Damn. I have to find me a woman who doesn’t get grossed out by throwing up.

  You did.

  She’s right here.

  And she’s in love with someone else.

  “Wow. Interesting choice to bring up pregame rituals when that is yours.”

  “I should have lied and said I listen to Lil’ Wayne,” he managed on a chuckle, feeling more than a little winded.

  “Why didn’t you lie?”

  Mildly insulted, he drew back. “I wouldn’t tell you I know how to listen to yes and no, then lie to you in the same breath.”

  Skylar scrutinized him from a distance that had definitely grown smaller since they walked into the room. Who had moved closer? And when? “Maybe it’s premature to say this, but I’m not sure anymore that . . . you’re exactly who I thought you were.”

  It wasn’t easy, but Robbie managed not to show on his face how relieved he was to hear that. How . . . honored. “Thank God for that.”

  Skylar seemed to realize their bodies were about to brush and stepped back, quipping, “To be fair, you’ve still got a long way to go.”

  Robbie scrubbed at his beard. “Oh, yeah. Obviously.”

  “Was that flirting just now?” she asked, after a beat, clearly thrown that their proximity hadn’t registered earlier. He’d been close enough to kiss her.

  God, I’d die to kiss her.

  “If so, you’re getting better at it,” Robbie said. “I couldn’t even tell you were trying.”

  “I wasn’t,” she said, mostly to herself, her brows drawing together. “Trying, that is.”

  Maybe . . . she didn’t have to try.

  Maybe she was a little bit attracted to him?

  Normally, women being attracted to Robbie was a given, but not with Skylar. This new possibility that the chemical reaction he experienced in her presence might go both ways was the best news he’d received since getting drafted by the Bearcats.

  It was also dangerous.

  Robbie was already falling for Skylar. The only thing keeping him realistic and grounded about his chances was the fact that she loved someone else. But if he had attraction on his side? Hope opened doors. Hope made him feel like he had a shot.

  And he didn’t. So he needed to keep his eyes wide open.

  “I’ll go get the bags out of the car,” he managed on his way into the hallway. “You want your planner?”

  That threw her. She opened her mouth, closed it. “Yes, please.”

  He turned and went before he could reach too much into the silent appreciation arranging her features.

  The opening ceremony was a cookout in the backyard, thankfully. Robbie had been entertaining visions of blood sacrifices and the summoning of ancient deities, so the sizzle of burgers on the grill was a welcome sound, instead of his own tormented screams.

  In attendance were the usual suspects from the earlier front yard introductions, henceforth known as the following:

  Team Silver Hair = Doug and Vivica (another obvious ploy to dupe everyone into counting them out because of their age; not happening).

  Team Foul Balls = Madden and Elton (a joke they’d obviously come up with as teenagers; it hadn’t aged well).

  Team Skeeve = Skylar and Eve (a combination of their names that they clearly hadn’t chosen, but it had stuck nonetheless).

  The six of them stood around the firepit in the backyard, sizing one another up, quietly conferring with their counterparts and sipping straight water. No one was consuming a drop of alcohol, which would have made the gathering a shoo-in for the most boring cookout of all time, except it wasn’t. Not at all.

  For one, Skylar was there.

  And two, this was Robbie’s chance to properly get a read on Madden.

  Did the big, quiet dude with the Irish brogue like her back? Was he into Skylar and merely prevented from pursuing her due to his best-friend status with Elton? If so, he was a lot more noble than Robbie, because Robbie would have gone for her anyway, damn the consequences.

  Problem was, Madden wasn’t an easy read. His expression rarely shifted from silent observation. He definitely looked at Skylar every once in a while, that attention lingering long enough for tension to build in Robbie’s neck, but beyond an open flicker of curiosity from the guy now and again, Robbie couldn’t glean much else.

  Now was a good time to remind himself he was supposed to want Madden to notice Skylar. As more than a kid sister. As the beautiful woman she was. That was the goal. That’s why he’d volunteered to be there this week. He’d come to Cumberland to help Skylar land this man. He needed to focus on making that happen instead of wondering about the what-ifs; for example, what if Madden wasn’t interested?

