach me to do the things . . . that women do to attract you?” She glanced over to gauge his reaction, but found his expression blank. The only telling movement was the heavy rise and fall of his chest. “I thought . . . I mean, I want to be better than how I’ve been, Rocket—” “Oh, I hope you didn’t misunderstand me before,” she rushed to say. “There’s no shame in having as many partners as you want, as long as they’re treated with respect, you know? And, um . . . well. There’s also no reason all that experience and knowledge in your head couldn’t be harnessed for the greater good, right?” “Greater good,” Robbie repeated slowly. “Meaning . . . ?” “Meaning, if you say yes to . . . teaching me some moves, the best part is that you won’t— you don’t get attached. It’s guilt free.” Skylar gave a rueful laugh. “And come on, it’s for a worthy cause.” Brow puckered, Robbie stared out at the highway, his white-knuckled fist gripping the strap of his seat belt. Uh-oh. Any second now he’d ask to be taken home. “I strongly disagree with the way you’re making yourself sound like a charity case, Skylar,” he said instead. “And I don’t . . . I don’t want you to have moves that other girls have.” “Why?” “I don’t know!” ...

Sunday: Flirting Monday: Date Night Practice Tuesday: Making Out Wednesday: Blow Job Workshop Thursday: Main Event (Maybe) Fucking. That meant fucking. Maybe. Son. Of a bitch.

“You’re fucking beautiful all the time, but especially when you laugh.” Ironically, her mirth died down, brown eyes running a curious lap around his face. “I’m already confused about flirting. So far, according to you, it’s either cheesy or intense. Isn’t it supposed to fall somewhere in between?” “It’s a mixture of both. Making you laugh, but also making sure you know . . .” “Know what?” An exhale hissed out of him. “That I’d like to wake up tomorrow with your knees imprinted on my mattress.” Her chest dipped. “Any girl’s knees, you mean.” No. He didn’t. But this was her way of reminding him of the barrier between them, wasn’t it? This wasn’t real, no matter how much he wanted it to be. She was there to learn from him, not to make an actual connection. Still . . . “If we’re going to be convincing this week, maybe you just have to pretend I’m talking about you, Skylar. All the time.” She thought about that, no idea it was the truth. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“No one should ever touch you like this, unless you asked, okay?” “I know,” she half whispered, studying him with a small wrinkle in her brow. “If someone ever does that, you come find me. I’ll go find them.” “Not if I kill them first.” Lips twitching reluctantly, he let his hand drop away, all five digits continuing to tingle. “Good.”

“When I come here for this competition now, sometimes I feel like I’m trying to prove I belong in the fold, despite . . . leaving it.”

“Oh my God,” Robbie said without moving his mouth. “Are they AI?” “No, but they are about to be freakishly nice to you. Don’t buy it. They are just sizing up the competition.” Skylar smiled and waved through the windshield, while gathering her phone and keys. “From this point forward everything—and I mean everything—you say will be used against you. Do you understand?” “Show no weaknesses. Ten four.” “Right. So . . .” The pulse at the base of her neck beat like a hummingbird’s wings. “From here on out, we’re a couple.” “We’re the couple.” “Robbie.” She put a hand on his arm before he could open the passenger door, a sweeping sense of responsibility pillowing in her stomach. “If this gets to be too weird or too much . . . either the competition or the pretending . . . I won’t hold it against you to bail, okay?” “Yes, you would.” “Yes, I would.” He reached across the front of the car and traced Skylar’s cheekbone with his thumb, his mossy eyes seeming to catalog her features one by one. “See? I know you already, don’t I?” “Wow.” She peeked at her parents out of the corner of her eye, noting they were riveted, and nuzzled her cheek into Robbie’s palm. “You might have missed your calling as a professional fake boyfriend.” “Fake. Yeah.” Chuckling, he took his hand back. “Shall we?” “Let the psychological warfare commence.”

