Pitcher Perfect, page 12
“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.
“Yeah. The vets make sure you know that’s where you are—the bottom.” His thick shoulder jerked. “It’s a rite of passage, I guess.”
Forcing a newbie to earn their stripes via unfair treatment or harsher judgment was an unfortunate reality in the sports world, though Skylar suspected it was more intense in men’s hockey than softball. BU’s softball program was a fostering environment. Team bonding was not only encouraged, but facilitated by the coaching staff. Based on the way Robbie shifted his position, as if uncomfortable where the conversation was leading, she got the feeling the Bearcats didn’t have those same systems as firmly in place.
“But that treatment from the vets really bothers you.”
He opened his mouth, closing it before he could say anything. “Nah, it’s fine.” He chuckled finally, amusement lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. “It’s all in good fun—and it’s starting to get better, little by little. I just need to put in a few years of work and they’ll start taking me seriously. As a person and as a player.” He waved his free hand. “I’m no different than anyone else who came before me, right?”
No. Not right. He’d struck a chord. “Everyone is different. Our experiences make us that way.” Skylar hesitated, surprised to find herself wanting to share something with Robbie that she hadn’t shared with anyone, except for Dina. Aspirations for her future career behind the scenes. “Part of the reason I want to go into coaching someday is that no two players are the same, and I don’t always see that taken into consideration. Yell the same directive at three players and get three different results. One of them will shut down, one will die trying to follow instructions, the third one will raise hell, yell back. That’s why the best coaches—and teammates, for that matter—recognize strengths and weaknesses in a person and coach to those qualities.”
Did his eyes seem a little glazed, or . . . ? “God, you’re so fucking smart.”
The unexpected compliment caused pressure to gather in her chest. “I . . . thanks.”
“You’re going to be a badass coach. Makes me want to grow a ponytail and try out for your squad.”
She rolled her eyes to hide a smile. “You wouldn’t make it ten minutes without trying to pick up every girl on the field, Redbeard.”
“The hell I wouldn’t,” he said, affronted. “Look at me. I’ve learned the error of my ways.” Slowly, he reached over, settled a hand on her knee and squeezed, causing a very distressing tingle at the juncture of her thighs, an acceleration of her pulse. Oh my. Oh no, what was that reaction about? “And anyway, I’ve only got a thing for pitchers, don’t I?”
Skylar put her most concerted effort into not looking down at the trapezius muscles peeking out of the collar of Robbie’s T-shirt. And not thinking about the casual power of his outstretched thighs beneath the table. How all of him seemed to be poised. Waiting. “Is this another round of flirting practice?” she asked, so quietly her voice was almost swallowed by the din of the restaurant.
“Flirting practice.” His expression didn’t budge. “Sure, that’s what we’ll call it.”
Stop. Stop looking at his mouth. “I don’t think I’m cut out for small talk.”
“Says who?” He leaned in while wetting that mouth she was not supposed to be staring at like it was her club sandwich arriving early but . . . wow, he had the sexiest lips. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, the texture and give and temperature of them had been plaguing her brain since they’d kissed this morning. Obviously, she hadn’t kissed anyone for so long, she’d entered a state of shock.
Right.
“I think you’re cut out for a lot of things, Skylar.”
“I’m afraid to ask what you mean.”
“Afraid of the answer?” His hand on her knee slid ever so slowly to midthigh, massaging, and she couldn’t believe . . . couldn’t believe the moisture gathering in the seam of her flesh. In a Cheesecake Factory. With Robbie. Not Madden.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His voice was like sandpaper against her ear now. “Afraid you might want to skip forward to make out day?”
Oh. God.
It has been so long, cried her libido, sounding like a granny.
“Me?” she asked, breathily. “No, I’m not worried I’ll want to skip forward.”
“Are you sure?” He tilted his head, examining her mouth like a lion sizing up a mouse. “If I know your strengths and weaknesses, I can coach to those qualities.”
“Wow.” She tried to give him a look of stern disappointment but couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of her tone. Was she having fun with this guy and getting turned on at the same time? She’d never experienced that combination before. Hadn’t really believed it possible. Keep it going. You’re learning from him. “You have no shame,” she said lightly, tracing the hand on her thigh with the pad of her index finger, watching his eyes darken dramatically. “Using my own methodology to trick me into making out with you.”
