Page 11 of Pitcher Perfect
“Like what?”
“Look where I’m standing.”
Skylar twisted around to judge their location.
His feet were planted firmly on first base.
He’d won the bet.
She sagged in defeat.
Chapter Four
Robbie turned to Skylar from where he stood at the counter of Café Lil Italy, totally unconcerned about the ugly, blue-black swell forming around his right eye. “You never told me, Rocket. Pulp or no pulp?”
“No pulp,” Skylar responded, thoroughly dazed.
“Do you want anything to eat?”
“No.” She swung her backpack around to the front, fingers poised to unzip the front pocket. “I have money.”
He ignored that. Obviously. Was probably one of those guys who frequently shrugged and said,Whatcan I say? I’m traditional.
How. How did she get here?
“I got it. You want to grab us a table?” With a wry smile playing around his lips, Robbie sent a nod toward the street. “Since we’re on the clock and all.”
Skylar turned, walked stiffly toward the only open table, which happened to be the farthest one from the front of the shop, taking off her backpack and plopping into the wooden chair. God, she did not have time for this. Now she would never get a head start on packing for Rhode Island or get the cracked screen fixed on her phone. No meal prepping would be done. This guy had her in the weeds.
Skylar should have continued pitching her game, no detours, no harebrained impulses. She never should have let him approach the mound. Look where that rare impulsivity had gotten her.Drinking orange juice with a chauvinist hockey player while her brother waited outside in the car like some deranged chaperone, icing his own nose and eye bruises, inflicted on him by her date. Just a typical Saturday.
More interestingly, Madden sat in the passenger seat, and he hadn’t spoken on the short drive to the coffee shop. Not a totally remarkable event, since he was a man of few words, but Skylar couldn’t help but wish she could read his mind.
How did he feel about her being on this date?
As someone who’d usually felt like an outsider in her blended family, Skylar had always related to Madden, even considering him a kindred spirit of sorts, since he’d learned how to live in a new place with different traditions—coming from Ireland to Cumberland—just like Skylar had done at age twelve when her mother married Doug. Madden had become even more of an outsider midway through high school when his kidney disease progressed and he’d gone on dialysis, before eventually receiving a kidney from an anonymous donor, something she’d always sensed he had a hard time coming to terms with. Not knowing.
She wanted so badly to be close enough with Madden to finally ask him about that part of his life, but they’d never made the transition from friends to confidants.
Today, however, possibilities existed where none had before. The bubble of hope expanded just in time for Robbie to set down a coffee mug of orange juice in front of her and fall into the opposite chair, halfway through unwrapping what looked like a bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel. And it didn’t go unnoticed by Skylar that he slipped a second one into the pocket of his black Bearcats fleece for later. “Do you mind if I eat?”
“Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” A third of the breakfast sandwich was gone in one bite. “So, tell me about yourself.”
Original. “No thanks.”
“Besides pitch like a Hall of Famer, what are you into?”
“Cannibalism.”
Robbie chuckled into his second robust bite, leaned back into a sprawl, and studied her while he chewed. “Are you mean to everyone or just me?”
Skylar crossed her arms and propped them on the table. “Are you surprised I’m a little standoffish after you made a joke out of me in front of everyone, then punched my brother in the face?” She exhaled toward the ceiling. “You better hope Elton’s black eye is gone before we visit my parents next week or Mother is going to be pissed. She taught me everything I know about cannibalism. You’re big. You could feed us for a month.”
“See, now I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
“I’m not,” she deadpanned.
