Page 17 of Pitcher Perfect
Absently, she put up her glove to accept a catch from Dina, taking her position at the mound once more. She wasn’t seeing the net, though. She’d traveled into her mind’s eye where she, Elton, Madden, and Eve were swimming in the backyard of her childhood home. Madden in the shade with a book, quietly observing everything over the wind rustling pages. Elton on the phone with a girl, trying to convince her to come over. Eve sunning herself in the daring sophistication of her black, vintage-style one-piece. Everyone so comfortable in their lane, except for Skylar, sixteen, who hadn’t been able to find a bathing suit at the mall that was exactly the right balance of modest, practical, and cute, so she’d donned the Speedo one-piece with the racer back that her mother wore to water aerobics. And paired it with some board shorts Elton hadn’t worn since the fifth grade.
She didn’t know how to get Madden’s attention. She didn’t know how to getanyone’sattention, even that of her parents, by any other means but her athleticism, so that’s what she did.She swam laps, hoping Madden would notice her perfect form. She’d been practicing. When that didn’t work, it was backflips off the diving board, dunking on the floating basketball hoop. She smack-talked her brother, as per usual, trying to be funny, but looking back, she could see she’d only ever known how to be one of the guys.
Now, at twenty-two, it wasn’t as though she couldn’t dress up and apply makeup, if she so felt like it, but the impostor syndrome never quite left her alone.
Skylar was not naturally graceful and sexy like Eve.
She couldn’t pair the perfect outfit, like Elton’s revolving-door girlfriends.
Flirting? Might as well ask her to perform an appendectomy in a blindfold.
Since starting at BU she’d gone on dates, usually set up by her teammates or one of her brother’s friends. Some of them went well, others were awkward, at which time she’d defaulted to talking sports and ended up with drinking buddies instead of a boyfriend. A couple of times her dates had ended in sex that started off feeling really good, but somewhere in the middle, everything started going too fast, no plan, no practice helping herself have an orgasm with a partner, and the men never seemed inclined to give any input, so the whole business of sex had sort of been back-burnered for a while.
Sex would be good with Madden.
She knew that in her soul. He was the most patient, intuitive person she knew. It wouldn’t be a frantic dash to the ending with him. He’d talk to her, take his time, because he knew her. Cared about her.
But if Skylar was being honest with herself, she’d stopped attempting to draw Madden’s eye because she wasn’t so sureshe’dsatisfyhim. Or be the personheneeded.
How could she with so little experience?
Was Robbie “Redbeard” Corrigan her chance to get some?
“You’ve been midwindup for ten minutes, Sky. You mind focusing?”
Skylar went through her breathing routine, fired her arm in a reverse circle, and let fly. Pow. A little high, but into the net nonetheless. “You’re the one talking my ear off.”
“Excuse me,” Dina sputtered. “It’s not every day my star pitcher lands a phony boyfriend. Thank you for being interesting for once.”
“You’re welcome,” Skylar said, catching Dina’s toss. “So you don’t think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of me pulling it off, huh?”
“Correct.” Dina laughed and shook her head, appearing distracted by a flock of birds flying overhead. “Not unless you do some serious practice first. Practice wins games. I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Practice wins games. Planning leads to execution.” Skylar slowly turned to face the pitching coach, also known as the woman with Skylar’s dream job. The one she dreamed of calling her own one day. “You’re right. I need practice.”
“Are we talking about boys or baseball now?”
Skylar was already making a detailed itinerary to present to Robbie.
Flirting instructions. Kissing practice. Goo-goo eyes training.
Robbie. She’d found herself thinking about him on her train ride to the field, remembering how genuinely contrite he’d looked when apologizing over the scene at the baseball game/brawl. How he’d gotten a little choked up talking about his grandfather.
How his huge body had shuddered when she kissed him.
Had she actually...affectedhim? Or was he just surprised?
Probably the latter, since she’d had no practice.
Not yet, anyway.
Robbie scrubbed at his wet hair and beard with a towel, parking himself on a bench in front of his locker. Around him, his Bearcats teammates were in various stages of showering and getting dressed to go home after practice. Today had been a light one, thankfully, as playoffs started at the end of April and now was not the time for anyone to get injured. But even a light practice in this profession meant his whole body ached.
And he loved it.
The more pains and strains, the better. That’s what he’d signed up for.
If his morale light was a little dim over the veteran players ganging up on him for every tiny mistake he made out on the ice, so be it. All part of being a rookie.
