He forgot all about the whipped cream party until he walked into it.

  “What in . . . oh. Oh no.” Robbie slapped his hand over his eyes to prevent himself from seeing the scene in his living room twice. “Mailer!”

  “Welcome home, buddy.”

  “Don’t talk to me until you have some clothes on,” Robbie barked.

  “Hold on.” Two seconds passed. “Okay, I’m covered.”

  “In something that isn’t edible.”

  “Oh.”

  Robbie used his free hand to reach back and grip the door handle, reopening it and backing himself in two lunges into the hallway, refusing to drop his hand from his eyes until the door was closed, muffling Drake by ten or so octaves. He paced while waiting for Mailer to emerge, debating whether to tell Skylar about this. Probably, yeah. He’d definitely want to know if she’d seen four men in whipped cream bikinis, even if they were taking turns making out with her friend, instead of her.

  “I still wouldn’t like it,” he muttered, his stride hitching.

  He wouldn’t like his girlfriend in that situation. Period.

  That was the moment Robbie decided he’d never put himself in a position like that ever again. End of story. If by some stroke of epic luck, Skylar decided to give him a chance, a real one, he wouldn’t be responsible for a single second of insecurity. Take it to the bank.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. Assuming it was his best friend calling from inside the den of iniquity, he answered without hesitation. “I’m waiting.”

  Silence greeted him. Thick silence. The opposite of what was coming from the other side of the apartment door. Quickly, he checked the screen—and his heart collided with his stomach. “Skylar?” Of course, Mailer selected that moment to open the door, releasing the unholy soundtrack of debauchery into the air. No, no, no. “Rocket, you there?”

  The call ended.

  Irritation ripped up the middle of his throat. “FUCK.”

  “Hey.” Mailer yawned on his way into the hallway, a towel wrapped around his waist, rubbing his knuckles in his chest hair. “Where have you been? There were more ladies here, but even I can’t handle that many at once. Yet. A little more practice and who knows—”

  “I think I need to move out.”

  Mailer snorted, obviously not believing him. “Shut up.”

  “I’m serious.” The announcement hadn’t been planned, but that phone call had just made a hard-to-navigate situation even worse. With every second that ticked by, Robbie was more positive that finding a new place to live was the right thing to do. Not only for this fairy-tale relationship he was definitely crazy for pursuing, but . . . for himself. It took meeting Skylar to realize how much respect he’d been lacking for himself and others. His treatment of women was a big part of that, wasn’t it? Yeah, he’d been ignoring those lessons he’d learned growing up, trading them for a good time. Only thinking about himself.

  No more. Especially if he wanted Skylar. And he did.

  Badly.

  Time to grow up.

  He’d explain what she heard on the phone when they were face-to-face, so he could look her in the eye. She’d see he was telling the truth. Right now, he had to make his best friend understand the changes that were taking place inside of him.

  “It’s not you,” Robbie said. “It’s . . . me.”

  Mailer did a double take. “Wow.”

  “That didn’t come out how it sounded, man. You know I love you. I’ve just been doing some soul-searching, I guess, and—”

  “Bullshit. You can admit it’s the pitcher.” Mailer crossed his arms. “Admit you like her.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do. A fucking lot.” Irritation caused his voice to get louder. “Why wouldn’t I want to admit that?”

  “Because we were supposed to be the ones who didn’t get trapped. We’ve talked about this a thousand times. We were going to be the smart ones who stayed free while all the other idiots got tied up with engagement photo shoots and making babies. Babies all look the same. We’ve gone over this!”

  Robbie shoved his friend, but it was half-hearted, because who liked letting down their best friend? “Oh yeah, those conversations we had after like nine beers?”

  Mailer pushed him back. “Are you saying you didn’t mean any of it?”

  “At the time, maybe I did, but I didn’t know what it was going to feel like to meet Skylar yet. Okay? She’s the thing making me feel free, not the thing taking away my freedom.” He cursed under his breath. “Love isn’t what we thought it was, okay?”

