Skylar’s brother raised an eyebrow.

  “Fine, I guess that suspicion is justified.” God, if he could just go back and rewind the last week of his life, he would do it in a heartbeat. Make a better impression on Skylar. Even on her brother. Now he was in the familiar position of trying to convince people he wasn’t a total shit show of a human being, which seemed to be his default situation. When would he learn his lesson?

  Now.

  You’re learning it right now.

  You mouthed off one too many times and now you can’t have the girl.

  “I’m not here with the sole intention of pissing you off, man. That’s just a bonus.” Robbie could no longer find his smile and the burgers had lost their appeal, so he commenced wrapping them back up in plastic. “I didn’t expect Skylar. She’s clever, funny, driven, cool, and . . . God, she’s fucking beautiful.” Had his stomach gotten stuck in his windpipe? “I’m here for her. No other reason. She’s reason enough.”

  When he looked up at Elton, the other man appeared caught off guard. He recovered quickly, however. “That’s not what I asked. What are your intentions?”

  Make her fall for me instead of Madden.

  That’s what his heart begged him to say. To believe.

  But that possibility was so far-fetched, giving it oxygen would be pathetic.

  “Treat her right. Make her laugh. Help her win.” Robbie forced a chuckle. “Hope she doesn’t realize she’s way out of my league.”

  A rumble emanated from Elton’s chest. “I punched you in the face last week for disrespecting my sister, but . . . she can take care of herself. We all take care of ourselves. Individually. I’m not going to step on that.” Elton stood, moving forward to place himself toe-to-toe and eyeball-to-eyeball with Robbie, who—obviously—held his ground like a motherfucking hockey player should, fists bunched and ready to swing if necessary. “But I heard the same shit she heard at the baseball field. Bragging about your hookup from the night before.” Robbie tried not to openly flinch, but he didn’t quite keep the lid on his reaction. He’d been so sick about Skylar overhearing him, the fact that Elton heard, as well, hadn’t quite occurred to him. Until now. “If I ever find out you’re talking about my sister like that, I will put you in the emergency room.”

  I’d die first. That’s what his gut urged him to say out loud. Why would this guy believe him, though? Those women he’d been speaking so openly and inappropriately about . . . they hadn’t knocked him on his ass and given him heart palpitations, the way Skylar did, but they’d deserved the same respect, hadn’t they?

  “I’d never talk about her like that,” Robbie rasped, more truth slipping out than intended. “The thought of it makes me sick.”

  Elton’s brows drew together at that, as if not sure how to read Robbie. Which was fair, since his reasons for being there were not straightforward to anyone but him and Skylar. “Good,” Elton said finally, jabbing a finger into Robbie’s shoulder. “Just consider yourself on notice, Corrigan.”

  Robbie nodded curtly. “Copy that.”

  As soon as Elton stomped out of the room, Robbie sat heavily in the stool he’d vacated. In dire need of a distraction, he turned around a picture frame on the counter, revealing a family photo. Doug and Vivica, along with their children. Arms resting on one another’s shoulders, standing in front of a sign welcoming them to the Grand Canyon.

  Elton totally at ease, with a buzz cut and a smirk, captured in the middle of goofing off. A much younger Skylar, as solemn-eyed as he knew her to be, but relaxed. Less tense.

  The baseball mitt on her hand made his stupid heart squeeze.

  Even at the Grand Canyon.

  As someone who never went anywhere without a hockey stick, he got it.

  He got . . . her.

  But as much as he wanted to carry on cataloging things about Skylar from the past, he couldn’t help but notice something else about the snapshot.

  Everyone pictured wore a Brown University T-shirt. Even Skylar.

  Robbie glanced up from the photo, seeing the pennant framed on the wall in the living room for the first time. The blanket folded up neatly on the couch. All red and brown, the colors of the apparent sacred family alma mater.

  Nothing for BU anywhere?

  Robbie went back to his place on the floor in Skylar’s room with a frown on his face . . . and he didn’t fall asleep for a very long time.

  Chapter Twelve

  Skylar woke up to an empty pile of bedding on her floor and a text from Robbie.

  Gone for rations. Be back soon.

  “Rations?” she echoed through a yawn, stretching on her way to her suitcase, where she’d left it sitting in the corner. Still groggy, she flung the luggage onto the bed and unzipped, reaching into the mesh pocket for underwear and a sports bra. The sun had yet to rise and the house remained mostly quiet, except for her father, who was puttering around in the kitchen counting down the minutes until trumpet-blowing time. Didn’t matter that everyone was already awake this particular morning—he’d probably blow it regardless just to put everyone on their guard.

  Looking out the window, she could see her mother and Elton sharing a cup of coffee on the back porch, comfortable in their companionship. A familiar scene in which she was rarely included. The few times she’d joined her stepbrother and mother for their morning chat during the Page Stakes, they’d talked mostly about their experiences at Brown, his and her former professors, news from the alumni board, of which they were both members.

