Page 74 of Pitcher Perfect
Elton patted his father on the back. “We’ll try to keep up, Dad.”
“Don’t patronize me,” snapped the older man.
Concern crept into Elton’s expression. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine and dandy.” Doug straightened, spearing Robbie with a look. “What point were you trying to make with those T-shirts, son? You think I can’t afford to buy my own shirts?”
Most guys would avoid an argument with the father of their potential girlfriend at all costs. Most guys weren’t Robbie. He didn’t know how to avoid an argument to save his life. Especially this one. “I know you can afford it. That’s what makes it all the more confusing that you don’t already have one. Orten.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning, your house looks like the gift shop at Brown. Not a goddamn pennant or bobblehead for BU anywhere.” He raised an eyebrow. “How do you think that makes Skylar feel?”
The older man waved him off. “Oh, stop. She knows it’s our family alma mater. She’s tougher than that.”
“Yeah. She is. So imagine someone that tough and high-achieving gets rejected and has to be reminded of it every single day. Everyone is toughto a point.”
“Who made you her spokesperson?” Elton wanted to know.
Robbie rolled a tense shoulder. “I’m not qualified to be anyone’s spokesperson, but I’ll tell you this. When I notice something making her sad, you can bet your ass I’m going to say something about it. That’s my girl.”
God, it felt so good to say that out loud. Even if it wasn’t true yet.
Felt true, though. Felt as real as the sky overhead.
“Ridiculous.” Doug sniffed, his voice lacking the conviction from before. His robust frame seemed to be hunching in on itself, his usual confidence carrying away on the breeze. “Why hasn’t she said something if it bothers her so much?”
“Probably because complaining is a sign of weakness in your house.”
Elton and Doug blustered enough to start a dust storm. “Who asked you?”
“Youdid!” Robbie countered.
Obviously, Vivica chose that moment to blow the air horn.
“Goddammit.” Elton sighed.
They all ran for the water at once, Robbie yelping at the temperature. “Jesus Christ, that’s cold.”
“Isn’t ice your thing?”
“Yeah, when I’m insulated by pads.”
That was the final exchange before the three men were cutting through the water with freestyle strokes. Robbie took the lead after thirty seconds to the soundtrack of cursing in his wake. Not only was he motivated as hell to make it to the other side of that lake to reclaim his still technically fake girlfriend, but he’d also gone to surfing camp three summers in a row in Long Beach, so his skills were on point. Throw in the fact that he’d blown theclimbing challenge and Robbie had something to prove. Thankfully, he did, reaching the other side of the lake long before the other two men.
There was Skylar in her no-bullshit bathing suit, waiting for him with that exhilarated thrill of competition on her face, holding out her hand to get tagged. Instead of tagging her with a hand slap, he snagged her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing her palm.
“Got us the lead. Bring it home, Rocket.”
Color warmed her complexion. “On it.”
She splashed into the lake and dove into a seamless freestyle stroke, tan arms slicing through blue. He was so mesmerized by her graceful movements, he barely paid attention when Elton and Doug reached shore, tagged their partners, and immediately started to argue about who had gotten there first. Robbie tuned them out, shouting encouragement to Skylar once she reached the halfway point and still had the lead.
Something happened, though, toward the middle of the reservoir. Something that didn’t make sense.
She slowed down.
Madden gained on Skylar, then little by little, he passed her.