  “Love?” Mailer covered his face with both hands. “Christ. It’s worse than I imagined.”

  “Yeah, no shit! It is pretty fucking bad, because she wants someone else and I’m trying to make something happen. Feels horrific, if I’m being honest, you dick.”

  “Well, I’m sorry it feels horrific, cock wad.”

  “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They shoved each other once more each.

  Took a moment to regroup.

  “At least come in for a beer.”

  “Oh my God. No. I don’t want to see any girls in whipped cream bikinis. I only want to see Skylar in sweatpants.”

  “You’ve been brainwashed,” Mailer whispered.

  “What happened to you liking the new general manager, anyway? For a week, you couldn’t stop talking about her. Now you’re doubling down on this playboy lifestyle like it’s your job.”

  Mailer’s face lost some of its color. “I asked her out. She told me she doesn’t date boys, she dates men. Then she closed her office door in my face and emailed me a copy of the organization’s nonfraternization policy.”

  Robbie knew better than to show even a hint of sympathy. “Wow. She must be blind, because you’re a king.”

  “I know, right?” There was some definite embarrassment mingled with a healthy heap of disappointment in Mailer’s expression, but he quickly banished it. “Anyway, it’s fine.” He jerked a head toward the apartment door. “I’ve got a deep enough roster, don’t I?”

  Funny, Mailer didn’t look all that excited to go back into the apartment, either.

  “You really going to move out?”

  “Afraid so. But we’ll still have lasagna nights. At least twice a week.”

  “Three and you’ve got a deal.”

  “Sold.”

  They fist-bumped.

  It turned into a hug.

  “Look. We don’t have to figure the living situation out tonight. I’m just going to head back to Rhode Island, so you can pick up where you left off.”

  “Great,” Mailer muttered, making no move to enter the apartment. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah.” After a brief hesitation, Robbie backed toward the elevator. “See you in a few days, man. Bye.”

  “Bye.” Right before Robbie stepped into the elevator, Mailer shouted, “You got this, man. I believe in you.”

  The elevator closed on Robbie’s grateful, if dubious, grin.

  Chapter Twenty

  Breakfast was a quiet affair.

  The inside of Skylar’s head was not.

  She stared down at her planner, which sat open beside her bowl of overnight oats. Already this morning, she’d pitched to the tree for an hour, showered, paced, and, most of all, tried to figure out what to tell everyone about Robbie.

  He wasn’t coming back, meaning she no longer had a teammate.

  Calling Eve to act as a temporary replacement was not an option. Not with everything she had on her plate, the imagined weight of which had kept Skylar awake half the night, trying to think of ways to help. She also knew getting Eve to accept any form of help would be the biggest obstacle. Eve didn’t take assistance very well. Waiting for Eve to ask for that help would be hard, but Skylar knew from experience there wasn’t another choice.

  For now, the only option was to compete solo in the family competition. An unprecedented twist in Page Stakes lore, to be whispered about for years to come.

  Elton would have a field day with this. She could already hear her brother’s smug comments. No doubt, everything out of his mouth for the next two days would be variations of I told you so. Her parents were allergic to expressing sympathy, so they’d feed her a bunch of platitudes, like What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Or You’ll be smarter next time. You’ve been given the gift of insight.

  The other four people at the dining room table—Elton, Madden, and her parents, three of whom were wearing Brown University T-shirts—were beginning to notice her silence, so Skylar took a tasteless bite of cold oats and scribbled something unnecessary into her planner. She tried not to think about what Robbie was doing right now. Or who. It was approaching 8:00 a.m., meaning he was probably spread-eagle in a tangle of women, sleeping with a smile on his face.

  Had he even enjoyed the time they spent together?

  Or had he spent the whole time dreaming of wild nights in Boston?

  Sensing eyes on her profile, Skylar turned to find Madden watching her with brows drawn, his own breakfast untouched in front of him, as well. He raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say, Are you okay?

  Skylar nodded. Tell them your news, she mouthed.

