Page 16 of Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4)

Skylar woke up to an empty pile of bedding on her floor and a text from Robbie.

Gone for rations. Be back soon.

“Rations?” she echoed through a yawn, stretching on her way to her suitcase, where she’d left it sitting in the corner. Still

groggy, she flung the luggage onto the bed and unzipped, reaching into the mesh pocket for underwear and a sports bra. The

sun had yet to rise and the house remained mostly quiet, except for her father, who was puttering around in the kitchen counting

down the minutes until trumpet-blowing time. Didn’t matter that everyone was already awake this particular morning—he’d probably

blow it regardless just to put everyone on their guard.

Looking out the window, she could see her mother and Elton sharing a cup of coffee on the back porch, comfortable in their

companionship. A familiar scene in which she was rarely included. The few times she’d joined her stepbrother and mother for

their morning chat during the Page Stakes, they’d talked mostly about their experiences at Brown, his and her former professors,

news from the alumni board, of which they were both members.

Of course, they didn’t exclusively talk about the college, but it was an easy segue into other topics.

That bond made it easy for Vivica to relate to Elton in a way she couldn’t seem to relate to Skylar.

As an all-American student athlete, academics were a huge part of Skylar’s life, but talking about her courses inevitably drew comparisons to the Brown curriculum.

Criticisms, too. And at some point, Skylar had decided to avoid morning coffee sessions with Doug, Vivica, and Elton because they left her feeling deflated.

Like someone standing just outside of the inner circle.

Now, Eve, her Page Stakes teammate, was a great friend. However, she’d raised herself in difficult circumstances, and as the

daughter of the town pariah, Eve had grown up with a tough outer shell that Skylar couldn’t always penetrate. Not the warm, fuzzy type—and not everyone had to be. Her quiet strength and no-nonsense pragmatism were some of the reasons Skylar loved Eve. Now that she’d taken over

her father’s strip club and turned it into a burlesque lounge, she had some hefty responsibilities, too, meaning Skylar’s

best friend was now emotionally and physically distant. Something that hadn’t really registered until last night when Robbie,

as her new teammate, had been so... there. Ready for anything. With her.

Which also made Skylar wonder if she was missing something with Eve. Had she not been present enough for her best friend?

In the bathroom, Skylar sat down on the closed toilet lid and called Eve.

Four rings. Voicemail.

“Hello, you’ve reached Eve, lady proprietor of the Gilded Garden. Lucky you. Leave a message and make it brief. I don’t have

all day.”

Beep.

With a fond half smile on her face, Skylar left a message. “Hey, I know you’re super busy this week, just wondering if you

had time for coffee. Would love to catch up. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll just show up at the lounge later this week. When

you least expect it. Boo.”

Deep in thought, Skylar took a quiet shower, dressed, and brushed her teeth. Fashioned her wet hair into a braid and, for old times’ sake, slid her feet into an old pair of cleats that still held clumps of dirt from senior year of high school.

Then she tucked her planner into the back waistband of her yoga pants and snuck outside to pitch. The sound of her spikes

on the front porch steps was familiar enough to raise a pebble in her throat, as was the rusted lock on the shed adjacent

to the house, where the sporting goods were kept. The black wire bucket of dirty softballs that waited for Skylar made her

sigh with pleasure. And after dragging out the nine-pocket practice target she’d been using since middle school, she got to

work.

Relax into stance, breathe, wind up, release.

Relax into stance, breathe, wind up, release.

It would be so easy to let herself become distracted. To think about the Page Stakes kicking off this afternoon, the pressure

of competition, the high expectations of her family, even when they were only battling against one another. It would be so

easy to think about the man who’d slept on her floor last night, mumbling in his slumber about forechecks, his face softened

by sleep. How she’d lost her battle with curiosity and reached down in the middle of the night to test the texture of his

beard. Just a teeny, little finger graze.

Why did it have to be the perfect combination of bristly and smooth?

Women must love it.

Skylar missed the target completely on her next pitch, the ball disappearing into the trees. “Damn.”

“Brought my glove, if you’d rather pitch to a human” came the voice behind her.

Madden.