  Of course, they didn’t exclusively talk about the college, but it was an easy segue into other topics. That bond made it easy for Vivica to relate to Elton in a way she couldn’t seem to relate to Skylar. As an all-American student athlete, academics were a huge part of Skylar’s life, but talking about her courses inevitably drew comparisons to the Brown curriculum. Criticisms, too. And at some point, Skylar had decided to avoid morning coffee sessions with Doug, Vivica, and Elton because they left her feeling deflated. Like someone standing just outside of the inner circle.

  Now, Eve, her Page Stakes teammate, was a great friend. However, she’d raised herself in difficult circumstances, and as the daughter of the town pariah, Eve had grown up with a tough outer shell that Skylar couldn’t always penetrate. Not the warm, fuzzy type—and not everyone had to be. Her quiet strength and no-nonsense pragmatism were some of the reasons Skylar loved Eve. Now that she’d taken over her father’s strip club and turned it into a burlesque lounge, she had some hefty responsibilities, too, meaning Skylar’s best friend was now emotionally and physically distant. Something that hadn’t really registered until last night when Robbie, as her new teammate, had been so . . . there. Ready for anything. With her.

  Which also made Skylar wonder if she was missing something with Eve. Had she not been present enough for her best friend?

  In the bathroom, Skylar sat down on the closed toilet lid and called Eve.

  Four rings. Voicemail.

  “Hello, you’ve reached Eve, lady proprietor of the Gilded Garden. Lucky you. Leave a message and make it brief. I don’t have all day.”

  Beep.

  With a fond half smile on her face, Skylar left a message. “Hey, I know you’re super busy this week, just wondering if you had time for coffee. Would love to catch up. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll just show up at the lounge later this week. When you least expect it. Boo.”

  Deep in thought, Skylar took a quiet shower, dressed, and brushed her teeth. Fashioned her wet hair into a braid and, for old times’ sake, slid her feet into an old pair of cleats that still held clumps of dirt from senior year of high school.

  Then she tucked her planner into the back waistband of her yoga pants and snuck outside to pitch. The sound of her spikes on the front porch steps was familiar enough to raise a pebble in her throat, as was the rusted lock on the shed adjacent to the house, where the sporting goods were kept. The black wire bucket of dirty softballs that waited for Skylar made her sigh with pleasure. And after dragging out the nine-pocket practice target she’d been using since middle school, she got to work.

  Relax into stance, breathe, wind up, release.

  Relax into stance, breathe, wind up, release.

  It would be so easy to let herself become distracted. To think about the Page Stakes kicking off this afternoon, the pressure of competition, the high expectations of her family, even when they were only battling against one another. It would be so easy to think about the man who’d slept on her floor last night, mumbling in his slumber about forechecks, his face softened by sleep. How she’d lost her battle with curiosity and reached down in the middle of the night to test the texture of his beard. Just a teeny, little finger graze.

  Why did it have to be the perfect combination of bristly and smooth?

  Women must love it.

  Skylar missed the target completely on her next pitch, the ball disappearing into the trees. “Damn.”

  “Brought my glove, if you’d rather pitch to a human” came the voice behind her.

  Madden.

  She hadn’t heard him approaching from the house next door, which had been passed down to him following the death of his aunt.

  Skylar’s stomach tied itself into seventeen complicated knots. A familiar feeling, considering this was a familiar scene plucked straight out of her high school years. One she looked forward to reliving on an annual basis during the Page Stakes. Pitching to Madden’s steady glove, experiencing that ripple of approval across his furrowed brow whenever she landed a strike. His quiet strength. The sense of camaraderie.

  Just the two of them, no Elton to tease and remind her she was the annoying younger sister. Perfect.

  Oddly, her fingers tingled where she held the next ball, the memory of Robbie’s soft bristles making itself known at the least opportune moment.

  Not now.

  Forcing herself to play it cool, she tossed a smile over her shoulder. “Sure, thanks.”

  Madden nodded in that slow, easy manner of his, striding past her to the target, moving it aside and taking its place in front of the towering oak she’d christened the Pitching Tree long ago.

  Skylar shook the nerves out of her arm and threw a decent pitch, the imaginary umpire in her head calling it low and inside.

  Retrieving another ball from the bucket, she bobbled it in her hand a moment, trying to work up the courage to start a conversation. Considering how long they’d known each other, exchanging words shouldn’t be so hard, right? There was normally a buffer of some kind. Or they just played in silence in the name of concentration. But this was her week to get his attention, to break free of the patterns that made her nothing more than Elton’s little sister in Madden’s eyes. Seize your chance.

  “Is it nice being back in your aunt’s house for the week?” Skylar asked.

  Nice job bringing up his deceased aunt. Ask about his absent parents next.

  Madden stood and returned the ball, her glove receiving it with a slonk. “It is nice, yeah.” She wasn’t sure he’d elaborate, but after a moment he kept going. “I forget some of the smaller things about her. Like the dishes she kept everywhere for candy. Every once in a while, I find a hair curler stuck in a couch cushion or behind a stack of books.” He hunkered back down, punching the center of his glove. “Good reminders.”