  Would she . . . could she . . . turn her attention to Robbie?

  Better squash that hope now before it grows teeth.

  A flame licked out of the firepit in Skylar’s direction and Robbie moved without thinking, hooking an arm around the small of her back and walking them backward and out of the literal line of fire. “Careful,” he said, looking down into her startled face.

  “Thanks,” she said, wetting her lips. Her attention drifted over his shoulder to the others. “Maybe you should let me go now. Everyone is staring.”

  “Maybe that’s exactly why I shouldn’t.”

  “Ohhh. Okay, good point.” Damn, she was the perfect height. Tall enough that he wouldn’t have to bend his knees to kiss her. Short enough that she had to tip her face up to make eye contact, the sunset bathing her smooth cheeks, picking up hints of gold hidden in the depths of her brown eyes. “Time for another round of flirting practice?”

  Robbie waggled his brows. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  She started to relax more and more in his loose hold, her fingers even lifting to toy with the buttons of the white polo shirt he’d thrown on. “Look at me go. I’m touching, like you taught me.”

  Like you taught me.

  Was it sick to be turned on by that phrasing?

  Suddenly, he was picturing Skylar beneath him in the queen-sized bed they were sharing, both of them naked while he pumped home, his hands shaking as they pressed her knees open, their mouths slanting, panting.

  Did I make you hard just like you taught me?

  Even in the fantasy, his response was incoherent.

  “You were the token suck-up in class, weren’t you?” Robbie asked, his voice a lot grittier than before. Hard to blame him when they were still fucking like animals in his mind, Skylar on top now, her ponytail coming loose, hips bucking—

  “Every single time,” she answered, sniffing. “And you were the class clown, I’m guessing?”

  Come on, man. Focus.

  She asked for help. Give it to her.

  “Smile at me a little,” he leaned down to murmur against her forehead. “You look like you’re telling me to go jump in the lake.”

  Her mouth softened gradually, along with her eyes. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

  Robbie shrugged. “I’m a strong swimmer.”

  “Hopefully that will come in handy.” Her fingertips moved higher to the collar of his polo, smoothing it out, and he almost saw stars when the pad of her pinkie finger grazed the skin below his ear. Felt that minor touch all the way in his stomach, nearly causing him to groan. “The main purpose of the opening ceremony is to go over the rules and receive the first challenge.”

  He blinked to clear his sudden double vision. “Who designs the challenges?”

  “My parents.”

  Robbie hadn’t been expecting that, although it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder who came up with the events. He’d had too much else on his mind; namely, the girl in front of him who was going to have a black belt in flirting by the end of the night, if they continued like this. “They get to plan the challenges, even though they’re competing?” Robbie asked, using his thumb to smooth down those curly hairs at her temple.

  Did her eyes get kind of drowsy when he rubbed her temples or was that just wishful thinking? “It’s the one advantage we give them due to their age,” Skylar said, tamping down a yawn, then looking around to make sure no one saw it.

  “Generous of you,” he quipped quietly, rubbing with a little more pressure.

  “You might have to stop doing that.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s putting me to sleep when I need to be alert.” She gave a rapid shake of her head and caught his wrist, starting to pull it away. But something—or someone—behind Robbie must have been watching because she brought his wrist to her mouth and kissed his pulse, before letting it go, blissfully unaware that she’d just sent it haywire.

  “Did he see that?” Robbie asked. It was that or start moaning.

  She searched his face a moment before nodding. “I can’t tell what Madden thinks about all this. You being here.”

  “You’ve known him a long time. You don’t feel comfortable asking him?”

  “No,” she said on a burst of breath. Then, more troubled, “No.”

  “Not yet,” Robbie said, wanting to make her feel better. Encouraged.

  Gratitude danced briefly across her face. “Right. Not yet.”

