Page 25 of Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4)

Skylar parted the hanging beads leading into the underground burlesque club, a swanky, swoony, old-fashioned melody guiding

her toward the performance area. The Gilded Garden was smoky, but not from cigarettes. The fog machine positioned at the entrance

to the club was Skylar’s favorite of Eve’s ideas. I want people to feel like they’re walking through a screen and stepping back into the past.

You definitely nailed it, Eve.

As soon as Skylar emerged from the fog, the lights turned a citrine blue, and she was surrounded by Roaring Twenties decor.

Black-and-white pictures of performers in various stages of near undress hung along the hallway walls, showcased by golden

art deco frames. The entire ceiling was made up of pink feather plumes that hung down, close enough to tickle Skylar’s forehead

if she went up on her toes. A familiar brassy and crystal chandelier hung at the end of the hallway, beckoning customers forward,

along with the sensual hibiscus fragrance, to the mouth of the club where the stage and tables were nestled into the sapphire

darkness.

Skylar wasn’t a club person. She was the “drink a gallon of water, get a lot of sleep, and wake up refreshed” type. But she

envied the creativity it took to start with Eve’s father’s no-frills strip club and build something like the Gilded Garden

out of it. To have a vision for something so fantastical and make it happen.

Her surroundings only drove home the fact that Skylar and Eve had opposing personalities.

Perhaps they never even would have been friends, except for the day in middle school Skylar had overheard Joe Logan asking Eve if she planned on stripping at her father’s club after graduation, because he’d be first in line to pay the cover charge.

Skylar might have left her defense of Eve as a simple shut up and leave her alone, Joe.

Then she’d witnessed Joe pinch Eve’s butt.

Skylar decked him, instead.

Well worth the three-day suspension during which Eve had arrived at the front door of the Page household with a stack of Skylar’s

homework. She’d gone and collected it from all of Skylar’s teachers, saving Skylar from having to do the legwork upon her

return to school.

“Are we even?” Eve had asked, stone-faced.

Skylar had propped her shoulder against the doorjamb, pretending to think about it. “No, I’m pretty sure I still owe you.

I’ve wanted to punch that fucker for years.”

They’d been inseparable from that day forward.

Eve attended all of Skylar’s softball games, though she read a book in the stands and didn’t participate in the chants or

cheers. Skylar did her homework with Eve in the office of the strip club, too, from time to time, though she’d wisely omitted

that truth from her parents.

Skylar crossed the half-full lounge to the ornate black-and-gold bar, intending to order a Sprite. Somehow the words “vodka

tonic” came out of her mouth, instead.

And didn’t she deserve a stiff drink or two after this afternoon?

Robbie was not coming back.

She knew that in her gut, the way she knew the sound of a home run as soon as it connected with the bat.

The knowledge that she’d given up a home run usually filled her with the same type of hollow dread.

This felt different, however. Not simply disappointment in herself and a growing drive to do better next time.

More like a horrible sense that she’d missed something or hadn’t paid enough attention.

The feeling also happened to be more concentrated in her chest than usual, too.

A horribly uncomfortable sensation that made her desperate to numb the feeling. Or better yet, get rid of it entirely.

Not easy when she could still feel Robbie’s fist in her hair, his lips skating up the side of her neck. The possessive way

he’d licked her. Kissed her. Bit her.

“What the heck,” Skylar whispered into her first sip of the lime-laced cocktail. Thank God for the way it burned on the way

down, distracting her from the heat she still felt everywhere else. Annoying heat that only seemed to multiply her confusion.

Why did she have to be so attracted to Robbie?

Did he kiss every girl like that? In a way that was starved and conflicted at the same time? What had caused his sudden need

to leave (apart from her highly functioning dysfunctional family, that is)? And most importantly, why did the thought of never

seeing him again put her in a state of mourning?

God, she almost felt... disoriented from the sudden loss of his chuckle—

“Skylar,” someone said to her right. “Hey.”

No, not someone. Madden.

Madden was there. In the Gilded Garden. His dark hair had turned blue black in the lighting, his jaw set with tension, along

with his wide shoulders. So handsome. Almost... debonair in black jeans and a fitted white T-shirt.

When a weighted flop would normally happen in her belly at the sight of him, so tall and intense, now Skylar only experienced a tiny zing that translated mostly as.

