Page 68 of Pitcher Perfect
Robbie didn’t get back to the apartment until late.
After practice, he’d showered, changed, and made a stop, promptly getting stuck in the Sox game traffic on the way to his place. By the time he dragged himself into the elevator and hit the button for his floor, he just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep long enough to reset his brain. After all, he’d be driving back to Rhode Island first thing in the morning to win over the woman of his dreams. Rest was key.
He forgot all about the whipped cream party until he walked into it.
“What in... oh. Oh no.” Robbie slapped his hand over his eyes to prevent himself from seeing the scene in his living room twice. “Mailer!”
“Welcome home, buddy.”
“Don’t talk to me until you have some clothes on,” Robbie barked.
“Hold on.” Two seconds passed. “Okay, I’m covered.”
“In something thatisn’tedible.”
“Oh.”
Robbie used his free hand to reach back and grip the door handle, reopening it and backing himself in two lunges into the hallway, refusing to drop his hand from his eyes until the door was closed, muffling Drake by ten or so octaves. He paced while waiting for Mailer to emerge, debating whether to tell Skylar about this. Probably, yeah. He’d definitely want to know if she’dseen fourmenin whipped cream bikinis, even if they were taking turns making out with her friend, instead of her.
“I still wouldn’t like it,” he muttered, his stride hitching.
He wouldn’t like his girlfriend in that situation. Period.
That was the moment Robbie decided he’d never put himself in a position like that ever again. End of story. If by some stroke of epic luck, Skylar decided to give him a chance, a real one, he wouldn’t be responsible for a single second of insecurity. Take it to the bank.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Assuming it was his best friend calling from inside the den of iniquity, he answered without hesitation. “I’m waiting.”
Silence greeted him. Thick silence. The opposite of what was coming from the other side of the apartment door. Quickly, he checked the screen—and his heart collided with his stomach. “Skylar?” Of course, Mailer selected that moment to open the door, releasing the unholy soundtrack of debauchery into the air. No, no, no. “Rocket, you there?”
The call ended.
Irritation ripped up the middle of his throat. “FUCK.”
“Hey.” Mailer yawned on his way into the hallway, a towel wrapped around his waist, rubbing his knuckles in his chest hair. “Where have you been? There were more ladies here, but even I can’t handle that many at once. Yet. A little more practice and who knows—”
“I think I need to move out.”
Mailer snorted, obviously not believing him. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious.” The announcement hadn’t been planned, but that phone call had just made a hard-to-navigate situation even worse. With every second that ticked by, Robbie was more positive that finding a new place to live was the right thing to do. Not only for this fairy-tale relationship he was definitely crazyfor pursuing, but... for himself. It took meeting Skylar to realize how much respect he’d been lacking for himself and others. His treatment of women was a big part of that, wasn’t it? Yeah, he’d been ignoring those lessons he’d learned growing up, trading them for a good time. Only thinking about himself.
No more. Especially if he wanted Skylar. And he did.
Badly.
Time to grow up.
He’d explain what she heard on the phone when they were face-to-face, so he could look her in the eye. She’d see he was telling the truth. Right now, he had to make his best friend understand the changes that were taking place inside of him.
“It’s not you,” Robbie said. “It’s... me.”
Mailer did a double take. “Wow.”
“That didn’t come out how it sounded, man. You know I love you. I’ve just been doing some soul-searching, I guess, and—”
“Bullshit. You can admit it’s the pitcher.” Mailer crossed his arms. “Admit you like her.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. A fucking lot.” Irritation caused his voice to get louder. “Why wouldn’t I want to admit that?”
