Page 13 of Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4)

Shirtless men didn’t faze Skylar. Usually.

She’d grown up with a brother who’d stumbled into the kitchen in his boxers most mornings, plunging his paw into the closest

cereal box. His friends were always swimming in their backyard, oftentimes in very translucent underwear, not to mention pantsing

each other every chance they got. She’d seen a lot of shrinkage in her day. Lots of butts. A bare chest didn’t even rate.

Usually.

Robbie Corrigan, professional hockey player, didn’t have just any chest.

Or abdomen.

Or arms.

Nothing about him was typical.

He was a thick, stacked, red-bearded giant. In her bedroom.

And she was watching him pull on sleep sweatpants in the mirror of her vanity when her back was supposed to be turned.

Obviously, she’d had a lot of doubts about their scheme to get Madden to notice her—and she still did.

Tonight at the cookout, however, she hadn’t expected to feel so much like a united front.

As much as she loved and adored Eve, Skylar inevitably felt like the odd one out at the Page Stakes every year.

The underdog. The pest. The one who hadn’t quite lived up to the lofty expectations set forth by her overachiever family.

Robbie talked a lot of shit, had an overwhelming amount of confidence, and didn’t seem at all fazed by his sudden entrée into their zany family competition.

Something about his ability to roll with the punches? It allowed her to stress less and focus more. It was... not awful.

Maybe he wasn’t awful.

Maybe they even had a chance to win?

“What are you thinking about so hard over there, Rocket?”

Her chin jerked up to find him watching her in the vanity mirror, those superhuman hands perched on his hips, chest still

blessedly bare. She could appreciate him objectively, right? One athlete to another. He kept himself in peak physical condition.

Good for him.

Good for half the women in Boston, too.

Skylar cleared the confusing twinge from her throat. “I was just pondering.”

He leaned back against the dresser on the opposite side of the room, crossing his arms, his biceps and triceps competing for

attention. “Care to share?”

“Uh...” Stop looking at the V. “I was thinking about the competition tomorrow. I’ve done this event before and on the surface, it might sound kind of silly.

But it’s not. It’s actually pretty hard. We need to have a game plan.”

“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.”

A warm, unexpected wind wafted through her chest, but she couldn’t help but be skeptical. After all, soft and pretty were adjectives that hadn’t been used to describe her many times in her life. She wasn’t sure she totally liked them, either,

despite the giddy rush currently sneaking through her bloodstream. “Is this another round of flirting practice?” she asked,

suspiciously.

“Nope. Those are just facts.”

“W-well,” she said, floundering momentarily. “Keep your flirtations to yourself, unless we are actively engaged in practice,

as set forth in the schedule.”

“My bad, Rocket.” A corner of his lips twitched. “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 into her belly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Shouldn’t have said it? Or shouldn’t have assumed I’d be a ratbag boyfriend?”

A small hesitation, followed by a wince. “Said it,” she whispered.

“Wow.” He shook his head slowly. “A man recounts a hookup to his teammates one time and he’s branded for life.”

“One time or every time?”

“Semantics.”

“Semantics,” she echoed, mimicking his baritone. “Let’s table the discussion on the ethics of locker room talk for now. My point is we need to build some teammate-style trust. Otherwise, how are you going to have any confidence in my instructions tomorrow?”

A red eyebrow zipped upward. “You’re letting me do the blindfolded part?”

“Only because I feel a little bit guilty for implying that you’d be a ratbag boyfriend.” She pinched her fingers together

and held them up to prove her guilt was scant, at best. “But the guilt is against my will.”

“Aha. You hurt my feelings and you get to avoid injury. This sounds abundantly fair.”

The guilt wasn’t so scant anymore. Was she being a bad teammate? Or too judgmental? Did everyone else keep the truth to themselves

to be more likable and why couldn’t she seem to pull that off? “Maybe this is why I’m so bad at dating. I’m too blunt. Or

honest. Or—”

“Hey, hey. No. Stop that.” Robbie clasped her shoulders in his huge hands and a weird tingle shot all the way down to her

knees. “I’m only kidding around. If a guy can’t handle your bluntness, maybe that’s a good sign that he’s uncomfortable with

honesty and you should run in the other direction, huh?”

The sudden wave of gratitude and belonging came as such a surprise, Skylar took a full five seconds to nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

His gaze dipped to her mouth, his bare chest expanding. “Welcome.”

Musk and cinnamon and... was it the taste of bare flesh coming off his torso and throat? Whatever it was, the trifecta

made her eyelids feel heavy. Made her wonder again about how his beard would feel in her fingers. Or dragging sideways along

her collarbone.

When his hands dropped from her shoulders, they both stepped back, visibly regrouping. After what? What had happened, exactly?

Was she attracted to Robbie?

Surely not.

Just the dry spell talking.

Skylar did her best to circle her focus back to the task at hand. Despite Robbie’s assurances, she couldn’t help wanting to

make up for what she’d said. Was there a way to gain some trust in each other and smooth over the awkwardness she’d caused?

Her eyes landed on her closet.

Maybe.

“I have an idea.”

He dragged his bottom lip through his teeth. “Skip to Thursday on the calendar?”

“Nope.” Ignore the way your skin is heating. “I’m going to let you read a page out of my diary. From when I was thirteen.”

“Shut up.” His jaw fell open. “I should make you feel guilty more often.”

“Don’t get too excited. You have to share something embarrassing with me, too.” She was careful not to brush their bodies

together as she moved past him to the closet. “It’s a trust exercise.”

“Ah.” Robbie sighed dramatically. “If only I’d ever done anything embarrassing...”

“I’m sure you’ll dredge something up,” she said, while rummaging through a clear plastic storage container that held school

projects dating back to middle school.

The bedsprings groaned as he sat down. “I’ll have to dig deep.”

“Doubt it,” she muttered.

“I heard that, Rocket.”

She almost— almost —apologized again for being so mean, but swallowed the sorry when she emerged from the closet to find him grinning and rubbing his hands together. “Are you picking the material? Or can I open to any random page?”

“Any random page will do. They’re equally humiliating, I’m sure.”

“Hand it over, girl. Let’s go.”

His visible excitement somehow made it easier than it should have been to hand over the small pink book. As soon as the diary

was in his possession, Robbie cleared his throat as if preparing to deliver the Gettysburg Address and flipped to a section

in the dead center. “June seventh, two thousand sixteen.” He smoothed a palm down the page filled with loopy blue printing.