“We’re going to be in one bedroom? Singular?” Skylar studied his face for signs of early regrets but saw only pure, unadulterated hope. Like he was actually holding his breath for confirmation they’d be staying in the same room. This man was a grade A horndog, through and through. “You seem even less bothered by sharing a bed than you were about the blow job workshop.” “Facts.” “We’re sticking to the schedule.” “I’ll stick it to whatever you want.” A laugh snuck out, so she shoved him for the sake of balance. “Robbie.” He allowed himself to stumble back, never losing his grin. “Yeah?” Skylar shook her head at him, then said, “As far as introductions go with my crazy family, that one was pretty decent.” A combination of relief and pleasure moved across his features. “We got this in the bag, Rocket.” “Don’t get cocky yet, Redbeard,” she said, ascending backward up the steps. “There will be curveballs.” There was something she couldn’t quite read about his tone when he said, “I’m ready.”

“My pregame ritual is listening—in my AirPods—to Whitney Houston sing the national anthem at the Super Bowl in 1991,” she blurted, seeming a little shocked that she’d admitted it out loud, but also excited to share. “Have you seen it?” “I . . . don’t know.” “You would know,” she said, full of passion. “Then I haven’t.” “Try it someday, before a game. It’s the best live performance by anyone. Ever. It makes me want to go out and pitch the innings of my life. It makes me want . . .” “Immortality.” “Yeah.”

“I throw up before every game,” he said, distracted enough by her sparkling eyes to ruin the moment. Or he might have ruined it if Skylar was someone else. But she wasn’t. She was a person who’d pushed their body to limits it couldn’t handle and . . . visibly understood. Damn. I have to find me a woman who doesn’t get grossed out by throwing up. You did. She’s right here. And she’s in love with someone else. “Wow. Interesting choice to bring up pregame rituals when that is yours.” “I should have lied and said I listen to Lil’ Wayne,” he managed on a chuckle, feeling more than a little winded. “Why didn’t you lie?” Mildly insulted, he drew back. “I wouldn’t tell you I know how to listen to yes and no, then lie to you in the same breath.” Skylar scrutinized him from a distance that had definitely grown smaller since they walked into the room. Who had moved closer? And when? “Maybe it’s premature to say this, but I’m not sure anymore that . . . you’re exactly who I thought you were.” It wasn’t easy, but Robbie managed not to show on his face how relieved he was to hear that. How . . . honored. “Thank God for that.” Skylar seemed to realize their bodies were about to brush and stepped back, quipping, “To be fair, you’ve still got a long way to go.” Robbie scrubbed at his beard. “Oh, yeah. Obviously.” “Was that flirting just now?” she asked, after a beat, clearly thrown that their proximity hadn’t registered earlier. He’d been close enough to kiss her. God, I’d die to kiss her....

He needed to focus on making that happen instead of wondering about the what-ifs; for example, what if Madden wasn’t interested? Would she . . . could she . . . turn her attention to Robbie? Better squash that hope now before it grows teeth.

She seemed at a loss for what to do with her hands now that they were still standing close, but not touching, so Robbie wound the fingers of his right hand through her left ones, stroking his thumb along the base of her wrist, gratified to see her pupils dilate slightly. Chemistry. He had that with her, if nothing else.

“Speaking of sleep,” Skylar said, sounding a touch out of breath, “I’m probably not going to get any this week. I’ve shared a bed before, but mostly as a kid at sleepovers or with my teammates at travel tournaments. And never someone your size.” “Thank you.” He winked down at her. “It is remarkable in size.” “I’m talking about your overall body size. Not your penis.” “We’ll have to talk about it eventually, Rocket. It’s on the calendar.” “We’ll cross the dick bridge when we get to it.” Robbie coughed a laugh. “Can Dick Bridge be our new team name?” “No, but we should have a new team name, right? Team Skeeve only makes sense when it’s me and Eve.” Decision visibly made, Skylar’s hold on his hand tightened and she turned, pulling Robbie back in the direction of the firepit. He dug in his heels. “You’re hot enough without catching on fire, Rocket.” She shot him a glance, insult loading, but realized at the last second that everyone had ceased their conversations to watch them interact. “Thanks, Redbeard.” “Redbeard and Rocket,” mused Vivica, elbowing a watchful Doug. “Cute.” “Is it, though?” Elton tilted his head, obnoxiously. “Is it?” Skylar pursed her lips. “Maybe you should catch on fire, Elt.” “I’d prefer that over watching you two canoodle.” “Mom, can we start deducting points every time Elton uses the word ‘canoodle’?”

