Pitcher Perfect, page 9
A warm, unexpected wind wafted through her chest, but she couldn’t help but be skeptical. After all, soft and pretty were adjectives that hadn’t been used to describe her many times in her life. She wasn’t sure she totally liked them, either, despite the giddy rush currently sneaking through her bloodstream. “Is this another round of flirting practice?” she asked, suspiciously.
“Nope. Those are just facts.”
“W-well,” she said, floundering momentarily. “Keep your flirtations to yourself, unless we are actively engaged in practice, as set forth in the schedule.”
“My bad, Rocket.” A corner of his lips twitched. “Bottom line is, I would like to be blindfolded. I’m indestructible. I can tape up and play on anything short of a broken limb.”
“So can I. I have.”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but . . .”
A light bulb went off in Skylar’s head. “The problem is you don’t trust me. As a teammate. Not yet.” Her attention hit a snag when Robbie stroked five fingers through his beard, as if settling in to listen to her explanation. What was the texture of that beard? What would it feel like against her cheeks and chin if—no, when they kissed? They were going to kiss, eventually. She’d blocked out a whole hour of time on Tuesday for exactly that. The fact that her blood pumped faster at the thought was alarming, to say the least. “Um. I think the best thing we can do to prepare for tomorrow is establish trust. As teammates, I mean.”
“As opposed to . . .”
“Trusting you as a man. Or a boyfriend. It would be a cold day in hell.”
He shoved off the dresser, his face a mask of disbelief. “Excuse me? Are you implying that I wouldn’t be a trustworthy boyfriend?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m stating facts, just like you.”
“Jesus, Skylar. My facts were flattering.” He paced right, then left, spearing her with a hard look all the while. “Granted, I haven’t been in a serious relationship, but if I was, if I liked someone enough to make her my girlfriend, I’d make sure I was all in. I wouldn’t do it halfway. When I commit to something, I do it a thousand percent.”
“All right.” Guilt somersaulted into her belly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Shouldn’t have said it? Or shouldn’t have assumed I’d be a ratbag boyfriend?”
A small hesitation, followed by a wince. “Said it,” she whispered.
“Wow.” He shook his head slowly. “A man recounts a hookup to his teammates one time and he’s branded for life.”
“One time or every time?”
“Semantics.”
“Semantics,” she echoed, mimicking his baritone. “Let’s table the discussion on the ethics of locker room talk for now. My point is we need to build some teammate-style trust. Otherwise, how are you going to have any confidence in my instructions tomorrow?”
A red eyebrow zipped upward. “You’re letting me do the blindfolded part?”
“Only because I feel a little bit guilty for implying that you’d be a ratbag boyfriend.” She pinched her fingers together and held them up to prove her guilt was scant, at best. “But the guilt is against my will.”
“Aha. You hurt my feelings and you get to avoid injury. This sounds abundantly fair.”
The guilt wasn’t so scant anymore. Was she being a bad teammate? Or too judgmental? Did everyone else keep the truth to themselves to be more likable and why couldn’t she seem to pull that off? “Maybe this is why I’m so bad at dating. I’m too blunt. Or honest. Or—”
“Hey, hey. No. Stop that.” Robbie clasped her shoulders in his huge hands and a weird tingle shot all the way down to her knees. “I’m only kidding around. If a guy can’t handle your bluntness, maybe that’s a good sign that he’s uncomfortable with honesty and you should run in the other direction, huh?”
The sudden wave of gratitude and belonging came as such a surprise, Skylar took a full five seconds to nod. “Okay. Thanks.”
His gaze dipped to her mouth, his bare chest expanding. “Welcome.”
Musk and cinnamon and . . . was it the taste of bare flesh coming off his torso and throat? Whatever it was, the trifecta made her eyelids feel heavy. Made her wonder again about how his beard would feel in her fingers. Or dragging sideways along her collarbone.
When his hands dropped from her shoulders, they both stepped back, visibly regrouping. After what? What had happened, exactly?
