Page 40 of Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4)

Her stomach was floating somewhere in the rafters.

“Hey,” she breathed, impulsively, a rush whipping through her blood at what she was preparing to ask him, but she wasn’t scared.

“Will you come to my home opener next week? If it doesn’t interfere with playoffs?”

Robbie had already let go of her hand to fumble with his phone, swiping a few times until he pulled up what looked like the Bearcats team calendar. “What day?”

“Next Monday. It’s a night game.”

His mouth tipped up at one end. “I’ll be there. I have away games Tuesday and Wednesday, but we’re here on Monday, then a

home game on Thursday.”

They smiled at each other in the midst of the deli, Skylar’s heart nearly punching through her chest. Had she ever felt this

heightened brand of wild excitement for Madden? Or had she only ever been... wistful over her brother’s best friend? Admiring? Because she knew for a fact she’d never had this sense of camaraderie or understanding

or sexual anticipation. No, she would remember if she’d felt even a fraction of it. “Great.”

“Will you come to my game Thursday?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He laughed, crossing his arms, uncrossing them.

She laughed, too, because she was happy, and she didn’t know what else to do. Also, it was their turn to order and they didn’t

realize it until someone in line cleared their throat. They got sandwiches to go (Robbie got three) and he carried the brown

paper bag in his left arm, holding Skylar’s hand with his right. If every woman with a pulse stopped and stared at him on

their way down the sidewalk, Robbie didn’t seem to notice and Skylar chose to ignore it. For today, she was just embracing

the possibility of... them.

And ignoring the uncertainty that came along with it.

“You nervous about your home opener?”

“Definitely. First game as a senior. They’re expecting a lot out of me.

” They reached the end of the row of shops and turned down a path into the park, shade enveloping the two of them.

“But I know once I throw the first pitch, I’ll be fine.

Some times right before a game, I have this weird what-if moment, like maybe I’ll get out there and my body will forget how to play and my arm will be jelly.

Once muscle memory takes over, I just get further and further into the zone and I stop overthinking. ”

He hummed, brow drawn in concentration. “Just have to get through the first pitch.”

“Yeah. How do you feel about playoffs?”

“Good. We have some momentum going in. Gauthier is at the top of his game and I’m trying to give him space without blending

in too much.” A few beats passed. “My problem was the opposite of yours at the beginning of the season. As a rookie, they

mostly played me hoping I wouldn’t mess with their chemistry. I think I’ve been so focused on not fucking up, I’ve forgotten

to just play my game.”

“Do you think that had a lot to do with the way they sometimes treated you off the ice?”

“Yeah. I didn’t realize it until recently. Until you. But... yeah.” Robbie traded their joined hands in favor of putting

his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “Who knows. Maybe the playoffs

are when Corrigan comes alive.”

“No.” Skylar hip-bumped him. “They will be.”

“You’re right. They will be.” Abruptly, he stopped walking, looking at her like he was seeing her all over again for the first

time. “Hey, you. Skylar Page.” His fingers delved into her hair and tilted her face up. “Just where the hell have you been

all my life?”

A cool wind whipped through the trees, the clouds passing over the sun, leaving everything a shade darker momentarily.

It was an odd event, almost like a rapid passing of time and she could see it, a glimpse of herself looking up into this man’s face for years to come, almost like she was watching it happen from a distance.

And she had no idea how to respond. Couldn’t. Not with her heart in her mouth.

The light returned, along with sound and the movement of the branches above, his fingers still warm and anchoring in her hair.

In response to his question, she wanted to say I’ve been waiting for you . It would have been a lie, though, because she never could have known to wait for this specific man, the polar opposite of

who she’d envisioned for herself.

“I thought of our act for the talent show,” she said finally.

His lips jumped. “I told you. We can’t do that.”

“Shut up.” My face literally hurts from smiling. “It occurs to me we both know the original High School Musical soundtrack front to back. I mean, I haven’t listened in a while, so we’ll need some quick practice—”

“I practiced last night.”

“You what?”

“‘Start of Something New’?” He backed up and doubled over, as if his body couldn’t handle the coincidence. “I sang it at karaoke

last night.”

“No. It’s a duet!”

“I sang it with Elton. A duet was the only way I could get some airtime with those two hams.”

“I played it so much growing up, Elton must have memorized the lyrics. Or downloaded it himself.” She covered her face with

both hands. “That’s a lot to take in.”

He lunged at Skylar, lifting her up off the ground. “Admit you still listen to it.”

“ What? No, I don’t. I don’t.”

“Liar. You lie so hard. Show me your list of most-listened-to songs.”

“You will never see that. Ever—”

He wrestled the phone out of her pocket and ran, his laugh booming through the park when she sprinted after him and jumped on his back. “No password, Rocket? I could have been snooping while you slept this whole time?”

She gave up the useless task of trying to get the device away from him and deflated on his back, her chin coming to a hard

rest on his shoulder, watching as he tapped his way into Spotify, blushing and hiding her face in his neck when he reached

the list.

“No. No way, Skylar. No.”

“Afraid so.”

“‘Get’cha Head in the Game’? You let me show you that video of me singing in the shower and wallow alone in my embarrassment

when it’s...” He barked a laugh. “Number three on your most played?”