“We’re changing our team name to Rocket and Redbeard.” Elton doubled over and made a retching sound. Robbie and Skylar fist-bumped on their way into the house. “Come on.” They walked side by side down the hallway toward her bedroom. “The longer we spend around them, the more they’ll get in our heads.” “You’re right,” Robbie said. “We need some team bonding time. I’ve got just the thing.” “No.” “It was worth a shot.”

“I’m going to be blindfolded. You’ll lead me through the headphones.” “I—” She wrinkled her nose. “Why are you automatically the blindfolded one?” “A couple of reasons.” He uncrossed his arms in order to count on his fingers. “One, there’s no way I’ll be able to sit still during any competition. Just thinking about it makes me squirm.” He shuddered. “And two, you could step in a gopher hole and twist your ankle or some shit and I wouldn’t be able to handle it, especially considering I’d be the one giving you directions.” Okay, that she hadn’t seen coming. As soon as his words sank in, her right eye started to twitch. “You’re worried I’m going to get hurt?” He studied her in silence. “Why do I feel like I just stepped in it?” “Because you did.” Slowly, Skylar skirted around the edge of the bed in his direction. “Remember when you asked me on a date during the baseball game? Same thing, Redbeard.” Stopping in front of him, she poked him between those hard pecs. “If we want a chance to win, you have to quit treating me like less of a competitor because I’m a girl.” “I hear what you’re saying, but . . .” His attention dragged along the curve of her right hip and back up her center to the notch of her throat. “I can’t pretend you’re not softer, shorter, and a hell of a lot prettier than me.”

“Bottom line is, I would like to be blindfolded. I’m indestructible. I can tape up and play on anything short of a broken limb.” “So can I. I have.” “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but . . .” A light bulb went off in Skylar’s head. “The problem is you don’t trust me. As a teammate. Not yet.” Her attention hit a snag when Robbie stroked five fingers through his beard, as if settling in to listen to her explanation. What was the texture of that beard? What would it feel like against her cheeks and chin if—no, when they kissed? They were going to kiss, eventually. She’d blocked out a whole hour of time on Tuesday for exactly that. The fact that her blood pumped faster at the thought was alarming, to say the least. “Um. I think the best thing we can do to prepare for tomorrow is establish trust. As teammates, I mean.” “As opposed to . . .” “Trusting you as a man. Or a boyfriend. It would be a cold day in hell.” He shoved off the dresser, his face a mask of disbelief. “Excuse me? Are you implying that I wouldn’t be a trustworthy boyfriend?” “I’m not implying anything. I’m stating facts, just like you.” “Jesus, Skylar. My facts were flattering.” He paced right, then left, spearing her with a hard look all the while. “Granted, I haven’t been in a serious relationship, but if I was, if I liked someone enough to make her my girlfriend, I’d make sure I was all in. I wouldn’t do it halfway. When I commit to something, I do it a thousand percent.” “All right.” Guilt somersaulted ...

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” he asked, gruffly. “No. We’re . . . we can be mature about this. Don’t be silly.” His attention swept her body, a ripple going through his jaw. “I don’t know, Rocket. I still think I should.” Why was her pulse going so fast? “Okay. Why?” “I’m worried I’ll be half asleep and . . . touch you without thinking.” He huffed a sound. “I mean, Christ. It takes concentration not to touch you when I’m awake.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to ask you this, but what are your intentions with my sister?” Robbie took a huge bite, so he could buy himself enough time to formulate an answer. Because, yeah, that wasn’t an easy question. In a perfect world, one where he hadn’t presented himself to Skylar as a misogynist asshole from the jump, he’d be trying to date her. Only her. Yeah. Skylar was a once-in-a-lifetime girl. He’d probably be painting his body in BU colors to cheer her on at softball games by now. That was, if she hadn’t—correctly—pegged him as a player who took nothing and no one seriously. The burgers sprouted thorns in his stomach. There was very little chance he could convince her of the opposite now. She’d made up her mind. But Robbie couldn’t very well spill the truth to Elton. That he’d come here to atone for his behavior with Skylar. And he definitely couldn’t tell Elton they were fake dating to attract his best friend.

