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)
The light returned, along with sound and the movement of the branches above, his fingers still warm and anchoring in her hair. In response to his question, she wanted to say I’ve been waiting for you. It would have been a lie, though, because she never could have known to wait for this specific man, the polar opposite of who she’d envisioned for herself.
“I thought of our act for the talent show,” she said finally.
His lips jumped. “I told you. We can’t do that.”
“Shut up.” My face literally hurts from smiling. “It occurs to me we both know the original High School Musical soundtrack front to back. I mean, I haven’t listened in a while, so we’ll need some quick practice—”
“I practiced last night.”
“You what?”
“‘Start of Something New’?” He backed up and doubled over, as if his body couldn’t handle the coincidence. “I sang it at karaoke last night.”
“No. It’s a duet!”
“I sang it with Elton. A duet was the only way I could get some airtime with those two hams.”
“I played it so much growing up, Elton must have memorized the lyrics. Or downloaded it himself.” She covered her face with both hands. “That’s a lot to take in.”
He lunged at Skylar, lifting her up off the ground. “Admit you still listen to it.”
“What? No, I don’t. I don’t.”
“Liar. You lie so hard. Show me your list of most-listened-to songs.”
“You will never see that. Ever—”
He wrestled the phone out of her pocket and ran, his laugh booming through the park when she sprinted after him and jumped on his back. “No password, Rocket? I could have been snooping while you slept this whole time?”
She gave up the useless task of trying to get the device away from him and deflated on his back, her chin coming to a hard rest on his shoulder, watching as he tapped his way into Spotify, blushing and hiding her face in his neck when he reached the list.
“No. No way, Skylar. No.”
“Afraid so.”
“‘Get’cha Head in the Game’? You let me show you that video of me singing in the shower and wallow alone in my embarrassment when it’s . . .” He barked a laugh. “Number three on your most played?”
“I was going to tell you when the time was right, when my Kit Harington diary entry wasn’t still stinging.” She jerked a shoulder. “It’s a good hype song.”
“The best.”
“Hmm. Maybe not the best—”
“I’m talking about you. You are the best.” Robbie dropped to his knees with her still on his back, swinging her around at the same time, so he could catch her and set her down gently in the grass, even as his sides shook with mirth. “You’re going to kill me being so goddamn cute.”
Skylar pushed at his shoulders. “I’m not cute. I’m intimidating. I can dribble and sing at the same time, as well as any Wildcat.”
He lost it, falling face-first into the grass beside her.
Every time she thought they were done laughing, they started again and there were definitely grass stains on the white dress, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have a single care in the world as she giggled like a preteen in the grass of her hometown park, her second-most-embarrassing secret exposed to the man she was sleeping with, her feelings sprouting legs and running amok in a way she could no longer control.
Finally, Robbie handed back her phone and stood, helping Skylar to her knees, tugging her forward until she fell into his arms, where he rocked her in the shade. He pressed his mouth to her ear and started to say something, but a group of kids went careening past them carrying baseball gloves, a couple of them with bats slung over their shoulder, yelling at the top of their lungs.
“We bat first!”
“You batted first yesterday.”
As they watched, the kids ran to the far end of the park and fell into formation, still shouting and disagreeing, but ultimately getting their haphazard game underway. It took two pitches for the first batter to get a hit, the ball soaring across the expanse of grass, bouncing once and rolling to a stop at Skylar’s feet.
They traded a knowing glance.
“Do your thing, Rocket.”
She picked up the ball, tossed it up once and caught it, then fired it across the park, right into the catcher’s glove. Silence reigned in the park. But not for long. Everyone under the age of twelve started talking at once, each of them more animated than the last, but one voice stood out above the rest.
Or maybe he was just saying what Skylar wanted to hear.
“Can you pitch to us?”
Skylar liked to think she rearranged a few young minds that day, at least where gender norms were concerned. After the kids got over the fact that a girl could pitch, they settled into a boisterous line, each of them taking a turn trying to get a hit off her. When one of them finally connected, the ball fouling off into the trees, the group of boys celebrated like their buddy had just hit a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth of the World Series.