“I’m not smart enough to trick you,” he said, those blunt fingers lingering on the inside of her knee, moving in a gentle circle that continued to stir something far from gentle inside of her. “I wouldn’t even try.”
“Ironically, that proves you are smart.”
They smiled at each other in the low light, Skylar exasperated to find she had to work hard to control her breathing. To control the need to grab a fist of that red hair and drag his mouth down to hers, sealing them together. Forget skipping to Tuesday, she should be more concerned about Thursday coming early. As in, welcome to the main event. Yeah, good thing they were in public, because she could easily go for some of that right now. Purely because her body hadn’t been joined with a man’s body in such a long time. She’d been picturing her next time with Madden, daydreaming about his careful hands on her skin, but right now? Robbie and his thickly honed body seemed to be taking up a lot of air. Too much air to picture anyone or anything else in her mind’s eye.
That had to be the only reason she wanted to climb onto Robbie’s lap and feel his sex through her jeans. Against her own. Rubbing herself against him there while his tongue stroked in her mouth. And God, that made her disloyal, didn’t it?
Not only to Madden, the idea of them, but to her own plans. Her goals.
Because her eagerness was a little too much to consider Robbie merely . . . practice.
She needed some time to get ahold of herself.
Thankfully, plate after plate of food were steadily being set down on their table, forcing Robbie to remove his hand from her thigh and release her from his embrace, though he seemed reluctant to do so. Was he . . . enjoying their “date” as much as she was?
When she would normally keep that kind of worry to herself, something about Robbie made her feel okay about voicing it. Maybe it was his self-deprecating humor or the fact that he’d never judged her request for guidance with men. Whatever the reason, she didn’t hesitate. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, weirdly positive he’d tell her the truth. Geez, that certainty was comforting.
“It’s killing me that I might let you down tomorrow, Rocket,” he said.
“We haven’t lost yet,” Skylar reassured him, picking up a fry and waving it around like a conductor’s baton. “I’m just waiting for inspiration to strike.”
They sat side by side for a full minute, Robbie plowing through his chicken parmesan like it had deeply offended him, before the idea came to Skylar.
“Coach to a player’s strengths and weaknesses, right?”
Robbie said something unintelligible around a mouthful of pasta.
She popped the fry into her mouth, suddenly eager for the morning challenge to arrive. “I’ve got a plan.”
Chapter Fifteen
Robbie woke up with the hard-on of the century.
Not exactly newsworthy—that’s how he woke up most mornings, but he was usually in the privacy of his own apartment, not on the floor of his fake girlfriend’s idyllic childhood home. He reached under the blanket and wrapped his fist around his dick, anyway, trying to judge the appropriateness of beating himself off while Skylar slept a few feet away.
Relieving himself right here and now would definitely cross a boundary.
Wow. Look at me, all ethical and whatnot.
Skylar rolled over in bed, one of her bare thighs coming into view above, all smooth and toned and kissed by the beginnings of the sunrise. Christ, he would give up jerking off for a year for the privilege of licking her knee to pussy, spreading her legs wide on the bed, and just going to motherfucking town on her with his tongue. Last night, she’d made it clear she could use some sexual attention, if not verbally, then by how she’d reacted to his hand on her thigh. Squirming and blushing in the booth of the Cheesecake Factory, staring at his mouth and throat and forearms. Pulse erratic at the base of her neck.
She needed something Robbie knew how to give—and give good.
No wonder he was stiffer than a flagpole in January.
But having a painful erection was a hell of a lot better than having his chest ache, the way it had throughout their “date” last night. Wasn’t it? Even though they’d technically been on one date already, back in Boston, he’d still underestimated how fulfilling it would be to sit with her in a restaurant, arm around her shoulders . . . and talk.
Skylar had worried about being a good date? Making small talk?
What she had to offer was so much better than that. She was passionate and honest and insightful. She listened, offered valuable opinions. Sitting in that booth, surrounded by hundreds of diners, he’d sworn they were on their own deserted island. A place where they could say anything and not be judged, only understood. He’d told her about his grandfather’s kite. No one knew how much that three feet of yellow nylon being stuck in the tree bothered him. Only her. And that shame felt so safe in her hands, he wanted Skylar to store all his insecurities and secrets and fears now.