“I’m not here with the sole intention of pissing you off, man. That’s just a bonus.” Robbie could no longer find his smile and the burgers had lost their appeal, so he commenced wrapping them back up in plastic. “I didn’t expect Skylar. She’s clever, funny, driven, cool, and . . . God, she’s fucking beautiful.” Had his stomach gotten stuck in his windpipe? “I’m here for her. No other reason. She’s reason enough.” When he looked up at Elton, the other man appeared caught off guard. He recovered quickly, however. “That’s not what I asked. What are your intentions?” Make her fall for me instead of Madden. That’s what his heart begged him to say. To believe. But that possibility was so far-fetched, giving it oxygen would be pathetic. “Treat her right. Make her laugh. Help her win.” Robbie forced a chuckle. “Hope she doesn’t realize she’s way out of my league.” A rumble emanated from Elton’s chest. “I punched you in the face last week for disrespecting my sister, but . . . she can take care of herself. We all take care of ourselves. Individually. I’m not going to step on that.” Elton stood, moving forward to place himself toe-to-toe and eyeball-to-eyeball with Robbie, who—obviously—held his ground like a motherfucking hockey player should, fists bunched and ready to swing if necessary. “But I heard the same shit she heard at the baseball field. Bragging about your hookup from the night before.” Robbie tried not to openly flinch, but he didn’t quite keep the lid on his reaction....

“Maybe I’ll get my own planner.” He yanked the blindfold back down. “We can have a planner party.” “I can only imagine the kind of debauchery you’d schedule in that planner. Do you even need to pencil in an orgy? Seems like you’d remember.” A sour layer coated his tongue. “You know, Skylar, most nights I’m at hockey practice. Passed out at home after hockey practice. In an Epson salt bath. Or eating lasagna with Mailer. I’m not always out haunting clubs looking for women.” “You only do that three times a week.” Robbie snorted. “Twice, tops.” I can’t see myself doing it anymore, he almost added. Not after you. Yeah, when he got back to Boston, he’d talk to Mailer about knocking off the irreverent bachelor lifestyle. Maybe . . . who knows. Maybe Skylar and Madden wouldn’t work out. She’d bump into Robbie at the park after the breakup and he’d be extra jacked, since this was his fantasy. She’d be, like, What have you been up to? And he’d say, Not clubbing, that’s what. I volunteer at hospitals now in my spare time. Then she’d whip out her adorable little planner and schedule in a date with him. A real one. For now, however, if all he got was a fake one, he’d damn well take it.

“I suppose congratulations are in order.” Doug sniffed, shaking Robbie’s hand. “Bear in mind, the first challenge is the easiest.” “That’s right.” Vivica wiped off her face with a moist towelette, somehow collecting all the mud in a single pass. “Tomorrow is rock climbing!” Robbie waited for the others to wander off and lick their wounds before looking Skylar in the eye. “Is now a good time to tell you I’m deathly afraid of heights?”

“I think you’re cut out for a lot of things, Skylar.” “I’m afraid to ask what you mean.” “Afraid of the answer?” His hand on her knee slid ever so slowly to midthigh, massaging, and she couldn’t believe . . . couldn’t believe the moisture gathering in the seam of her flesh. In a Cheesecake Factory. With Robbie. Not Madden. “Yes,” she whispered. His voice was like sandpaper against her ear now. “Afraid you might want to skip forward to make out day?” Oh. God. It has been so long, cried her libido, sounding like a granny. “Me?” she asked, breathily. “No, I’m not worried I’ll want to skip forward.” “Are you sure?” He tilted his head, examining her mouth like a lion sizing up a mouse. “If I know your strengths and weaknesses, I can coach to those qualities.” “Wow.” She tried to give him a look of stern disappointment but couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of her tone. Was she having fun with this guy and getting turned on at the same time? She’d never experienced that combination before. Hadn’t really believed it possible. Keep it going. You’re learning from him. “You have no shame,” she said lightly, tracing the hand on her thigh with the pad of her index finger, watching his eyes darken dramatically. “Using my own methodology to trick me into making out with you.” “I’m not smart enough to trick you,” he said, those blunt fingers lingering on the inside of her knee, moving in a gentle circle that continued to stir something far from gentle inside of her. “I wouldn’t even t...

