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)
Boston Bearcats rookie Robbie Corrigan is living the dream. He’s made it to the NHL, his best friend/teammate and fellow “orgasm donor” is his roomie—and the women of Boston love them both. Life is sweet. That is, until he meets Skylar Paige, division 1 softball pitcher, girl least likely to take anyone’s bull…and the one member of the opposite sex immune to his charms. Robbie might be dazzled by the badass pitcher, but Skylar pegs him as a filthy player and wants nothing to do with him.
When he discovers she’s carrying a serious torch for her brother’s best friend, Robbie knows he should just go back to clubbing and whipped cream bikini parties, but he can’t seem to leave Skylar to flounder on her romantic quest to land another man. Nor can he miss out on the opportunity to spend time with her and hopefully redeem himself. Before Robbie knows it, he’s agreed to be Skylar’s fake boyfriend/love coach at an upcoming family wilderness competition where her crush will be in attendance. What could go wrong?
Through a series of contests that require them to trust each other, Robbie and Skylar grow closer and closer until their fake relationship starts to feel like the realest thing they’ve ever known and the sizzling lessons in sensuality burn out of control.
But it’s all just pretend…right?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Skylar Page sat cross-legged on her twin-sized bed enjoying the moments before sunrise. That stillness just before dawn when Boston would begin to stir outside of her window, sounds and scents penetrating the brick walls of her studio apartment. For now, it was just her and the quiet thoughts she needed to envision the day ahead, calculate travel times, and prioritize errands.
After taking a medium gulp of coffee, she opened her white leather planner, her gaze bouncing between underlined reminders and to-do lists, releasing a satisfied sigh over the carefully blue-inked letters. There was nothing like knowing exactly what the day, week, and year had in store.
Currently, it was Saturday morning and she planned on pampering Future Skylar by knocking out some tasks over the weekend—in between practices, of course.
First up—
Her phone rang.
Brow creased, she transferred her attention to the lit-up iPhone where it sat beside her thigh on the raspberry-colored comforter.
Elton, her brother, was calling? At 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday?
Immediately, her heart kicked into a sprint. No one called this time of day with good news. Was something wrong with one of their parents?
Skylar answered on speakerphone, then gripped her knees. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”
That wasn’t the tone of someone in the middle of an emergency. Her relieved exhale shifted the pages of her planner. “Why are you calling so early?”
“Because I’m on my way to pick you up.”
Furiously, she flipped through a mental calendar, followed by the physical one in front of her, wondering if she’d missed a significant date. Had they made breakfast plans and she’d simply forgotten? That would be a massive rarity for Skylar, but maybe an email had gone to spam. “We’re not going to visit Mom and Dad until next Sunday. Did you mix up the dates for spring break?”
“Nope. This is something else.”
Skylar waited for her older brother to elaborate, but there was nothing but the sound of his turn signal ticking in the background. “Explain or I’m hanging up!” she shouted at Elton, the way only a sibling could do. Technically, they were only related by marriage, but they bickered like it was their birthright. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“Shut up. You’re writing in your planner.”
“I wasn’t writing anything,” she mumbled. “I was admiring what’s already there.”
“Whatever you do, don’t put planner gazing in your dating profile.” She heard a shift of clothing. “I’ve got some good and bad news, sister of mine. Which one do you want first?”
“The bad news. Obviously.”
“Whatever you scribbled down in your planner for this morning? Canceled.”
“Hanging up on you seems like a good idea.”
“Wait for the good news,” Elton rushed to say. “You’re pitching this morning.”
A beat of silence passed. “That’s it? I pitch every morning.”
“Not against the Boston Bearcats, you don’t.”
Slow blink. “Elton, when did you start taking edibles?”
A deep, husky laugh reached her ears from the other end of the call. One that didn’t belong to her brother. No, she knew that laugh like she knew the raised seams of a softball. And her heart was back to pumping, her gaze boring into the phone like she could see the source of that laughter through her blank screen. That perfect sound belonged to Madden Donahue, her long-standing crush . . . and her brother’s best friend. “Madden is with you?”
“Who else is going to catch your pitches?” Elton responded.
Skylar picked her way backward through the wild conversation, her concentration splintered just knowing Madden was apparently on his way to her apartment. Snatching up the phone, she jogged to the bathroom, set the device on the sink, and found her toothbrush, applying a swipe of Crest. “Okay, wait. Did you say I was pitching against the Bearcats?” she asked, just before sticking the brush into her mouth, scrubbing.
“Correct.”
“As in, the professional hockey team?”
“Yup.”
Her incredulity reflected back at her from the mirror. “How and why?”
Elton had the nerve to sound impatient. “I’ll explain on the way. How soon can you be downstairs? We’re here.”
She rinsed and spit as quietly as possible, barely refraining from chucking the phone into the toilet. “Ten minutes.”
“Five.”
“Ten, shithead.” She yanked her long brown hair up into a ponytail. “You’re lucky I only set aside this morning to work on next week’s to-do list.”
“Do me a favor.”
“In addition to this one?” she sputtered, running to her bedroom closet and hunkering down in front of the stackable drawer holding her multitude of sports bras.
“Yeah. When you get into the car, sit as far away from me as possible just in case sucking is contagious.”
“I’m going to sit close enough to choke you to death. You won’t even see it coming.”
“Choke me after the game. Save your energy for pitching.”
“We’ll see.”
Nightshirt off. Quick underwear change.
Sports bra on. Yoga pants up.
Socks.
It was that weird turning point between winter and spring when the temperature was chilly in the morning and absolutely baked Boston in the afternoon, so Skylar wasted a full minute trying to decide between a tank top or a sweatshirt, finally pulling on both. Then she snatched up her sneakers, keys, phone, and her softball glove where it sat on a shelf of honor by the front door. A minute later, she sailed out of the building, flashing her brother the middle finger through the windshield of his car, a gesture that he gleefully returned.