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)
“Hey,” he said, pausing for a moment before taking off his hat, dropping it to his outer thigh. “You going to look at me?”
“I can’t.”
“It’s bad enough suffering through hour after hour without you, Skylar.” His voice turned gruffer as he spoke. “Knowing you’re in bad shape, too, might be the death blow, you know that? Look at me.”
Suffering? Her eyes lifted of their own accord to search for signs of misery and . . . God, she found them. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken deep, creases on his forehead that hadn’t been there before, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “You see what life without you does to me?”
Her breath caught. “Did you come here to tell me you’re miserable?”
“I didn’t know what I was going to do until I got here and saw you.”
“And?”
His Adam’s apple lifted. Stuck. “You have a ball and a couple of gloves in that bag?”
“I always have a ball and a couple of gloves,” she whispered, aching with the barely controlled need to throw her arms around him and inhale his scent. “Why?”
“You told me the first pitch is the hardest. That once you throw the first one, you settle into your game.” He toed her fallen bag with his boot. “Why don’t you throw it to me before you go in? Get the nerves out of your system.”
I love you.
I love you I love you.
The gesture wasn’t necessary. They both knew the true first pitch wouldn’t start until she stood on the mound. That would be the one accompanied by ten thousand mosh pitting nerves. His offer was simply proof that he knew her so well. That he still cared. That he had been listening and paying attention and learning her.
It meant the world.
“Okay,” Skylar said quietly, surprised when her agreement seemed to drop Robbie’s shoulders with relief, his chest expanding. Trying not to read too deeply into his presence, his actions, she got out the gloves, handing him one. As he backed up along the edge of the stadium, Skylar saw that everyone else had left, including her parents and Elton. It was just her, standing with the ball, and Robbie, dropping into a catcher’s stance thirty yards away, his hat turned backward, waiting, the sounds of the parking lot beginning to hum with early arrivals.
She expected the pitch to be a formality. A quick show of goodwill that she probably didn’t deserve. But that’s not what happened at all. As she stood there, preparing to throw, his unwavering gaze slowly started to calm the choppy ocean surface inside of her. His lips weren’t moving, but somehow, she could hear him, feel him on every side of her, his presence a reassurance. Everything was currently not all right, but the longer she took to throw the ball, the more his expression changed, becoming one of naked vulnerability, the knot in his throat getting trapped beneath his beard.
Skylar wound up and pitched, hitting the dead center of his glove.
He smiled at her, stood, and removed the glove while shaking out his hand.
“Nerves.” Robbie winked at her. “What nerves?”
She threw her glove down and ran to him. And it was a singular kind of euphoria knowing that even though things weren’t perfect or back on track by any means, he’d still catch her. He’d still show up. Halfway to his open arms, she knew she could trust this man with her heart. Trust him, period. It was right there in the unwavering dedication in his eyes, in the way he didn’t budge an inch when she landed against him, his arms catching and holding her there. Squeezing her tight and rocking her, neither one of them seeming to breathe.
“I might still be hurt and angry that you doubted me and went on a revenge mission after I went all in on us, Skylar,” he said, hoarsely, “but I’m painfully in love with you, too, and that’s not going to change.”
Heart elevating, she made a choked sound into his neck. “I miss you so much.”
“God, I miss you, too. Every fucking second.”
Tell him you love him.
Skylar needed to say those words, but they wouldn’t come out. They remained locked in her most stubborn of recesses, refusing to be uttered until she earned the right to say them. When she did, when she allowed herself to make that declaration in return, he needed to know she meant them with her entire heart. Right now, he still doubted her, the way she’d doubted him—and the turnabout sucked, but there it was.
There they were.
Robbie set her down with palpable reluctance, holding her against his body, his breath accelerating against her temple when she shifted against him, lifting on her toes and letting him feel her breasts and belly and the gap between her legs, trapping a moan when he braced a forearm against her butt and rocked her closer, his mouth finding hers in a groaning kiss, a melting, hungry one that at once satisfied and starved her even more. The kind of kiss someone gave their partner before sending them off to war, but it was coming from both sides, so much passion in the single melding of tongues and lips, she grew dizzier and dizzier in the sunlight. Gloves and ball were dropped in favor of his fingers digging into her hair, while Skylar traced the grooves of his ears, his neck, his shoulders, simply needing to reacquaint and memorize.