“I hear what you’re saying. You want to take your time. You want . . . a man to take his time.” “That doesn’t seem like a lot to ask.” “It’s not.” His abs were starting to burn from being flexed too long, just to combat the rough pull of need in his balls. Deep breaths. “When we practice making out—or anything else on the calendar, for that matter—you’ll get all the time you need. If you just want to kiss, that’s what we’ll do.” Robbie gave in to the impulse to reach up and trace the outside of her thigh with a single fingertip, trailing it from hip to knee, then back, listening to the acceleration of her breath in the quiet room. “If you want to tease me through my clothes, I’ll do my best to live through it. Or you could find out . . .” He shut his unholy speech down before it went out of bounds, but she didn’t seem happy about it. “Or I could find out what?” A slow blink. “Don’t censor yourself with me. Just say it. I could find out what?” “How it feels to have your cunt eaten by a man who gets it dripping first.” Her eyelids fluttered, those lips parting but no sound coming out. “Was that too much?” he asked after a full ten seconds of silence. “I guess not.” She drew the word out, followed by a swallow. “Because here I am, trying to mentally rearrange some things in my planner so we have more time.” Robbie exhaled. “Attagirl.”

“Details . . .” he muttered thickly, sweat beads beginning to pop up on his chest, upper lip. “I was going to lock your door, track down some tissue, lie back down. Spit on my palm a couple of times and . . . try and not grunt too loudly while I stroke one out.” Her pupils dilated. “You grunt when you do it?” “Yeah.” He raked the heel of his hand down to the thickened ridge, cupping his balls and jostling them lightly, before massaging back up to the tip. Ahhh, fuck. So good. Ten times better than usual because Skylar was in the room while he did it, her voice the soundtrack to his lust. “I think so. I’m not really focused on the sounds I’m making.” “Oh.” “Oh what?” “I don’t know. When I watch . . . porn?” Her voice was slightly muffled, as if she’d covered her face. “That’s my favorite part. When the guy groans.” Damn, he was learning some invaluable lessons about her this morning. A treasure trove of Skylar-isms that he would put to incredible use, if and when he was afforded the opportunity. “Why?” “I don’t know. I guess . . . the girl always seems to be faking it, but the guy . . . when he groans, he seems to be authentically enjoying himself. It’s hot.” Robbie’s chest was heaving like he’d just swum the Potomac. “You wouldn’t be fake moaning with me. I’d probably have to cover your mouth to keep you quiet.”

“Have I ever told you that whatever you’re thinking shows on your face?” Impossible. She was a pitcher. A poker face was essential, and she’d sharpened the skill like a knife over the last decade. Dina remarked on it all the time. Was it possible that Robbie alone could discern her thoughts so easily without a word? No. Absolutely not. “What am I thinking about?” “Not the challenge,” he snorted. “Oh?” “My O. That’s what you’re thinking about.” He closed the already scant distance between them while running his tongue along his lower lip. “Guess it’s only fair since all I can think about is getting one out of you.” “Oh.” He hummed low in his throat. “There’s that word again.” His pupils had nearly eclipsed the green of his irises at this point. “I’ll give you as many as you can fucking stand, Skylar. Swear to God, just set me loose.” There was no breath remaining in Skylar’s lungs when her parents blew the air horn.

I overestimated my ability to hand you over to someone else. Someone better.

“I can’t fucking leave without knowing what it’s like to kiss you . . .” he said through his teeth. “When it’s just for us. Not for anyone else. Not for show.” Clearly sensing his hesitation to go, the conflict being waged inside of him, Skylar maintained her hold on his shirt, using it to pull herself closer, closer, while he held his breath, letting it out on a big shudder when she went up on her toes, pressing her open mouth to the back of his neck and releasing a warm exhale. “Go on. Show me how to make out, Robbie.”

“Is it always this hard when you meet the one?” “Yes,” Sig and Burgess said in unison. “Did you ever think life would be easier if you’d just never met her to begin with?” “No.” Again, in unison. “Yeah, me neither. She makes me feel like me. The me that isn’t pretending to be someone or something else. Is that stupid?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s like she’s showing me . . . who I am. And I’m just really scared she’s going to leave once she’s done. Once she’s done making me fall in love with her . . . oh fuck.” That four-letter word—“love”—hit the back of his head like a sack of bricks and he dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck. Fuck.” “Really sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?” Burgess rumbled. “Damn right.” There was a shadow of something nostalgic, possibly even wistful in Sig’s eyes as he stood up. “I’m only going to talk about this once, all right?” He let out a breath. “Whenever I doubt myself with . . . a girl, I ask myself one question.” “What is it?” Robbie croaked. “If there is anyone else in the world who’d work harder to make her happy. As long as the answer to that is no, you’re the right man.”