Was she attracted to Robbie?
Surely not.
Just the dry spell talking.
Skylar did her best to circle her focus back to the task at hand. Despite Robbie’s assurances, she couldn’t help wanting to make up for what she’d said. Was there a way to gain some trust in each other and smooth over the awkwardness she’d caused?
Her eyes landed on her closet.
Maybe.
“I have an idea.”
He dragged his bottom lip through his teeth. “Skip to Thursday on the calendar?”
“Nope.” Ignore the way your skin is heating. “I’m going to let you read a page out of my diary. From when I was thirteen.”
“Shut up.” His jaw fell open. “I should make you feel guilty more often.”
“Don’t get too excited. You have to share something embarrassing with me, too.” She was careful not to brush their bodies together as she moved past him to the closet. “It’s a trust exercise.”
“Ah.” Robbie sighed dramatically. “If only I’d ever done anything embarrassing . . .”
“I’m sure you’ll dredge something up,” she said, while rummaging through a clear plastic storage container that held school projects dating back to middle school.
The bedsprings groaned as he sat down. “I’ll have to dig deep.”
“Doubt it,” she muttered.
“I heard that, Rocket.”
She almost—almost—apologized again for being so mean, but swallowed the sorry when she emerged from the closet to find him grinning and rubbing his hands together. “Are you picking the material? Or can I open to any random page?”
“Any random page will do. They’re equally humiliating, I’m sure.”
“Hand it over, girl. Let’s go.”
His visible excitement somehow made it easier than it should have been to hand over the small pink book. As soon as the diary was in his possession, Robbie cleared his throat as if preparing to deliver the Gettysburg Address and flipped to a section in the dead center. “June seventh, two thousand sixteen.” He smoothed a palm down the page filled with loopy blue printing. “Oh, we have some daisy doodles in the corner. Very nice.”
She slapped her hands over her face. “Shut up and read.”
“‘A lot of people have crushes on celebrities, but I feel like my crush on Kit Harington is totally different. I think if we met, he would get me. He would know I’m different. He would stop signing autographs and stare at me.’”
“Good lord.”
“Oh, it’s good all right.” He bit his lip to trap a laugh. “A Game of Thrones girl, were you?”
Skylar groaned. “How much longer is this page?”
The man was enjoying himself way too much. “Well, you have three lines of overlapping hearts here, which must be some kind of code. Heart heart heart heart heart heart heart. Am I pronouncing that right?”
“Just skip the hearts, smart-ass,” she said, picking up a pillow and hitting him with it.
“‘Kit would come to my softball game and everyone would be like OMG. My parents would just have to effing deal with it.’” Robbie lost it on that part, collapsing backward onto the bed with his sides shaking. “ ‘Kit would tell Elton to stop making fun of me. Or else.’ ” He closed the diary, biting his lip until it turned white. “Tragically, that’s the end of the page.”
“Thankfully, you mean.”
“You better hide this before I read the rest and make it my whole personality.” He made her tug on the diary three times before releasing it. “Are you ready for my embarrassing contribution? I managed to recall the one incident of my lifetime where I wasn’t obscenely cool.”
“Don’t leave me in suspense.”
He sat up and reached for his phone, which he’d left charging on the surface of her dresser. After a few moments of scrolling through his photo library, he handed her the device. “Mailer took this video of me in the shower.”
She snatched back her hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”
“Relax, you won’t see anything.” He tossed the phone in her direction where it landed with a pfff on the bedding. “But let me know if you want to. A team shower sounds like a good trust building exercise, too.”
“Challenge yourself to not be gross for ten minutes.”
His only response was to grin and stack his hands beneath his head, turning himself into a muscle buffet right before her very eyes. Not to mention the very unmissable ridge raising the leg of his sweatpants. A popular dish, surely. Who wouldn’t pile their plate high with that—
“You going to hit play, Rocket?”
