Page 18 of Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4)

Women really, really liked her fake boyfriend.

On some level, Skylar had assumed this to be the case. Robbie Corrigan was a professional athlete, which automatically gave

him a certain mystique. Not to mention, he had the physique to show for bashing bodies on the ice for over a decade. Throw

in his good-time grin and the uniquely messy coiffure of red hair—beard to match—and the guy turned heads. A lot of them.

Pretty much every single one in this Cheesecake Factory.

Which didn’t make Skylar uncomfortable . Not one bit. If she didn’t love thinking about how the same thing must happen every time Robbie walked into a bar or nightclub or, hell, even the supermarket,

that was purely her amused exasperation talking. What he did back in Boston didn’t concern her.

If that were true, though, then why did the queasy weight in her stomach grow more intense every time a woman smiled at him?

Probably because Robbie’s easy confidence in himself as a catch only drew attention to the fact that she was not. What did

they even look like together? In her hoodie and sneakers, she probably didn’t resemble the kind of woman he normally dated...

sorry, took home . She’d taken out her wet braid earlier and her hair was wavy, complete with requisite flyaways. Her makeup consisted of Chapstick

and a sunburn.

She probably needed way more help than this man could give her.

Skylar and Robbie approached the hostess station and two more sets of female eyes widened. “Oh. Um. Welcome to the Cheesecake Factory.” One of the young women gathered two menus in her visibly unsteady hands. “Two for dinner?”

“Yup.” Robbie slung a casual arm across Skylar’s shoulders. “Just me and my girl.”

“That’s so cute,” breathed the menu carrier.

“Hear that, Rocket? We’re cute together.” He pulled her closer while addressing the hostess. “Could you seat us somewhere

with a big table? I’m going to be ordering more than one entrée. We’ll need space.”

“And an extra chair for his ego, please,” Skylar added.

The hostess’s lips twitched. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Follow me.”

They were led to a booth that could easily fit six people. “This ought to do,” Robbie said, tossing the hostess a wink that

sent a blush to the roots of her hair. And he didn’t even seem to notice. “After you,” he said to Skylar, gesturing for her

to slide into the booth.

Instead of sitting himself on the other side, he scooted in right next to her, his big, warm body crowding her into the wall,

that arm back around her shoulders.

At first Skylar was too stunned by how nice it felt to be held to say anything, but when the hostess sailed off and they were

left alone, she found her voice.

“I’m far from a dating expert, but I don’t think this is how people sit on a date. This isn’t even how a couple usually sits on a date.”

“Really? This is how I’d sit with you if we were a couple.”

“I’m not practicing to be in a couple.”

A muscle hopped in his cheek—a total contradiction to the humor in his eyes. “Aren’t you?”

Skylar’s mouth snapped shut. He had a point.

The waiter chose that moment to arrive with a breadbasket and Skylar stared at the contents, trying to imagine sitting in

a restaurant with Madden’s arm around her. Would he be comfortable with public displays of affection? No. She didn’t think

so. Still, maybe with the right girl, he wouldn’t mind. And she was the right girl for him.

The zip of excitement Skylar typically experienced over a Madden daydream didn’t land quite as hard as it usually did. There

was an explanation, though. Robbie took up so much room, his hard body and big mouth such a distracting presence, how could

she concentrate on anything else?

He’d already housed four pieces of bread in the time it took her to articulate her thoughts.

“Do you want any?” he asked, midchew.

“No, thanks. I don’t want to lose a hand.”

“Sorry, I just need to take the edge off. Your mom served fruit salad for lunch, Skylar. In my world, fruit is a garnish.”

He dragged the final slice of brown bread through the tab of butter and swallowed it whole. “Okay. I’m ready for dating practice.”

Skylar squared her shoulders, ready to take the lesson seriously. When and where else would she get an opportunity like this

with someone so experienced? “Okay, so... we make small talk, right? How is this different from flirting?”

“For one, it’s way harder,” Robbie started. “Because you’re trying to eat and be cute at the same time.”

“Is that the goal?” She raised a brow. “To be cute?”

His gaze ran an appreciative lap around her face. “You’ve already got the cute part covered,” he said, gruffly. “Let’s focus

on small talk.”

Don’t fidget because he called you cute.

He probably calls a multitude of women cute on a weekly basis.

“So, um.” Skylar turned slightly in his embrace, her right knee grazing his left one, pressing and staying.