“You didn’t answer me before. Did you miss me?” Robbie asked. “Yes.” “Good. Now ask me the same question.” “I forgot the question.” “Ask me if I missed you.” “Did you?” “I got a speeding ticket on my way back to you.” His fingers threaded into her hair, gently tilting her head and slanting his lips down in the opposite direction, groaning into a slow, thorough kiss that turned her legs to mush. “I hassled someone into punching me to distract me from missing you and it didn’t even work.” Goose bumps. Everywhere. What is happening to me? “That’s a shame.” “Look at me. Look.” He framed her face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. “After practice, I raided the BU campus bookshop for merch. After that, I went to my apartment and Mailer was having a party. But I left, Skylar. I saw a couple of random butts and I left right away. I didn’t even appreciate those butts. I just wanted to get back here to your butt. You believe me, right?” Not waiting for a response, he rolled their foreheads together. Kissed her hard once, twice. “I slept in my car at the end of your driveway. I didn’t want to come in and wake you up. Actually, that’s a lie. I did want to come in and wake you up, but I was feeling some kind of way, missing you like that, and I would have ended up on top of you. I’m fucking dying to be on top of you, Skylar. You dying for that?” The fog parted momentarily. Madden. Oh my God. Was he still standing there, hearing all this? Skylar’s head swiveled right. Th...

“Here’s a lesson for you, Rocket. A guy doesn’t choose to spend a week with a girl’s deranged family unless he’s into her. Like, really fucking into her. Maybe I lied to myself about doing this for noble reasons—and yeah, fine, that was part of it. I wanted to show you and myself I’m not a tool.” He took a shuddering breath. “But at the heart of it, Skylar, I wanted so badly to be with you. I was afraid of not seeing you again. And now?” He laughed without humor. “Now, I’m petrified of that. I couldn’t actually do it.” The superhighway of her mind had become a ten-car pileup. “I . . . what?” Robbie grabbed her shoulders, leaned down until they were eye level. “I want to be your boyfriend. I don’t want to be the reason Madden pulls his head out of his ass and notices you. I want to be the reason I pull my head out of my ass.” “So much butt talk this morning,” she said, dazed. “Just a cheeky little coincidence. Did you hear anything I said?” “Yes, I’m trying to decide if you need medical attention.” Gently, she took him by the elbows. “Exactly how hard did you get punched in the face last night?” He stared at her with incomprehension.

“You’re just going to give up clubs and women and whipped cream—” “You heard that, did you?” he asked, weakly. “You’re going to give that up for one girl. Who doesn’t even know how to give head.” “Ready and willing to work on that, Sky. Right now, if possible.” A light bulb went off. “Maybe that’s what this is about. You’re not used to delayed gratification and I’m the one putting you through it.” She nodded sagely, positive she had the issue all worked out, although not so sure anymore she wanted a cut-and-dried explanation. I got a speeding ticket on my way back to you. “I’m sure if we sleep together, you’ll get over this fleeting interest in being my boyfriend.” “Well.” His jaw popped. “You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” “I’m not . . .” She wet lips that were rapidly drying out. “The last thing I want to do is hurt your feelings, especially after y-you showed up here in a Boston University T-shirt and you . . .” Her voice fell to a whisper out of necessity. Talking was suddenly difficult. “I’ll never forget you did that. I mean, ever. You’re actually my hero right now.” His eyelids slid closed. “Skylar.” “The possibility I’m hurting you is giving me the worst stomachache. I guess I’m just worried you’ll change your mind after some time passes.” His nostrils flared. “I won’t.” “I never wanted to change you.” “I’m changing me.” “Robbie . . .” “Okay.” Resigned, he nodded. Planted both hands on his hips and regrouped. “Okay, I hear what you’re saying. You need time ...