  She seemed at a loss for what to do with her hands now that they were still standing close, but not touching, so Robbie wound the fingers of his right hand through her left ones, stroking his thumb along the base of her wrist, gratified to see her pupils dilate slightly. Chemistry. He had that with her, if nothing else.

  “Speaking of sleep,” Skylar said, sounding a touch out of breath, “I’m probably not going to get any this week. I’ve shared a bed before, but mostly as a kid at sleepovers or with my teammates at travel tournaments. And never someone your size.”

  “Thank you.” He winked down at her. “It is remarkable in size.”

  “I’m talking about your overall body size. Not your penis.”

  “We’ll have to talk about it eventually, Rocket. It’s on the calendar.”

  “We’ll cross the dick bridge when we get to it.”

  Robbie coughed a laugh. “Can Dick Bridge be our new team name?”

  “No, but we should have a new team name, right? Team Skeeve only makes sense when it’s me and Eve.” Decision visibly made, Skylar’s hold on his hand tightened and she turned, pulling Robbie back in the direction of the firepit.

  He dug in his heels. “You’re hot enough without catching on fire, Rocket.”

  She shot him a glance, insult loading, but realized at the last second that everyone had ceased their conversations to watch them interact. “Thanks, Redbeard.”

  “Redbeard and Rocket,” mused Vivica, elbowing a watchful Doug. “Cute.”

  “Is it, though?” Elton tilted his head, obnoxiously. “Is it?”

  Skylar pursed her lips. “Maybe you should catch on fire, Elt.”

  “I’d prefer that over watching you two canoodle.”

  “Mom, can we start deducting points every time Elton uses the word ‘canoodle’?”

  Elton made a face, but Robbie only noticed it in his periphery, because he was watching Madden. And Madden was watching him back with a frown.

  Okay. Looked like they had his attention.

  Robbie ignored the sinking sensation in his stomach.

  “Speaking of point deductions,” said Doug, commandeering the conversation in a booming manner that reminded Robbie of a radio DJ. “Honey, would you like to remind everyone of the rules of engagement? You do it so eloquently.”

  “Thank you, dear. Yes, I would.” Vivica folded her hands at her waist, her gaze sharpening to a point. “No sabotaging whatsoever. I’m looking at you, Elton and Skylar. If anyone is caught tampering with alarm clocks or equipment, both offenders get an automatic DQ. No bribing the Page Stakes committee for a more desirable challenge. They are set in stone and stored in a secure location.”

  “They’re taped to the back of the bread machine my mother never uses,” Skylar said out of the side of her mouth.

  “Each evening, the following day’s challenge will be left on the refrigerator, beneath my Brown University Alumni magnet.” Doug and Vivica traded a proud look. “And last but not least, no laxatives in anyone’s cereal, Skylar. Remember 2019.”

  “He looked a little backed up,” Skylar replied innocently. “I was trying to help.”

  “You nearly helped my spleen exit my body.” Elton looked around the group, visibly haunted. “You’re not supposed to use the whole bottle.”

  “Oops.”

  With a final reproving glance at her children, Vivica produced two laminated sheets, handing one to Elton and the other to Skylar with a flourish. Eager to find out what they’d be up against, Robbie stepped up behind Skylar and scanned the first challenge from over her shoulder.

  Challenge One: Blindfolded Blitz

  “Don’t worry, I’ll explain it later,” she said for his ears alone. Then louder, “It should be a cinch.” Skylar adopted a casual backward lean against Robbie’s chest. So casual he wondered if she realized she’d done it at all. “We won’t even break a sweat.”

  Her brother shrugged, handing the list to Madden, who—goddammit—had to tear his attention off Skylar in order to take it. “Easy peasy.”

  Vivica laughed. “Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, but we all remember the ER visit of 2021. You needed seventeen stitches, right, Madden?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Vivica high-fived her husband. “That’s what I thought.”

  These people were intense.

  Skylar turned to face Robbie, dropping her voice to a whisper. “We should probably get to bed early tonight.”