She hadn’t heard him approaching from the house next door, which had been passed down to him following the death of his aunt.

Skylar’s stomach tied itself into seventeen complicated knots. A familiar feeling, considering this was a familiar scene plucked

straight out of her high school years. One she looked forward to reliving on an annual basis during the Page Stakes. Pitching

to Madden’s steady glove, experiencing that ripple of approval across his furrowed brow whenever she landed a strike. His

quiet strength. The sense of camaraderie.

Just the two of them, no Elton to tease and remind her she was the annoying younger sister. Perfect.

Oddly, her fingers tingled where she held the next ball, the memory of Robbie’s soft bristles making itself known at the least

opportune moment.

Not now.

Forcing herself to play it cool, she tossed a smile over her shoulder. “Sure, thanks.”

Madden nodded in that slow, easy manner of his, striding past her to the target, moving it aside and taking its place in front

of the towering oak she’d christened the Pitching Tree long ago.

Skylar shook the nerves out of her arm and threw a decent pitch, the imaginary umpire in her head calling it low and inside .

Retrieving another ball from the bucket, she bobbled it in her hand a moment, trying to work up the courage to start a conversation.

Considering how long they’d known each other, exchanging words shouldn’t be so hard, right? There was normally a buffer of

some kind. Or they just played in silence in the name of concentration. But this was her week to get his attention, to break

free of the patterns that made her nothing more than Elton’s little sister in Madden’s eyes. Seize your chance.

“Is it nice being back in your aunt’s house for the week?” Skylar asked.

Nice job bringing up his deceased aunt. Ask about his absent parents next.

Madden stood and returned the ball, her glove receiving it with a slonk . “It is nice, yeah.” She wasn’t sure he’d elaborate, but after a moment he kept going. “I forget some of the smaller things

about her. Like the dishes she kept everywhere for candy. Every once in a while, I find a hair curler stuck in a couch cushion

or behind a stack of books.” He hunkered back down, punching the center of his glove. “Good reminders.”

“Those are good,” she murmured, swallowing the twinge in her throat.

Another pitch. A perfect throw back in Skylar’s direction.

Odd how conversation didn’t seem to come easily between them. Obviously, they just needed more time alone. To get comfortable

with each other.

Obviously.

“Listen, Skylar,” Madden said, kind of abruptly. “About this hockey fella.”

Skylar froze in the process of dropping into her stance. Madden was asking about Robbie. They’d already gotten his attention? Her suspicion that he’d been bothered by Robbie’s interest in her at the game last week had been correct.

Holy shit, it was happening.

She flipped her braid over her shoulder, nonchalant as possible. “What about him?”

“Do you actually like this guy, or what?” He rolled a shoulder, appearing to choose his words carefully. “Something seems

off.”

Uh-oh. “Off... how?”

He studied her through narrowed eyes. “Can’t put my finger on it, really.” A thoughtful pause. “You don’t date often, now suddenly you’re moving very quickly, bringing him here to meet your parents and all.”

Skylar kept her expression neutral. “Well...” Okay, was Madden jealous or merely skeptical of her relationship with Robbie?

He was impossible to read. Why couldn’t he just demand she break things off with Robbie and give him a chance, instead? “I

probably wouldn’t have invited him to meet my parents so soon, but Eve couldn’t make it.”

For some reason, Madden’s eyes darkened dramatically at the mention of her best friend. “Right.” He looked down, scuffing

the dirt with his boot. “Eve.”

“But I do really like him,” Skylar finished quickly. Too quickly?

Madden’s head came up again, brow drawn. “I see.”

Skylar held her breath. This is where Madden expressed his sudden realization that it had always been her—

“Jesus, I could eat another ten of these fucking sandwiches” came Robbie’s voice behind her, accompanied by his footsteps

up the driveway. “That place in town called the Whistle Stop? It’s a banger. Restaurant and food market all wrapped into one.

Cleaned them out of Stouffer’s lasagnas, if anybody wants one.”

It took Skylar a moment to turn around, because she couldn’t figure out why Robbie’s interruption came as a... relief?

But she was forced to put that weird reaction aside for later when Robbie stopped beside her, setting down the brown paper

bags he’d apparently carried half a mile... and leaned down to kiss her.