.. fondness? The events of the day had obviously taken a lot out of her if she was too spent to get excited at the sight of her forever crush in such a romantic setting, right?

The alcohol could be to blame, too, of course.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Madden.

He shoved both hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Elton mentioned you were coming to see Eve tonight.”

“Okay...”

“I thought I might join you.”

Two, three seconds ticked by during which she tried to make sense of that answer. Had he come... because he wanted to spend

time with her? As a friend? Or... more?

She didn’t have time to dissect his behavior because he pulled out a hammered brass stool for her, then himself, signaling

the bartender with a curt nod. Somehow the man seemed to know his drink by heart, sliding a frothy beer in front of Madden

within seconds. Was the guy a psychic or something? Or had Madden been here before?

“Robbie left for practice tonight, so?”

A little chisel hammered her in the throat. “Yes. Playoffs start next week, so they’re mostly resting, but not enough to lose

their conditioning.”

Madden took a thoughtful sip of his pint, that characteristic furrow locked to his brow. “Would you say things are going well

between the two of you?”

Skylar’s pulse started to race, but she couldn’t tell why. Because Madden was showing interest in her love life and finally

seeing her as an adult? Or because her relationship with Robbie was a fabrication and she’d have to lie? “I don’t... know,

actually,” she said, finding she spoke the truth. “How did it seem to you?”

It seemed to take him an hour to respond, and she couldn’t help but compare Madden’s thoughtful manner to Robbie’s instantaneous quips.

“Sure, isn’t it natural for me to feel protective of you, Skylar?

I’ve known you years. And this Robbie..

.” He paused. “The sports world is small and in Boston, it’s even smaller.

People talk. Men talk. I’m sorry, but Robbie has something of a reputation. With women.”

Skylar already knew that. Hearing it out loud, knowing Robbie’s playerhood was a definitive fact, lined her stomach with lead,

nonetheless. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Madden nodded, apparently satisfied. “I couldn’t let it pass without saying something to you. You’re not likely to listen

to Elton.” Ever so briefly, his eyes twinkled. “For good reason. He can be a right arse, as you well know.”

A laugh bloomed in her throat. Suddenly, there she was, drinking alcohol with this devastatingly hot and mysterious man, in

a smoky burlesque club. It was an odd moment of clarity— oh, I’m truly an adult —that she probably should have experienced long before now, considering she’d been through almost four years of college. But

still. This was a sex situation. A situation where the right moves could lead to sex. With Madden.

The possibility flooded her with panic.

Too fast. This is moving too fast.

She hadn’t even finished her lessons with Robbie.

Dammit, Robbie. Are you coming back?

“There was something else I wanted to speak with you about, Skylar,” Madden said, cutting the distance between them in half.

Before she could stop herself, she twisted forward in her seat so she wouldn’t be facing him and drained half of her vodka

tonic. Why are you wasting this opportunity, you clown? “It’s somewhat delicate...”

I’ve finally realized I’m in love with you. That’s what he was going to say.

“I’m going to run to the ladies’ room—”

“I’ve been brought up to professional level. I’m going to catch for the Yankees.”

Skylar sucked in a breath.

Surprise, elation, and a sense of melancholy crammed into her throat, all at once, and she found herself blinking back a layer

of shocked tears. “ What? ” Without overthinking the impulse, she hopped off her chair and wrapped both arms around him. “Oh my God. Congratulations.

Oh my God!”

He cleared his throat. Patted her gently on the back. “Caught a scout’s eye while training for triple A and... well, it’s

the perfect storm of the New York catcher getting injured and them verging on busting the salary cap. They needed someone

moderately inexpensive, but good.”

“That’s amazing. Amazing!” Skylar released him, only to shove him full in the chest. “The fucking Yankees , though? Seriously?”

A rich laugh came tumbling out of him. “I wasn’t given much choice in the matter.”

“Still,” she said, shivering. “Don’t expect me to wear pinstripes at your games.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Gradually, his amusement faded. “Elton doesn’t know yet. I’m worried he’s going to feel...”

“Left behind,” she finished, his reluctance to celebrate finally registering.

“Yeah. Exactly that.”

Skylar deflated slightly under the weight of understanding. She had a love-hate relationship with her brother. They would

forever fight like siblings. Competitive ones, at that. And she knew Elton would most likely see Madden’s success as a negative