  Spend alone time with Skylar, no Madden in sight?

  “Sign me up.”

  She started to back toward the house, holding the laminated challenge to her chest, her bravado so bold, scholars would write odes in its honor one day. “One last thing,” she called to her family. “We’re changing our team name to Rocket and Redbeard.”

  Elton doubled over and made a retching sound.

  Robbie and Skylar fist-bumped on their way into the house.

  “Come on.” They walked side by side down the hallway toward her bedroom. “The longer we spend around them, the more they’ll get in our heads.”

  “You’re right,” Robbie said. “We need some team bonding time. I’ve got just the thing.”

  “No.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Shirtless men didn’t faze Skylar. Usually.

  She’d grown up with a brother who’d stumbled into the kitchen in his boxers most mornings, plunging his paw into the closest cereal box. His friends were always swimming in their backyard, oftentimes in very translucent underwear, not to mention pantsing each other every chance they got. She’d seen a lot of shrinkage in her day. Lots of butts. A bare chest didn’t even rate. Usually.

  Robbie Corrigan, professional hockey player, didn’t have just any chest.

  Or abdomen.

  Or arms.

  Nothing about him was typical.

  He was a thick, stacked, red-bearded giant. In her bedroom.

  And she was watching him pull on sleep sweatpants in the mirror of her vanity when her back was supposed to be turned.

  Obviously, she’d had a lot of doubts about their scheme to get Madden to notice her—and she still did. Tonight at the cookout, however, she hadn’t expected to feel so much like a united front. As much as she loved and adored Eve, Skylar inevitably felt like the odd one out at the Page Stakes every year. The underdog. The pest. The one who hadn’t quite lived up to the lofty expectations set forth by her overachiever family. Robbie talked a lot of shit, had an overwhelming amount of confidence, and didn’t seem at all fazed by his sudden entrée into their zany family competition.

  Something about his ability to roll with the punches? It allowed her to stress less and focus more. It was . . . not awful.

  Maybe he wasn’t awful.

  Maybe they even had a chance to win?

  “What are you thinking about so hard over there, Rocket?”

  Her chin jerked up to find him watching her in the vanity mirror, those superhuman hands perched on his hips, chest still blessedly bare. She could appreciate him objectively, right? One athlete to another. He kept himself in peak physical condition.

  Good for him.

  Good for half the women in Boston, too.

  Skylar cleared the confusing twinge from her throat. “I was just pondering.”

  He leaned back against the dresser on the opposite side of the room, crossing his arms, his biceps and triceps competing for attention. “Care to share?”

  “Uh . . .” Stop looking at the V. “I was thinking about the competition tomorrow. I’ve done this event before and on the surface, it might sound kind of silly. But it’s not. It’s actually pretty hard. We need to have a game plan.”

  “I’m going to be blindfolded. You’ll lead me through the headphones.”

  “I—” She wrinkled her nose. “Why are you automatically the blindfolded one?”

  “A couple of reasons.” He uncrossed his arms in order to count on his fingers. “One, there’s no way I’ll be able to sit still during any competition. Just thinking about it makes me squirm.” He shuddered. “And two, you could step in a gopher hole and twist your ankle or some shit and I wouldn’t be able to handle it, especially considering I’d be the one giving you directions.”

  Okay, that she hadn’t seen coming. As soon as his words sank in, her right eye started to twitch. “You’re worried I’m going to get hurt?”

  He studied her in silence. “Why do I feel like I just stepped in it?”

  “Because you did.” Slowly, Skylar skirted around the edge of the bed in his direction. “Remember when you asked me on a date during the baseball game? Same thing, Redbeard.” Stopping in front of him, she poked him between those hard pecs. “If we want a chance to win, you have to quit treating me like less of a competitor because I’m a girl.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but . . .” His attention dragged along the curve of her right hip and back up her center to the notch of her throat. “I can’t pretend you’re not softer, shorter, and a hell of a lot prettier than me.”