The sound of her yawning and stretching made Robbie close his eyes, picturing himself in the bed beside her, instead of lying on the floor. He’d sip her upper lip, followed by the bottom one, while his fingertips slowly teased her nipples, keeping up the treatment until her thighs started to squirm, wordlessly asking for pressure, friction, a more intimate touch, and he’d slide his hand into her panties, hitting her with a deep kiss at the same time. Grip her pussy hard to let her know he’d heard that plea loud and clear. He’d work it in his palm and whisper for permission to finger fuck—
“You awake?” she asked through a second yawn.
“Huh? Yeah,” he rasped into the stillness, visions of them still vivid and glorious on the backs of his eyelids. “Happy making out day, Rocket.”
She hummed. “Don’t get any ideas, Redbeard. I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
Robbie smiled through the pain. There was no one else like her, huh? No games. No pretense. Just real and earnest. “Do you mind me asking when this make out session will take place? Like, before or after I humiliate myself at the rock climbing wall?”
“Maybe we should wait until after you’ve been humbled. I’ll be less intimidated.”
Robbie sat up immediately, propping his chin on his hands on the edge of the mattress. “Intimidated?”
She turned on her side, half her face nestled into the pillow. That thigh was still exposed in the sheets, though, and his dick was extremely aware of that spot where thigh turned into hip. His palm itched to span the entirety of that curve, squeeze it, drag his thumb along the slope of her hip bone. Eventually, he’d slide his hand around to that ass, hold it steady while he—
Robbie severed his own train of thought when he noticed the tips of her ears darken while she tried to come up with an explanation for him.
She truly expected to be intimidated. This bothered her.
Why did it suddenly feel like elves were sawing his jugular?
I don’t like when things bother her.
“You’re going to think I’m . . . stiff,” Skylar said, finally. “No, I am stiff in those situations.”
He made a skeptical face. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be the stiff one.”
“You know what I mean.”
Yeah, he did. Her worry didn’t make sense to him, though. “Skylar, when I kissed you yesterday in the front yard, you fucking melted. You weren’t stiff whatsoever.” She blinked, appearing to think back to the prior morning. “If you really think you’re stiff with men, maybe it’s something they’re doing wrong, not you.”
“Both of them?”
“Both of what?”
“Both guys I’ve . . . hooked up with.”
“You’ve only hooked up with two guys? Ever?”
“Can you yell it a little louder so my parents and brother hear you?”
“Sorry, I just . . . sorry.” Encountering the alarming, sudden urge to weep, Robbie briefly pressed his face into the mattress, before lifting his head again. “Honey. I was probably awkward the first eight times I was with a woman. You’ve only been in the situation twice.”
Brown eyes narrowed. “Keep talking.”
“I’d rather you keep talking. Tell me what you didn’t like about it.”
Skylar shifted a little, as if to get more comfortable in the sheets. Did she like talking to him, too? Was he not totally blowing this cool sleepover moment? “It moved too fast. I didn’t even have a chance to get used to the foreplay. I wasn’t given any time to find my rhythm. It was just a sweaty, frantic mess.”
“So, you didn’t . . .”
“Didn’t what?”
“Orgasm.”
“Oh. God, no. They didn’t even call me afterward.”
“I mean, I’m not defending them, but they probably didn’t call because they were embarrassed. If you’d hooked up with me when I was eighteen, I could have easily been a sweaty, frantic guy. It takes us a while to figure out what the fuck we’re doing.”
“And now you know.”
“Yes, Skylar. I know.” His cock was deeply, deeply invested in this conversation, having turned uncomfortably heavy in his sweatpants. “I hear what you’re saying. You want to take your time. You want . . . a man to take his time.”
“That doesn’t seem like a lot to ask.”
“It’s not.” His abs were starting to burn from being flexed too long, just to combat the rough pull of need in his balls. Deep breaths. “When we practice making out—or anything else on the calendar, for that matter—you’ll get all the time you need. If you just want to kiss, that’s what we’ll do.” Robbie gave in to the impulse to reach up and trace the outside of her thigh with a single fingertip, trailing it from hip to knee, then back, listening to the acceleration of her breath in the quiet room. “If you want to tease me through my clothes, I’ll do my best to live through it. Or you could find out . . .”
He shut his unholy speech down before it went out of bounds, but she didn’t seem happy about it. “Or I could find out what?” A slow blink. “Don’t censor yourself with me. Just say it. I could find out what?”
“How it feels to have your cunt eaten by a man who gets it dripping first.”