“I was going to tell you when the time was right, when my Kit Harington diary entry wasn’t still stinging.” She jerked a shoulder.

“It’s a good hype song.”

“The best.”

“Hmm. Maybe not the best—”

“I’m talking about you. You are the best.” Robbie dropped to his knees with her still on his back, swinging her around at the same time, so he could

catch her and set her down gently in the grass, even as his sides shook with mirth. “You’re going to kill me being so goddamn

cute.”

Skylar pushed at his shoulders. “I’m not cute. I’m intimidating. I can dribble and sing at the same time, as well as any Wildcat.”

He lost it, falling face-first into the grass beside her.

Every time she thought they were done laughing, they started again and there were definitely grass stains on the white dress, but she didn’t care.

She didn’t have a single care in the world as she giggled like a preteen in the grass of her hometown park, her second-most-embarrassing secret exposed to the man she was sleeping with, her feelings sprouting legs and running amok in a way she could no longer control.

Finally, Robbie handed back her phone and stood, helping Skylar to her knees, tugging her forward until she fell into his

arms, where he rocked her in the shade. He pressed his mouth to her ear and started to say something, but a group of kids

went careening past them carrying baseball gloves, a couple of them with bats slung over their shoulder, yelling at the top

of their lungs.

“We bat first!”

“You batted first yesterday.”

As they watched, the kids ran to the far end of the park and fell into formation, still shouting and disagreeing, but ultimately

getting their haphazard game underway. It took two pitches for the first batter to get a hit, the ball soaring across the

expanse of grass, bouncing once and rolling to a stop at Skylar’s feet.

They traded a knowing glance.

“Do your thing, Rocket.”

She picked up the ball, tossed it up once and caught it, then fired it across the park, right into the catcher’s glove. Silence

reigned in the park. But not for long. Everyone under the age of twelve started talking at once, each of them more animated

than the last, but one voice stood out above the rest.

Or maybe he was just saying what Skylar wanted to hear.

“Can you pitch to us?”

Skylar liked to think she rearranged a few young minds that day, at least where gender norms were concerned. After the kids

got over the fact that a girl could pitch , they settled into a boisterous line, each of them taking a turn trying to get a hit off her. When one of them finally connected,

the ball fouling off into the trees, the group of boys celebrated like their buddy had just hit a grand slam in the bottom

of the ninth of the World Series.

“She’s something, isn’t she, boys?” Robbie called when the noise died down.

The next batter stepped forward, striking the metal bat off his shaggy pair of Jordans. “She’s a lot cooler than my friggin’ sister.”

“Hey.” Skylar wagged a finger. “No one is bad-mouthing any sisters on my watch.”

“Sorry, she’s the friggin’ worst.”

Robbie snorted around a bite of his third sandwich. “All right, you punks are hogging my girlfriend and I’m sick of it.” He

waved his pastrami and cheese on rye. “One more batter and we’re out of here.”

Skylar didn’t outwardly react to Robbie calling her his girlfriend, even if her stomach flipped over like an egg being fried

in oil. Sizzleclap. She tried to make the mental excuse that their actual relationship required too much explanation. Saying “girlfriend” was

simply more expeditious. Except he was looking right at her now, chewing his sandwich with satisfaction and staring at her,

as if to say, Yeah, you’re my girlfriend, what are you going to do about it?

And she might have been smiling back.

The eggs in her belly scrambled together.

Oh boy. Was this happening? Am I taking this leap?

The only thing that could have broken the spell in that moment was one of the kids whispering, “Girlfriends are grosser than

sisters,” loudly enough to be heard in Cincinnati. Robbie threw back his head and laughed, startling a woman who passed by

pushing a stroller. With her stomach still in chaos, Skylar fell into her pitching stance—and that’s when she noticed the

one kid who hadn’t batted yet. He sat off to the side, his expression a cross between anxious and dejected. When Robbie stopped

laughing, she watched him follow her line of sight over to the youngster.

“You want to bat, kid?” Robbie called.

The kid shook his head vigorously.

Robbie balled up his sandwich wrapper, threw it away, and walked over to the boy. Every eye was drawn to the conversation,

turning the kid’s cheeks red, so Skylar put two fingers in her mouth and whistled to distract them. “Hey. Who’s my next victim?”

As she pitched to the final batter, she tried not to be obvious about listening to the conversation between the shy kid and

Robbie, but she was too curious to ignore them completely. How was he going to handle this?

“What’s your name?”

“Bo.”

“Bo, you don’t like baseball?”

“No.”

“You have excellent taste. Neither do I.”

Skylar rolled her eyes.

“Although it’s definitely growing on me. Don’t tell the pitcher.”

She pretended not to hear that.

“All they want to do is play baseball, though. Every day.” Bo shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “They make

me play even though I suck.”

“You suck less lately,” one of the boys offered cheerfully.

“Hey,” Skylar said. “Pay attention. Who’s next?”

Eight kids shouted, “ME.”

“Do you like sports at all?” Robbie asked.

“Yeah,” Bo responded. “I’d just rather be inside.”

Without looking over, she knew a grin was spreading across Robbie’s face. “Have you considered hockey?”

As if to punctuate the moment, thunder rolled in the distance.