“What? Yeah.” She picked up the phone, chagrined to find her hand was a little sweaty. “I’m terrified, but here goes . . .”
It took a full ten seconds for Skylar to figure out what she was hearing.
“That’s you singing in the shower?”
“That’s me.”
Her mouth fell open, spine zipping straight. “Hold on, you’re actually kind of a good singer. How is this embarrassing . . . ?”
It finally registered that he was singing “Get’cha Head in the Game” from the original High School Musical soundtrack.
“Oh.” Skylar tumbled sideways onto the row of pillows, her breath knocked out of her in a whooshing laugh. “Ohhhh nooooo.”
He took the phone back, presumably hitting pause, because the sound of his passionate crooning no longer filled the air, though her eyes were too tear-filled to confirm.
“What do you think?” Robbie asked, his voice coming from above. “Did this trust building exercise work?”
Skylar’s laugh cut out when she opened her eyes, finding his face inches from her own, his expression one of rapt fascination. Why? Because she was laughing?
“Yeah,” she said, winded, sitting up quickly. “Yes, I’d say it worked. You?”
“Sure.”
Neither one of them said anything for several seconds, during which it became very clear they were not only having a good time together, they were having a good time together on a bed. In their sleep clothes.
“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” he asked, gruffly.
“No. We’re . . . we can be mature about this. Don’t be silly.”
His attention swept her body, a ripple going through his jaw. “I don’t know, Rocket. I still think I should.”
Why was her pulse going so fast? “Okay. Why?”
“I’m worried I’ll be half asleep and . . . touch you without thinking.” He huffed a sound. “I mean, Christ. It takes concentration not to touch you when I’m awake.”
The bedding started to feel different against her skin. Softer. More alluring.
Bad.
Fine. Maybe she could admit to being . . . attracted to Robbie. Nothing too unusual about that. He was a hot professional athlete who probably appealed to most women who crossed his path. It stung to be one of thousands, but she couldn’t do anything about it now. Except to remember that the attraction was physical in nature only. She didn’t have grand, once-in-a-lifetime, momentous feelings for anyone but Madden. That’s why Robbie was here in the first place. Luckily, she’d found someone she found attractive to help weed through her insecurities with men, but that’s all this could be. That’s all she wanted it to be.
And most importantly, that’s all he was offering. He definitely couldn’t wait to get back to his carousel of one-night stands.
“Yeah.” Finally, she nodded in agreement, tossing him a pillow and the spare blanket folded on the end of her bed. “You’re right. Maybe it’s best if you sleep on the floor.”
Robbie couldn’t sleep.
Not because he was bedding down on the floor. Although trying to catch some z’s while Skylar was within reaching distance, breathing softly in her little tank top and shorts . . . not easy. Not easy at all. He’d lost count of how many times she’d checked him out while completing their trust exercise, those gorgeous brown eyes glued to his abs like she was on a stakeout. Did she realize every thought in her head played out on her face?
Did she realize he loved that so much?
Would she care?
Robbie dragged a frustrated hand down his face and focused on the second reason he couldn’t sleep—he’d only eaten one dinner. A small one, at that. The objective of tonight’s cookout had been to size up the competition and find out tomorrow’s challenge. Being the newcomer, he’d hesitated to be too forward and ask for a second helping, but Jesus. One measly burger for dinner?
Giving up on falling asleep, Robbie got up and quietly left Skylar’s room.
“One burger. What am I?” he muttered, now on his way down the dark hallway. “A toddler?”
Robbie turned the corner into the kitchen and drew up short. Slumped forward at the white-and-gray marble island was Elton, his gaze locked on the phone in front of him. A picture on it showed a smiling young woman with black curly hair and a medal around her neck. In the space of two seconds, before Elton noticed Robbie’s arrival, Robbie witnessed something other than irritation or exasperation on the baseball player’s face for the first time. Heavy, hollow sorrow. That’s what it was.