Touching equaled flirting, right? He’d taught her that.

“You’ve met my zany family. Tell me about yours. Tell me about... you.”

“Me,” he repeated, stroking his beard, as though mentally pinpointing where to start. “I’m from—”

“Where did your phobia of heights come from?”

He choked on a sound. “Don’t look now, but you might have accidentally turned off the small talk highway.”

“Sorry.” Her face flamed. “I’m paying attention. I am. It’s also in the back of my mind that we have to figure out how we’re

going to win tomorrow when you might not be able to climb.”

“Oh, I definitely won’t be able to climb.”

It was very easy to see he hated disappointing her. The lines around his mouth were tight and he was no longer making eye

contact. Which was why she refused to give him a hard time about it. Or poke fun. “Your phobia is that bad?”

“Afraid so, Rocket.”

She ducked down until he had no choice but to look at her. “Do you want to tell me where it came from?”

Tension played itself out in the muscles of his powerful arm, which he still had draped along her shoulders. “It’s not some

traumatic story or anything—” He let a slow exhale seep out of him, grief dancing briefly in the mossy depths of his eyes.

“It just reminds me of my grandfather.”

Skylar allowed her surprise to settle. “Okay. How?”

He cleared his throat. “He used to take me to Sands Point Preserve. It’s this spot on Long Island with hiking trails.

It’s on the coast and there’s this small beach below the cliffs where we’d fly kites.

Constantly. When my grandfather was younger, he competed in competitions all over the island, so he had this serious love of kites.

One of the last times we flew them together, his got hung up in a tree that was.

..” He used his hand to demonstrate an angle.

“Sort of growing out of the side of the cliff. His favorite yellow box kite got stuck in the branches, so I went up to get it. And, Jesus, I couldn’t do it.

As soon as I got up there and saw the ground below, I got dizzy and nauseous. Sweaty palms, hyperventilating.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. I’m not sure if I had a forgotten experience when I was little or I was just born with the phobia, but it’s real

and it’s severe.” Did he realize he’d pulled her closer? His words were stirring the flyaways at her temples. “My grandfather

passed away shortly after that. The kite is still in that goddamn tree, if you can believe it. I check every time I go home

for a visit. And I have this...”

When he didn’t continue, she nudged his leg with her own. “What?”

“It’s ridiculous, but as long as his kite is stuck in that tree, I’ll have this weird sense of things being unfinished. Or

unresolved. Like he’s out there somewhere missing that damn kite.”

Skylar didn’t think it was ridiculous at all. Not even close. In fact, she’d resigned herself to having that very same feeling

ever since getting her rejection letter from Brown and not fulfilling the expectations of her parents. She’d never bring their

lives full circle. Nothing would ever make sense. “Do you think your grandfather would want you to feel that way?”

“I don’t know. I’ve wondered about that. He was the type to push me to be better, so at the very least, he’d probably give

me shit for making him wait.”

The fact that she’d disliked Robbie on sight and now... related to him so thoroughly was a kick in the ass. A reminder

not to judge people too quickly in the future, especially this guy. “Sounds like he’d fit right in with my family.”

“You might be right.”

They studied each other for several beats, only breaking the mutual stare when the waiter arrived to take their order. Chicken parmesan with spaghetti, empanadas, and carrot cake for Robbie. A club sandwich and fries for Skylar.

“What did you mean your grandfather pushed you to be better?” she asked, once the waiter had departed. “Was he a hockey player?”

“No one in my family plays hockey but me. They excel at talking shit in the stands, though, and that skill should never be

underestimated in my sport.” A rueful smile played on Robbie’s lips, as if reminiscing. Yeah, Skylar found herself looking

at his mouth way longer than was appropriate. His jawline and throat, too. All the food chewing was paying off in a big way.

“So, when I was in elementary school, I got bullied. A lot.”

Shock snapped her to attention. “You?”

“You’re seriously surprised? You’ve noticed the color of my hair, right? At that age, anything different about you makes you

a target— especially on Long Island.” He ran five fingers through the hair in question, leaving it in tangled disarray. “I used to take it to

heart, come home crying. But my grandfather taught me to laugh off the pain. Let the insults and name-calling roll off my

back.” He huffed a laugh. “That strategy has definitely served me well lately. Being a rookie and all.”

“Starting at the bottom again,” she murmured.