Page 18 of Pitcher Perfect
When did the constant teasing and berating end, though?
Robbie shook off the sinking feeling.Be positive. Smile through it.
In addition to his usual full-body throb this evening, his shoulder was still on fire from leaning into Skylar’s pitch. Instead of reaching into his duffel bag to dig out a T-shirt, he reached up and touched the sore spot now, smiling at the memory of her flinching back on the mound, hands covering her mouth, almost like she didn’t fully relish the idea of murdering him with a fastball. So romantic.
Mailer sat down heavily a few feet away, shoving his feet into a pair of rubber slides. “What’s for dinner tonight, Mom?”
Finally, Robbie pulled on his white T-shirt, followed by his favorite hoodie, which—incidentally—saidOrgasm Donoracross the front. “There are three Stouffer’s lasagnas in the fridge. We each get one. Rock paper scissors for the third.”
“Why don’t we just split the third one?” Mailer asked.
“Too easy.”
His roommate snorted. “Everything is a competition with you.”
“Yeah. Well.” Robbie spoke without thinking, visions of a certain brunette spinning in his head like an army of tops. “Turns out that’s going to work to my advantage.” A wet towel was launched at Robbie’s head, soaking the shoulder of his hoodie with shower water before he could duck. “What the hell, man?”
Mailer didn’t look the least bit remorseful. “Stop being cryptic. You’ve been like this all day. Just tell me how the fucking date went.”
“No.” Robbie sniffed. “I don’t kiss and tell anymore.”
“Does that mean you kissed her?”
“I’m not going to confirm or deny.” All right, apparently it took more than a lecture and one afternoon to evolve, because the truth was tap-dancing on his tongue. Not necessarily because he wanted to brag, like he usually did, but... he felt kind of victorious for pulling off a kiss with Skylar Page. That alone had to be harder than making it from one end of Boston to the other without hitting traffic. “But if I were going to do either of those things, I would confirm.”
Mailer slammed his locker shut with a hoot. “Even for you, that’s impressive. She went from wanting to harvest your bones to kissing you?”
“She still might harvest my bones. Violence is part of her mystique.”
“You know what?” Mailer stood, pointing at Robbie with the look of a proud papa on his face. “You get the extra lasagna tonight.”
“Seriously?” Robbie pretended to well up. “You’re too good to me.”
His roommate pointed to his ownOrgasm Donorsweatshirt.“Hey. I wouldn’t want to match hoodies with anyone else.” He heaved his hockey bag onto his shoulder. “You can tell me your game plan on the ride home.”
“My game plan for what?”
“The pitcher. If she’s coming over tonight, I’ll charge my noise-canceling headphones.”
Skylar being discussed like a random hookup caused a bad taste to filter into Robbie’s mouth. “Nah, it isn’t like that.”
Mailer snorted. “Right.”
“It’s not.”
“What’s it like?” The smugness slowly ebbed from his friend’s face, replaced by abject horror. “Wait, are you trying to date this girl or something?”
“No,” Robbie scoffed, zipping up his bag. Then... “Maybe. Sort of.”
A suspicious pause ensued. “How do you sort of date somebody?”
Robbie didn’t know how to explain the situation without sounding pathetic or reckless, so he laughed long and hard until Mailer had no choice but to join in. “Remember the catcher from this morning’s game?” He wiped tears—of mirth?—from his eyes. “She’s in love with him. We’re going to pretend to date, so she can make him jealous.”
Mailer’s laughter abruptly cut off. “What the fuck did you say?”
Sig appeared at the end of the locker row. “Yeah. What?”
Burgess came into view beside Sig. “Against my better judgment, I, too, would like some context.”