A firm, possessive kiss, his fingers sliding into her semidamp hair to cradle the back of her head, loosening her braid and

tugging her head back, giving him the angle he needed to slant a second, hungrier kiss against her lips, the pleasing scratch

of his beard on her chin and cheeks causing a very distinct tumble in her stomach, her eyelashes fluttering and closing against

her will, the ball dropping out of her glove into the dirt.

For several seconds, she forgot their location. Their audience.

The kiss dragged her unwillingly into a semiconscious state where she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the sensuality of

Robbie’s movements, their lips locked together in a firm draw, a low growl in his throat making her nipples feel tight—

“Brought you some orange juice, Rocket,” he rasped, pulling away and dropping a lighter kiss on her nose and forehead, though

it wasn’t lost on her that his pupils were the size of salad plates. “No pulp.”

“Yuh?” She blinked to bring her surroundings back into focus, but life remained 50 percent blurry. God, he was a great kisser.

Too good. “What?”

“Orange juice.” He nudged her forehead with his own. “Got you some.”

Mouth so close. “Oh.”

He dragged the pad of his thumb down the center of her bottom lip while wincing. “Got you a bagel, too, but I ate it. Sorry

about that. My appetite is a problem.” They maintained eye contact for another several beats, before Robbie cleared his throat

and cast a glance toward... Madden? Had his presence actually slipped her mind momentarily? If so, that would be a first.

“Morning, Madden.” Robbie rubbed his knuckles against the small of her back. “Thanks for keeping Skylar company.”

“No worries.” Madden watched them closely, especially the movements of Robbie’s hand. “I enjoyed catching for you, as usual,

Sky.”

At the use of the nickname, Robbie’s knuckles paused at the base of her spine. “Great. But I’ve got it from here.”

Skylar did a double take. “You’ve got what?”

“I’ll catch for you,” Robbie explained.

Madden’s head tilted with rare amusement. “Will you now?”

“Yup.” Jaw set with determination, Robbie walked to Madden and held out his hand. “Mind if I borrow that glove?”

“Sure thing, mate.”

Robbie appeared a little thrown when Madden handed the glove over without hesitation, but he sniffed and stuck his hand inside,

nonetheless. “The fit isn’t great. My hand is a little too big.” Then louder, while looking at Skylar, “Hand. Way too big.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t do this, Robbie,” Skylar called. “You’ve got playoffs coming up and everything—”

“If you’ll recall, I scored our first date by leaning into one of your pitches.”

“You’re right about that,” Madden said dryly. “Destructiveness seems to be a pattern for you.”

Robbie bowed, before dropping to his haunches. “Thank you.”

Madden shook his head and backed up.

Skylar watched the scene play out with fascination. Was Robbie an incredible actor? Or were these two men butting heads over

her?

Had to be the former.

Robbie was only there to help her. And in conjunction with that kiss? His possessive boyfriend act was convincing as all get-out.

He was totally earning that stolen bagel.

“Don’t hold back, Sky,” Madden said.

Robbie appeared to be grinding his jaw. “Yeah, let’s go, Rocket.” He punched the center of the glove. “My nickname is better.”

“If you say so.”

“Okay, are you really ready?” Skylar called the question, falling into her stance only when Robbie nodded. Breathe, wind up, pitch.

She landed it in the dead center of the mitt. But only because Robbie shifted the target slightly to the right at the last second, compensating for the trajectory.

He didn’t even flinch. He simply stood and threw back the ball.

“Well.” Madden slow clapped. “I underestimated you.”

“Don’t let it happen again.” Robbie sniffed.

Doug Page stepped out onto the porch, then, drawing the threesome’s attention, the sound of his trumpet splintering the cool,

spring morning air.

“Let the games begin,” he hooted, lowering the instrument.

“Looks like they already have,” Madden remarked, backing toward his aunt’s house. “See you all at the field.”

“Yes, you will,” Robbie called, swaggering toward Skylar.

The closer he got to the makeshift pitching mound, the more obvious his pale complexion became. “Let’s get you some ice.”

“Good idea,” he croaked, shaking out his right hand.