  He thought for a moment, then gave a curt shake of his head. Looked away.

  The clock ticked.

  The silence continued.

  They were all waiting for Robbie to appear. According to the laminated schedule that had been posted on the refrigerator this morning, today’s challenge was the swim across the reservoir—and it started early. As if on cue, both her über punctual parents checked their waterproof watches and exchanged a knowing glance, clearly beginning to grow stressed by the missing competitor.

  She’d run out of time.

  “Um.” Skylar closed her planner. “I guess you’re wondering where Robbie is. I might . . . well, I might have some unfortunate news about that, but I’m not complaining. Okay? I can compete by mysel—”

  The screen door of the house opened and in walked Robbie.

  In a Boston University T-shirt.

  Disbelief streaked through Skylar, followed by relief. Gratitude.

  Warmth. It swept downward from the crown of her head to her feet.

  “Good morning, you family full of lunatics,” Robbie said conversationally, approaching the table. So casual, but his eyes were locked on Skylar, as if trying to get a read. “Miss me?”

  “No,” Elton responded, without his usual venom. He was looking at Robbie’s shirt, his forehead puckered in thought. Skylar was staring at it, too, with a growing knot in her jugular, her hands dropping into her lap and curling into fists. Silently as possible, she attempted to take a giant breath but found it difficult to draw air. In a house filled with Brown paraphernalia, here was Robbie rocking BU merch, her school being represented for the very first time in this home. She’d never even worn anything from BU around her parents, except for her softball uniform, wanting to avoid reminders of their disappointment.

  “Nice shirt,” Madden said, lips quirked behind his folded hands, though his tone was hard to read. Was that approval or sarcasm?

  “Thanks.” Until now, Skylar hadn’t noticed the stack of plastic-wrapped shirts Robbie carried under his arm, but when he started dealing them around the table like blackjack cards, Skylar officially couldn’t breathe. “I bought one for everybody.”

  “Oh.” Her parents traded a startled look. “We’re—”

  “Big Brown fans. Which is cool, but there are no rules against supporting two teams, right? I mean exceptions have to be made when your kid is the star pitcher. You going to eat that, Rocket?” Before Skylar knew what was happening, Robbie scooped her off the wooden bench, sat down, and settled her sideways in his lap, proceeding to down her entire bowl of overnight oats in exactly four bites.

  In just thirty seconds, her world turned itself upside down.

  Or right side up?

  No idea.

  Before Robbie walked into the house, she’d been exposed and unsteady and lonely, ready to reveal a weakness to people who didn’t tolerate them, already at her usual deficit of Didn’t get into Brown. Half a minute later, there she sat in the sun, her entire body surrounded in warmth and support, reassured as she watched Robbie unapologetically eat the remainder of everyone’s meals. He’d stunned them into silence.

  He’d stunned Skylar.

  Frankly, at that moment, she didn’t care if he’d slept with half of Boston last night.

  She laid her head on Robbie’s shoulder and closed her eyes, anyway.

  “Did you already get your pitching in this morning?” he asked, rubbing the middle of her back. As if no one was watching. As if they were the only two people at the table.

  “Yes.” Skylar studied him a little more closely. “Is that a black eye?”

  He hummed. “My last one was beginning to fade. Had to get a replacement.”

  “I’ll be happy to replace it next time,” Elton voiced from across the table. “But, uh . . . welcome back. I guess. I wasn’t looking forward to watching my sister try and swim both legs of the race.”

  “Today’s challenge is swimming? And you’ve got a Long Island kid on your team?” Robbie winked down at Skylar. “It’s in the bag.”

  It was probably better they didn’t have any time alone between breakfast and the hike to the lake for the swimming challenge. While Skylar helped clean up breakfast and tried to pretend her hands weren’t shaking, Robbie quickly changed into swim trunks in her bedroom. Elton and her parents headed outside, Madden lingering by the sink, looking like he wanted to speak with her. Yet all she could do was watch her bedroom door, waiting for Robbie to emerge. Robbie, who’d definitely been with other women last night—nay, every night of his proud bachelor life . . . and still, she could only wonder if they would continue her lessons or if he’d forgotten about them in a blur of beautiful babes.

