Page 57 of Pitcher Perfect
Robbie spied the path and turned on a dime, running full speed up the gradual incline, passing a hiking couple who were startled by the sudden appearance of a six-foot-five man with a warrior’s physique. It called into focus exactly how bananas thisentire competition happened to be. No time to dwell on that, however, as he’d nearly reached the top of the cliff...
That’s when the dizziness started to set in, his stomach elevating toward his mouth.
The pace of his run slowed without a command from his brain, suddenly feeling as if he’d slung his equipment bag over each shoulder. Heavy. Lethargic. Blurry. Everything blurred, the ground growing less stable beneath his feet the closer he came toward the red flag where it sat buried in the ground. Too close to the edge. Way too close.
Robbie got down on his knees and started to crawl, desperately trying to avoid looking into the distance where he could see the tops of trees, a reservoir, the view making it obvious he was elevated. His temples started to throb, acid spearing up his chest, and he stopped feeling the earth beneath his hands, his knees.
Somewhere in the whirlwind of warnings being issued by his brain—danger, danger—he saw his grandfather at the bottom of the cliff back on Long Island, waiting for him to untangle the yellow box kite from the tree. Robbie hadn’t been able to retrieve that kite, either, and though Grandpa Nick had hidden his disappointment well, he’d hated driving away and leaving it there. His favorite kite. Stuck in the tree overlooking the Atlantic forever, because he’d died before he’d gotten it back. Robbie could still see it blowing in the breeze.
He opened his eyes just in time to see Madden crest the top of the cliff and snatch up his team’s flag, giving Robbie a look of sympathy before disappearing from view once again. Robbie, who couldn’t make himself move any closer to the edge without either blacking out or having a nervous breakdown.
Skylar replaced the mental image of his grandfather at the base of the drop and all he could do was lay his head down and wait for the nausea to pass.
Chapter Seventeen
Robbie Corrigan was not good at losing.
He was an even worse loser when he dragged Skylar down with him.
The ride back to the house was as close as one could get to hell. Parents up front humming out of tune to KC and the Sunshine Band, Elton in the back seat swiping Tinder matches... and Skylar sandwiched between him and Madden—who hadn’t turned the color of a tomato and nearly swallowed his tongue due to a thirty-foot drop—in the middle row.
Madden looked deep in thought, as always, like some kind of hulking-ass poet, but Robbie wasn’t buying the act. Every time Madden’s thigh brushed Skylar’s, he knew exactly what he was doing. Driving nails into Robbie’s composure, that’s what. There were three rows in this tank of an SUV. Why hadn’t Madden sat in the far back seat with Elton?
Same reason as Robbie, most likely. They couldn’t fit through the opening. And since Skylar would rather shave off her eyebrows than sit beside a gloating Elton, the middle row was the only option for all of them.
Three had never been more of a crowd.
Robbie wanted to put his arm around Skylar and make it clear any rogue thigh brushing was not welcome, but he didn’t deserve the privilege after such a humiliating show of fear back during the climb. She had to be wondering why she’d trusted him enoughto bring him on as a teammate. And now he had to drive back to Boston for practice, leaving her within striking distance of Madden aka Sad Boi Mad.
God, she looked so fucking pretty, too. Sun-kissed and a little disheveled, the glow of her skin standing out against her white tank top.
Madden had to be noticing by now.
Robbie glanced over at the other man, positive he’d find him checking out Skylar and vice versa—but he was surprised instead to find Skylar looking athim. Robbie.
“You’re dwelling,” she whispered.
“Dwelling?” He feigned confusion. “On what?”
Exasperation only made her more beautiful. “Not handling the height very well,” she explained, as if teaching a toddler his ABCs. “You have to shake it off.”
“I already have. It has long been shooketh.”
“Come on. You won’t evenlookat me.”
“I’m looking rightatyou.”
“Those are my boobs, Redbeard.”
Robbie snorted, waved her off. Stared out the rear passenger window. “I’m just trying to lock in for practice tonight.”
She hummed. In the window’s reflection, he noticed her looking down at her fingers.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“What?”
