Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Skylar watched the scene play out with fascination. Was Robbie an incredible actor? Or were these two men butting heads over her?
Had to be the former.
Robbie was only there to help her. And in conjunction with that kiss? His possessive boyfriend act was convincing as all get-out. He was totally earning that stolen bagel.
“Don’t hold back, Sky,” Madden said.
Robbie appeared to be grinding his jaw. “Yeah, let’s go, Rocket.” He punched the center of the glove. “My nickname is better.”
“If you say so.”
“Okay, are you really ready?” Skylar called the question, falling into her stance only when Robbie nodded. Breathe, wind up, pitch.
She landed it in the dead center of the mitt. But only because Robbie shifted the target slightly to the right at the last second, compensating for the trajectory.
He didn’t even flinch. He simply stood and threw back the ball.
“Well.” Madden slow clapped. “I underestimated you.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” Robbie sniffed.
Doug Page stepped out onto the porch, then, drawing the threesome’s attention, the sound of his trumpet splintering the cool, spring morning air.
“Let the games begin,” he hooted, lowering the instrument.
“Looks like they already have,” Madden remarked, backing toward his aunt’s house. “See you all at the field.”
“Yes, you will,” Robbie called, swaggering toward Skylar.
The closer he got to the makeshift pitching mound, the more obvious his pale complexion became. “Let’s get you some ice.”
“Good idea,” he croaked, shaking out his right hand.
Chapter Thirteen
No doubt about it. This family was psychotic.
Robbie stood blindfolded at the edge of the field, listening to Skylar recite the rules in the provided earpiece.
“Okay, remember. There are four flags. You have to collect them all to cross the finish line. In all the kerfuffle, you’re going to lose count—”
“I won’t lose count.”
“You will. I’ll keep track, too. Just focus on my instructions and remember to trust me, one hundred percent. Okay?”
He thought of that page in her diary. “As you wish, Mrs. Kit Harington.”
“Never. Never say that again.”
Robbie grinned, lifting his blindfold just enough to observe Elton beside him at the starting line, stretching his hamstrings like he was preparing to run the Boston Marathon. “What are the rules on bodychecking?”
Skylar sputtered in his ear. “What?”
“Is there a rule preventing me from knocking your brother on his ass?”
“God, you’re such a hockey player,” she groaned.
“Yes or no.”
“Technically?” A long pause. “No, but—”
“Great.” Robbie rubbed his hands together. “It’s in the bag.”
“Don’t you dare knock my mother over.”
“I’ll do my best, Rocket, but I’m blindfolded, remember?”
Was that . . . ? Yes, that was definitely the sound of Skylar’s grinding teeth.
And speaking of teeth, Robbie’s molars gnashed involuntarily. Returning from the store this morning to find Skylar and Madden in such a cozy scene was the equivalent of getting coldcocked by a heavyweight boxer.
A pitcher and a catcher.
Perfect counterparts.
His mission to help bring Skylar and Madden together had momentarily slipped his mind. His one-track brain had ordered him to kiss her now, to warn Madden away from Skylar, instead of showing the man what a desirable woman he could have for himself if he just paid attention and made the slightest effort.
Yeah, Robbie hadn’t been thinking of that. He’d just reacted.
He’d allowed himself to want Skylar for himself. Just for a moment.
But those moments were coming way too frequently now to be anything but dangerous when she inevitably started dating Madden. There was no other outcome here. She was too incredible. Madden would pull his head out of his ass sooner or later and see Skylar for the ultimate catch that she was. So knock your jealous bullshit the hell off.
Unfortunately, the more time he spent with her, the harder ignoring these possessive feelings became.
“Two minutes to the whistle, Redbeard. Get your game face on.”
“I never take it off.” He drummed his fingers against the outside of his thigh. “Is this a bad time to talk about our date tonight?”
“Yes,” Elton said to Robbie’s right, sounding like he’d just licked a lemon.
Robbie turned his back to Elton and dropped his voice for Skylar’s ears alone. “Monday is dating practice. It’s on the calendar. Plus, I saw it written in your planner and underlined four times.”
A sound seemed to catch in Skylar’s throat. “Why were you looking in my planner?”
“I couldn’t sleep and thought it might help—and it did. I found it kind of . . . soothing.”
She didn’t immediately respond. “How is it soothing?”
“You slant all your words the exact same direction. If your planner was a clock, they’d be pointing at the two. Then you’ve got all these seasonally themed tapes. I don’t even know where someone goes to buy that shit.”
“Online, mostly. But there are also stationery shops . . .”
“Is there one you like in Boston?”
“Why?”
Robbie lifted his blindfold just a tad and peered into the sun, trying to see Skylar across the field, but at that distance she was nothing but an outline. “Maybe I’ll get my own planner.” He yanked the blindfold back down. “We can have a planner party.”