Page 112 of Pitcher Perfect
It had only been ten seconds since the last time Robbie looked at her, but that was ten seconds too long, as far as he was concerned. Especially now, when she was in her element, dressed in white shorts and a Bearcats hoodie, preparing to throw out the first pitch of their once-a-year Saturday morning game.
Bearcats vs. Baseball.
An excuse to get friends and teammates together, sure, but secretly, it was their way of remembering their very first meeting, which Robbie privately referred to as the day his life truly began. Who could have guessed the girl whose first words to him werefuck youwould end up becoming his everything?
Robbie. He’d known. Looking back, he recognized that boot in the gut and what it had meant. He’d found his soulmate that day.
As if Skylar sensed the direction of Robbie’s thoughts, sheturned and he had the pleasure of watching unconditional love wash over her features.
After which, she stuck her tongue out.
Some things never changed. Thank God.
But some things did.
For instance, the Page Stakes were never held again.
The rain check had been cashed five years earlier when Robbie and Skylar returned to Rhode Island, smashing a rendition of “Get’cha Head in the Game” complete with synchronized basketball dribbling. That video would go on to be played at their engagement party six months later, Mailer helming the projector, laughing and crying at the same time.
Another half a year later, their wedding was held at the baseball field at Langone Park, in the very spot where they met—and where they now stood, preparing for a showdown. On their wedding day four years earlier, they’d exchanged their vows on the pitcher’s mound and immediately broke into a nine-inning baseball game as soon as they said “I do,” starring the wedding party and a few of the athlete/guests, Skylar pitching in her wedding dress while the Bearcats got progressively champagne drunk, so they’d have an excuse for losing. Not that they admitted it out loud.
And thus began a new annual tradition, the yearly hockey versus baseball player throwdown in the park, brought to you by Rocket and Redbeard. Nobody ever won or lost, because someone usually incited a brawl or there was a collective decision to quit and go eat tacos. The Bearcats pretended to merely tolerate the baseball boys, but in truth, they’d become grudging friends over the years and even attended each other’s games.
They drew the line at wearing merch.
“Hey,” Skylar said, jogging over to Robbie and falling straight into his arms, nuzzling his chin with her nose. “We were in sucha rush to get out of the apartment this morning, I don’t know if we wished each other happy anniversary.”
“Petition to make the game a day after our anniversary next year.”
“I’ll take it up with the board of directors.” She smiled over at their yellow Labs, Gaby and Troy, who were sitting in the visitors’ dugout wearing yellow scarves around their necks made from a certain yellow kite, dutifully receiving scratches behind the ears from everyone who passed. With Robbie at the height of his NHL career and Skylar busy traveling between East Coast schools as a freelance pitching coach, kids were still a someday discussion, but the pooches kept them busy enough. “I hear they can be bought for the right price.”
“I’ll bring the Pup-Peroni.”
“That ought to do it.”
Skylar started to turn around, but Robbie didn’t want her to see what was happening on the field behind her back, so he snagged her chin and kissed her, gratified to the soles of his feet when their mouths locking together had the desired effect. Her knees wobbled and she melted against him, setting loose a contented sigh in her throat. The baseball in her hand dropped on the ground behind him and damn, she parted those lips and wished him a little too happy of an anniversary while in public, because you guessed it, Robbie started to get real hard, real fast.
“Too late to cancel the game?” he said hoarsely when they broke for air.
Her sunlit eyes shone with happiness. “Ah, come on. We love this yearly showdown.”
“I love anything as long as we’re doing it together, Rocket.”
And, damn, did he mean every word of that. Whether they were icing injuries in front of the television, grocery shopping, talking until the wee hours of the morning, volunteering,walking the dogs, relaxing on vacation, or fucking like fiends in his hotel room during a road series, Robbie was always, always in the best place. At the side of his best friend. His wife. His other, better half.
Skylar “Rocket” Corrigan.
Living without her would be like asking someone to run full speed in outer space. A total impossibility that he didn’t like to think about at all, frankly, and he never took the fact that she’d chosen him for granted. He could even laugh now about their relationship starting with a scheme—and laugh he did, especially since Madden had found his own hard-fought happy ending. In fact, he and Eve both were in today’s lineup.
Skylar’s hand ventured beneath his T-shirt, and she rubbed a single knuckle slowly down the length of his happy trail, causing several brain cells to snap in half. “How many Pup-Peronis would it take to persuade the board to postponethisyear’s game until tomorrow?” Robbie caught Skylar’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugged her into a kiss, growling, “I’d really like to be celebrating alone with my wife.”
“We’re playing this game, Redbeard. I already warmed up my arm.”
“I love your arm.” He ducked his head to kiss her neck. “And your knees”—kiss—“and belly”—kiss—“and toes. All of you. That’s why I want a rain check. Come on. We’re good at those.”
Based on her smile, she was enjoying this. Torturing him. And, apparently, ignoring his plea. “Should we place a side bet for old times’ sake?”
He pulled her back into his arms, making the universal sign forhurry upbehind her back. “What are the terms?”