“Give me ten minutes in the dark with your panties off and you’ll know. I’ll get you over him underneath me.” Several brain cells fried themselves like eggs on a skillet. “It’s, um . . .” She twisted her hands in the sides of his shirt, struggling to form coherent thoughts when he was raking his open mouth up and back in the slope of her neck. Feels so good. “It’s Wednesday. Main Event parenthesis Maybe isn’t until tomorrow.” “Believe me, I know.” “Today is BJ Workshop day.” He hooked an arm under her knee and drew it up to his hip, higher, higher, only allowing her center to graze his erection, light encounters until she gasped, trying to get closer. To rub on him. “Oh, believe me, I know that, too.” He made an almost humorously desperate sound into her neck. “God in heaven, please just get me alone with this girl.” The lines were quickly blurring here. What had started off as lessons to help her be more confident with men was turning into . . . something else. A guideline for giving pleasure to each other. But where would all this leave her when Robbie inevitably came to his senses? “Can we just keep them . . . lessons for now? Can they stay what they always were?” His mouth paused on her neck and this time, she visibly injured something inside of him, which was not her intention. She simply didn’t know how else to protect herself. Keep this gorgeous sought-after hockey god interested indefinitely when she’d never been able to retain interest from men in the past? In wha...

“What point were you trying to make with those T-shirts, son? You think I can’t afford to buy my own shirts?” Most guys would avoid an argument with the father of their potential girlfriend at all costs. Most guys weren’t Robbie. He didn’t know how to avoid an argument to save his life. Especially this one. “I know you can afford it. That’s what makes it all the more confusing that you don’t already have one. Or ten.” “Meaning what?” “Meaning, your house looks like the gift shop at Brown. Not a goddamn pennant or bobblehead for BU anywhere.” He raised an eyebrow. “How do you think that makes Skylar feel?” The older man waved him off. “Oh, stop. She knows it’s our family alma mater. She’s tougher than that.” “Yeah. She is. So imagine someone that tough and high-achieving gets rejected and has to be reminded of it every single day. Everyone is tough to a point.” “Who made you her spokesperson?” Elton wanted to know. Robbie rolled a tense shoulder. “I’m not qualified to be anyone’s spokesperson, but I’ll tell you this. When I notice something making her sad, you can bet your ass I’m going to say something about it. That’s my girl.” God, it felt so good to say that out loud. Even if it wasn’t true yet. Felt true, though. Felt as real as the sky overhead. “Ridiculous.” Doug sniffed, his voice lacking the conviction from before. His robust frame seemed to be hunching in on itself, his usual confidence carrying away on the breeze. “Why hasn’t she said something if it bothers her ...

“Breathe, Skylar. I’ve got you.” “I don’t know what happened.” Her teeth were chattering, no doubt from fear, as well as the water temperature. “My leg cramped and I tried to . . . push through it but I got so tired trying to compensate . . .” “Okay. I figured it was something like that. Deep breaths. You’re going to be fine.” “I didn’t think anyone would see me,” she whispered, breath hitching. “Really, Rocket?” Robbie labored through a few inhales, exhales. A few violent clenches of his heart. “Don’t you know I never stop looking at you?”

“Never again. She’s never doing the swimming challenge again. Or any other dangerous ones. Is everyone listening to me?” Having cocooned her as much as possible in various shades of terrycloth, Robbie caught her in a bear hug. “Please stop shaking. Please stop shaking.” “I’m okay.” “I’m not. You almost drowned because the Pages can’t sit in the living room and play charades like a normal family.” He looked all three Pages in the eye, one by one. “The need to continually prove herself is going to get her killed.” “Hold on just a damn second—” Doug blustered. “The games feed our competitive spirit. They’re ours,” Vivica insisted, but her eyes held a note of worry as she regarded her daughter. “Skylar, you enjoy them, don’t you?” “I don’t know,” Skylar said hesitantly, her voice muffled by Robbie’s neck. “I guess I don’t know anymore.” Several seconds of silence passed. Madden observed the ground, while Elton stared at his sister, as if trying to solve a puzzle. And Robbie was caught off guard by his own concern for the family. All of them. Maybe he’d been insensitive by pointing out the fatal Page flaws this morning. He didn’t regret it, though. His concern was Skylar and anything that had the potential to hurt her, physically or emotionally, needed to be addressed. This is what Sig meant. About no one working harder to make her happy. I get it. Holy shit. I’m capable of learning.

“Maybe I’m shaking a little because I’ve never had someone see me as clearly as you do. Thank you, Robbie. For that.” A hat trick would no longer give Robbie the ultimate high ever again. Nope. This was it now. Skylar looking up at him like he was Superman. Someday maybe their kids would look up at him the same way. Like he could do anything. And suddenly, he could. This was another facet of being in love. It put a man in permanent beast mode.