  Skylar shook herself.

  Focused on Madden.

  Stop getting distracted from your goal.

  “Um . . .” She folded up the dish towel in her hands. “Why didn’t you want to tell them about the Yankees? It’s good news, Mads.”

  “Right. Yes, ’course it is. I will share it, eventually.” He coughed into his fist. “Did a lot of thinking last night, though, and I’m wondering, do you think it’s an opportunity to help Eve—”

  “Ready to go,” Robbie said, entering the kitchen the way a runner slides into home base, wrapping an arm around Skylar’s waist and hauling her up against him, bending her backward slightly and planting a kiss on her mouth. Mere inches from Madden. And that’s what she should have been thinking about. Madden’s reaction. Not the delightful friction of Robbie’s beard on her chin. The way he could lift her so effortlessly onto her toes and didn’t hesitate to be physical with her. So confident she’d want it—and she did. Mouth so good. Good, good mouth. Mmmm. “You didn’t answer me before. Did you miss me?” Robbie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now ask me the same question.”

  “I forgot the question.”

  “Ask me if I missed you.”

  “Did you?”

  “I got a speeding ticket on my way back to you.” His fingers threaded into her hair, gently tilting her head and slanting his lips down in the opposite direction, groaning into a slow, thorough kiss that turned her legs to mush. “I hassled someone into punching me to distract me from missing you and it didn’t even work.”

  Goose bumps. Everywhere. What is happening to me? “That’s a shame.”

  “Look at me. Look.” He framed her face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. “After practice, I raided the BU campus bookshop for merch. After that, I went to my apartment and Mailer was having a party. But I left, Skylar. I saw a couple of random butts and I left right away. I didn’t even appreciate those butts. I just wanted to get back here to your butt. You believe me, right?” Not waiting for a response, he rolled their foreheads together. Kissed her hard once, twice. “I slept in my car at the end of your driveway. I didn’t want to come in and wake you up. Actually, that’s a lie. I did want to come in and wake you up, but I was feeling some kind of way, missing you like that, and I would have ended up on top of you. I’m fucking dying to be on top of you, Skylar. You dying for that?”

  The fog parted momentarily. Madden. Oh my God.

  Was he still standing there, hearing all this?

  Skylar’s head swiveled right.

  They were alone. How long had they been alone?

  Who was Robbie benefiting with this speech?

  “He left when you said you missed me.” He searched her eyes. “Did you mean it?”

  “Yes.” Nine avenues of thought merged into a traffic jam. “Wait, I have so many questions.”

  “About last night? Ask.” He dropped his hands from her face and backed up, straightening his shoulders as if swearing on a Bible in court. “Ask me anything. I recorded my drive on my GPS so I could show you I was on the road. Not partying—”

  “No. No, I believe you about that.”

  His slow grin could have powered the entire state of Rhode Island. “You do?”

  “Yeah.” She opened her mouth, closed it. “What reason do you have to lie?” Saying the next part felt . . . oddly like a lie, but she couldn’t figure out why. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We’re not actually together. It’s . . . just for show. Right?” One after another, strings pulled taut in her chest. “Which is why I’m wondering why you said all that when Madden wasn’t even standing here.”

  “Oh my God. Okay.” He dragged both hands down his face. “Here’s a lesson for you, Rocket. A guy doesn’t choose to spend a week with a girl’s deranged family unless he’s into her. Like, really fucking into her. Maybe I lied to myself about doing this for noble reasons—and yeah, fine, that was part of it. I wanted to show you and myself I’m not a tool.” He took a shuddering breath. “But at the heart of it, Skylar, I wanted so badly to be with you. I was afraid of not seeing you again. And now?” He laughed without humor. “Now, I’m petrified of that. I couldn’t actually do it.”

  The superhighway of her mind had become a ten-car pileup. “I . . . what?”