Page 7 of Pitcher Perfect
So, she’d pitch.
That’s what Skylar did. That’s where she found her answers, her solace. By mentally running through a list of strategies, based on an abundance of factors, mainly the hitter’s preferences and strengths. Had they swung at her last fastball? Were they desperate for a hit after striking out during their first three at bats? The mechanics of her windup were like a needle falling perfectly into the groove of a record; her pitch was the music. Her form never changed. She had it down to a science. There were no unknowns or last-second changes.
Sure, this morning, she was pitching a baseball, which meant a different windup, an overhand throw, but she knew baseball almost as well as she knew softball. After all, she’d grown up playing with the boys, and later, at age twelve, when her long-divorced mother had met her recently single soon-to-be stepfather at a youth baseball tournament, she’d learned to play ball with her new fourteen-year-old brother. And down the road, Madden.
Athletics were what had bonded her newly combined family.They never stopped moving, training, trying out for the best travel teams. Performing, competing, winning.
That’s what she did. That’s how she belonged.
Lean forward. A practiced intake of breath.
Straighten. Judge the distance, the position of the hitter.
Another breath.
A twist of her foot on the mound.
Knee up, arm back, ball into the strike zone.
Sound filtered in from both dugouts. Elton’s friends—at least, the ones who didn’t know her prior to this morning—were slack-jawed. The Bearcats punched one another in the shoulders, shouting variations of “oh shit.” Madden nodded at her in approval, stood, and threw back the practice pitch. Skylar tried not to be obvious about savoring the vibration down her arm, but it had been a while since she’d received a throw from Mad.
It hit different, okay?
“Has anyone here ever played this godforsaken sport?” shouted one of the hockey giants to the rest of his scruffy teammates, who all definitely looked like they’d rather be on the couch scratching their unmentionables. “All right, one of you lead off. The other goes second. Just get on base and I’ll bat you in.”
“Gauthier with the baseball lingo,” someone said. “I think I just sprouted wood.”
“Really? Because I fucking lost mine.”
Redbeard’s grin finally, rapidly, dropped and he socked the guy who’d lost his boner in the shoulder. “There’s a lady present, jackass.”
“Sorry, Chloe,” yawned his friend.
“What? Nah, Chloe is used to our bullshit.” She could feel Redbeard staring at her from the assemblage of hockey dudes. “I was talking about the pitcher. She’s feeling me.”
A jolt of surprise ran from Skylar’s shoulder down to her fingertips.
He was... talking abouther?
She’d been the target of myriad intimidation strategies, but this one took the cake.
Skylar resented being taken out of her pitching zone, but this shithead needed to be put in his place. “No, I’m not,” she called sweetly.
Redbeard went back to smiling. “You will be.”
“Only if I have to check for a pulse after the game,” Skylar said, doing her best to sound bored. “Because we’re about to murder you.”
“Trust me, I’ve got a pulse, sweetie. You’re making it race.”
Heat scaled the sides of her face, forcing Skylar to yank down the brim of her cap to hide her complexion. If her brother caught her blushing, the absoluteroastinghe’d deliver after the game would be the stuff of legends. It wasn’t that she found the hockey dickhead attractive or anything, she’d just never had someone show her this kind of blatant interest.
Or any interest at all, to be honest.
Her resting bitch faceprobablywasn’t encouraging anyone, either.
Still, this guy’s overtures were all to get in her head.Don’t fall for it.
“Are you just trying to psych me out?” she asked. “You are, aren’t you?”