He tried to back out of the kitchen before Elton clocked him, but it was too late. The other man’s jaw hardened and with a swipe of his thumb, he darkened the phone.
“What do you want?” Elton asked.
“Like, four times the amount of food I ate earlier.” Robbie slipped behind Elton and made a move for the refrigerator, opening the freezer first. That was where his favorite foods were usually hiding. “Does your mom keep any Stouffer’s lasagnas in the house?”
“Pretty much everything in this house is from the farmers market.”
Robbie blanched. “Aha. So this is going to be the real test of survival, is it?” He reached in and found a frozen bag of cauliflower crinkle fries. What the fuck? “Feeding me normal-sized portions until I’m too weak to compete.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Elton said, sounding as though he was fighting off weariness.
Even though he had an intense dislike for this prick, Robbie couldn’t quite stem the impulse to break up the sadness he could still feel lingering in the air. Laugh through the pain, that’s what he’d been taught. Being the class clown growing up had turned the tide from being laughed at to being laughed with. Was his court jester personality also the reason a lot of his veteran teammates constantly rolled their eyes at him?
Yeah.
Too late to change now, though, right?
Robbie gave up on the freezer and opened the fridge, a little surprised to find himself checking for orange juice before locating food for himself. The no-pulp kind Skylar liked. Why didn’t they have any on hand for the morning? Mentally planning a trip to the store before she woke up, Robbie sighed in relief when he saw a plastic-wrapped platter of leftover burgers, buns and all. “I assure you, I will never get used to regular human portions of food. When I was a kid, I got kicked out of summer camp for breaking into the cafeteria in the middle of the night.” He set the plate down on the counter and whipped off the plastic like a magician revealing a rabbit. “They found me with my face submerged in a five-gallon tub of corn chowder. That’s how I got my summer camp nickname. Robbie Corn-igan.”
“Wow. Sounds like you’ve always been a pain in the ass.”
“You’ve got that right,” Robbie said around a mouthful of meaty goodness. “Like recognizes like, I guess.”
He put his hand out for a fist bump.
Elton gave it a withering look.
“If you thought this was going to be a bonding moment, I hate to break it to you, it’s not.” Elton turned in the stool to face Robbie, rearing back a little when he caught Robbie inserting an entire slider into his gob before he’d even finished the last one. “Jesus, man.”
“I’m ftarbing!”
Elton made a flippant gesture toward the fridge. “At least put some fucking ketchup on them. They’re completely dry. If you choke, I’m not Heimliching you.”
Robbie swallowed. “I’ve had to learn how to Heimlich myself. I’m a pro.”
“Wow. I had no idea my sister had lowered her standards quite this much.”
“Lucky me,” Robbie said, grinning.
Elton scrutinized Robbie in the dim kitchen light, brow puckered, his fingers drumming on the island. “I can’t believe I’m going to ask you this, but what are your intentions with my sister?”
Robbie took a huge bite, so he could buy himself enough time to formulate an answer. Because, yeah, that wasn’t an easy question. In a perfect world, one where he hadn’t presented himself to Skylar as a misogynist asshole from the jump, he’d be trying to date her. Only her. Yeah. Skylar was a once-in-a-lifetime girl. He’d probably be painting his body in BU colors to cheer her on at softball games by now. That was, if she hadn’t—correctly—pegged him as a player who took nothing and no one seriously.
The burgers sprouted thorns in his stomach.
There was very little chance he could convince her of the opposite now. She’d made up her mind. But Robbie couldn’t very well spill the truth to Elton. That he’d come here to atone for his behavior with Skylar.
And he definitely couldn’t tell Elton they were fake dating to attract his best friend.
Robbie decided to stick as close to the truth as he could, under the circumstances. “I like your sister. A lot. I’m just trying to spend as much time around her as possible.”
Elton processed that with an air of skepticism. “Are you sure you’re not just here to incite me?”
“You think I’d go to all this effort just to piss off a baseball player?”