  “Those are good,” she murmured, swallowing the twinge in her throat.

  Another pitch. A perfect throw back in Skylar’s direction.

  Odd how conversation didn’t seem to come easily between them. Obviously, they just needed more time alone. To get comfortable with each other.

  Obviously.

  “Listen, Skylar,” Madden said, kind of abruptly. “About this hockey fella.”

  Skylar froze in the process of dropping into her stance. Madden was asking about Robbie. They’d already gotten his attention? Her suspicion that he’d been bothered by Robbie’s interest in her at the game last week had been correct.

  Holy shit, it was happening.

  She flipped her braid over her shoulder, nonchalant as possible. “What about him?”

  “Do you actually like this guy, or what?” He rolled a shoulder, appearing to choose his words carefully. “Something seems off.”

  Uh-oh. “Off . . . how?”

  He studied her through narrowed eyes. “Can’t put my finger on it, really.” A thoughtful pause. “You don’t date often, now suddenly you’re moving very quickly, bringing him here to meet your parents and all.”

  Skylar kept her expression neutral. “Well . . .” Okay, was Madden jealous or merely skeptical of her relationship with Robbie? He was impossible to read. Why couldn’t he just demand she break things off with Robbie and give him a chance, instead? “I probably wouldn’t have invited him to meet my parents so soon, but Eve couldn’t make it.”

  For some reason, Madden’s eyes darkened dramatically at the mention of her best friend. “Right.” He looked down, scuffing the dirt with his boot. “Eve.”

  “But I do really like him,” Skylar finished quickly. Too quickly?

  Madden’s head came up again, brow drawn. “I see.”

  Skylar held her breath. This is where Madden expressed his sudden realization that it had always been her—

  “Jesus, I could eat another ten of these fucking sandwiches” came Robbie’s voice behind her, accompanied by his footsteps up the driveway. “That place in town called the Whistle Stop? It’s a banger. Restaurant and food market all wrapped into one. Cleaned them out of Stouffer’s lasagnas, if anybody wants one.”

  It took Skylar a moment to turn around, because she couldn’t figure out why Robbie’s interruption came as a . . . relief? But she was forced to put that weird reaction aside for later when Robbie stopped beside her, setting down the brown paper bags he’d apparently carried half a mile . . . and leaned down to kiss her.

  A firm, possessive kiss, his fingers sliding into her semidamp hair to cradle the back of her head, loosening her braid and tugging her head back, giving him the angle he needed to slant a second, hungrier kiss against her lips, the pleasing scratch of his beard on her chin and cheeks causing a very distinct tumble in her stomach, her eyelashes fluttering and closing against her will, the ball dropping out of her glove into the dirt.

  For several seconds, she forgot their location. Their audience.

  The kiss dragged her unwillingly into a semiconscious state where she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the sensuality of Robbie’s movements, their lips locked together in a firm draw, a low growl in his throat making her nipples feel tight—

  “Brought you some orange juice, Rocket,” he rasped, pulling away and dropping a lighter kiss on her nose and forehead, though it wasn’t lost on her that his pupils were the size of salad plates. “No pulp.”

  “Yuh?” She blinked to bring her surroundings back into focus, but life remained 50 percent blurry. God, he was a great kisser. Too good. “What?”

  “Orange juice.” He nudged her forehead with his own. “Got you some.”

  Mouth so close. “Oh.”

  He dragged the pad of his thumb down the center of her bottom lip while wincing. “Got you a bagel, too, but I ate it. Sorry about that. My appetite is a problem.” They maintained eye contact for another several beats, before Robbie cleared his throat and cast a glance toward . . . Madden? Had his presence actually slipped her mind momentarily? If so, that would be a first. “Morning, Madden.” Robbie rubbed his knuckles against the small of her back. “Thanks for keeping Skylar company.”

  “No worries.” Madden watched them closely, especially the movements of Robbie’s hand. “I enjoyed catching for you, as usual, Sky.”

  At the use of the nickname, Robbie’s knuckles paused at the base of her spine. “Great. But I’ve got it from here.”

  Skylar did a double take. “You’ve got what?”

  “I’ll catch for you,” Robbie explained.

  Madden’s head tilted with rare amusement. “Will you now?”

  “Yup.” Jaw set with determination, Robbie walked to Madden and held out his hand. “Mind if I borrow that glove?”

  “Sure thing, mate.”

  Robbie appeared a little thrown when Madden handed the glove over without hesitation, but he sniffed and stuck his hand inside, nonetheless. “The fit isn’t great. My hand is a little too big.” Then louder, while looking at Skylar, “Hand. Way too big.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t do this, Robbie,” Skylar called. “You’ve got playoffs coming up and everything—”

  “If you’ll recall, I scored our first date by leaning into one of your pitches.”

  “You’re right about that,” Madden said dryly. “Destructiveness seems to be a pattern for you.”

  Robbie bowed, before dropping to his haunches. “Thank you.”

  Madden shook his head and backed up.

  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.