Page 10 of Pitcher Perfect
Face the facts, Skylar.Her plucky tagalong role wasn’t working.
And yearning this hard, this long? It hurt.
Perhaps she could make the bet. But still win and avoid the date.
That alone could be enough to nudge Madden.
“Fine.” She coughed into her wrist. “Whatever. You’re on.”
A few seconds ticked by, his eyebrows steadily drawing together. “Are you only agreeing to this bet because you think I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting on base?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
With a wink, he walked backward a few steps, before turning and jogging the remaining distance to the batter’s box, picking up the bat again. “Gentlemen, please serve as witnesses,” boomed his obnoxiously deep voice. “If I make it on base, me and the pitcher have a coffee and orange juice date at a TBD location.”
Madden spat, yanked his face mask back into place, and dropped to his haunches.
She wasn’t imagining this, right? Mad was jealous over her.
“I’m not worried,” Elton drawled. “She won’t let you make it on base.”
No. She wouldn’t. She had far too much pride for that.
But Redbeard had done her a favor by being so publicly annoying. He’d declared her datable to anyone who would listen—including Madden—and maybe, just maybe, gotten her brother’s best friend to see her in a different light.
No one expected Robbie to lean into her next fastball.
Which, she realized afterward, was a huge miscalculation on her part.
Of course, this hockey bruiser didn’t mind a fastball to the shoulder.
In fact, he seemed to enjoy having his strength tested.
“Nope.” Elton threw down his glove and strode toward the batter. “That was fucking cheap. You are not taking out my sister.”
Robbie ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, smiled. “The terms were clear, man.” His attention ticked to Skylar. “Pulp or no pulp, Rocket?”
Elton landed the first punch.
Robbie’s head whipped back, but he stood his ground.
And socked her brother square in the nose, staggering him back several yards.
Everyone converged at once, fists flying.
Including Skylar. No one punched her brother, except for her.
Before she could enter the ruckus, Robbie ducked his way out of the brawl with a supreme air of nonchalance, as if he hadn’t been the one to instigate it. He bent his knees, tossed her into a fireman’s hold over his shoulder, ignoring the way she pounded on his concrete-reinforced back, trying to free herself so she could get a piece of at least one Bearcat. “Put me down,” she shouted through her teeth.
“Let me save you,” he called up to her, making anoofsoundwhen she punched him in the butt. “If someone accidentally hit you, this would go from a friendly Saturday morning brawl to an emergency room visit for a lot of baseball players.”
“You started it!”
“Your brother threw the first punch.”
“You deserved it.”
“Maybe so, Rocket, but let’s focus on what’s important.”
