Target acquired.
The drop-dead gorgeous brunette was looking at him as though she'd like to vivisect him with a spoon, but wow—that disdain only made her huge brown eyes sparkle. God, they were remarkable. Rich and deep, complementing the ponytail that blew in the wind. Hints of sunlight from the overcast sky washed over her fresh face, giving her the look of someone who'd just rolled out of bed. Kind of messy. Kind of cranky.
Apparently, he found that combination fucking adorable.
Her skin had a rich, sun-kissed quality, possibly from playing outdoor sports. She wasn't short by any means—probably bordering on five-foot-nine—but positioned as she was in a sea of big, ugly baseball players, she looked like a princess who needed rescuing.
Robbie Corrigan was just the man for the job.
"We win, you show up to our next home game in our jerseys," his Bearcats teammate, best friend, and roommate, Mailer, was saying.
"And when you lose?" Elton the Dipshit scoffed.
Robbie struggled to drag his attention away from the bristling brunette. Honestly, he could have gone on cataloging her attributes all damn day, but his hatred for baseball had brought the entire Bearcats squad to this park on a Saturday morning to settle a score.
Standing there gawking at a girl wasn't going to cut it.
*Beef. Mustard. Can't believe I skipped breakfast.*
"How about this?" Robbie barked. "Your prize is you don't get your asses kicked." He looked past Elton to the group standing at his back. "Obviously, the lady would not be included in an ass-kicking of any kind."
The girl in question didn't even take a beat. "Aw, shucks. That's so sweet." She wrinkled her freckled nose. "But I think I'll stick around and give you the junk punch you so clearly deserve."
Amusement flared in Robbie's chest. "Fair enough."
She smiled at him without her eyes losing an ounce of their malice—impressive—all while grinding her fist into her glove.
This bloodthirsty baseball chick was not his type. At least, he didn't think so. It had been a long time since he'd had to try with women. Or bother with anyone who wanted more than a good time. These days, they fell into his lap. They had in college, too. Instant popularity with the opposite sex was the second-best thing about being a hockey player. The best part was playing hockey, obviously.
On their nights off, he and Mailer went to the club, booked the VIP section, and no other effort was required. Pulling this girl, whose first words to him had been *fuck you*, would probably require a great deal of effort. It might even be impossible.
Why the hell couldn't he stop staring at her?
Mailer elbowed Robbie in the ribs, pointing to a figure approaching the baseball field from the direction of the dog park.
Was that Chloe? Sig Gauthier's future stepsister?
Yeah, it was. An English bulldog trotted behind her on a leash, looking half asleep.
"Hey, Elton," Chloe shouted, sounding decidedly pissed.
"Chloe!" every hockey player in attendance said in unison.
After all, the girl was a ray of sunshine. It was impossible not to like her. She cheered for the Bearcats on the sideline like democracy was at stake, slandering the referee with an unexpectedly colorful vocabulary every chance she got.
Mad respect. Everyone knew she and Sig were together, even if they refused to admit it publicly. Despite that, Robbie and Mailer flirted with Chloe as often as possible, hoping to force Sig into owning up to the relationship, but Sig hadn't pulled that trigger quite yet.
Now, collectively, the Bearcats surged toward Chloe to welcome her, as well as bring her into the hockey fold, where she'd be safe from baseball cooties.
She whipped up a hand to stop them, her ire directed squarely at Elton.
"Uh-oh," Mailer muttered, frowning. "Hold up a second. What is Chloe doing here?"
"That's what I would like to know," Chloe said through her teeth.
"I invited her," Elton answered Mailer with a smug grin. "She's here to cheer us on."
"Excuse me?" Chloe sputtered, sounding like her vocal cords were constricting.
"Excuse her?" Robbie echoed, intending to hold the line until Sig arrived to provide backup for Chloe—which he would. It was only a matter of time before—
And yup.
There was Sig. Coming in hot from the parking lot, visibly ready to blow.
Chloe, unaware that Sig had arrived, was turning pink. "Did you invite me here under the false pretense of a doggy date just so you could piss off my friends?"
"I don't know, did I?" Elton winked at the Bearcats. "And did it work?"
Were they evolved enough not to take that bait?
No. No, they were not.
Hockey players converged on baseball players, everyone arguing at the tops of their lungs. Gloves were thrown down into the dirt. Off to the right, there was a heavy sigh and the rustle of chain-link. Burgess inserted himself in the middle of the fray with an air of weary patience.
"Just a reminder that we're all adults here," said Sir Savage, the legendary Bearcats captain and reigning hero of the planet. "Let's take a second to find some maturity."
"Some of us never had any to begin with," Elton drawled, taking a step closer to Chloe. "Obviously, she figured that out and made a better choice."
Sig loomed behind Chloe, fury causing him to tremble. "Get any closer to her and I will use your kneecaps for batting practice."
Some people had the ability to predict the weather by looking at the sky. Or determine the direction of the wind by holding up a blade of grass. Robbie Corrigan could smell a brawl from a mile away—and the air was beginning to smell ripe for flying fists.
Without any conscious thought, he found himself inching toward the brunette.
Because God help them all if her beautiful face caught one of those fists. He'd even let her punch him in the junk if it meant she stayed out of the fray. It would hurt, but he'd recover. Eventually.
As subtly as possible, Robbie reached through an opening among the group of baseball players and nudged Brown Eyes. "Psst."
He jerked his chin in the opposite direction of the brewing altercation. "Come on. Let's go."
*What?* she mouthed, incredulous.
"Move. Before you get hurt," he whispered.
"I'll hurt *you*," she whispered back, furiously.
From five yards away, she'd been interesting to look at. Obviously pretty.
Up close?
Her scowl made him wonder how much a bouquet of long-stem roses cost.
"You wore Crocs to play baseball?" the brunette murmured, looking down at Robbie's feet. "Are you serious?"
"When I want to play a real sport, sweetheart, I put on skates."
"I could do a lot of interesting things with a blade right about now."
"You're kind of violent, aren't you?"
She gave him another one of those evil smiles in response.
By insulting baseball, he'd probably just ruined his chances of taking this girl out, but he never backed down from a challenge. Hence this Saturday morning face-off that literally no one asked for.
"I wasn't going to play," Sig was saying in the middle of removing his jacket, which only meant one thing to Robbie. It was time to kick someone's ass. "But the possibility of hitting you with a line drive between the eyes is too tempting."
Elton scoffed. "My sister, Skylar, is pitching and she's D1 All-American. You're welcome to try."
*Sister.*
*Skylar.*
She was the sister of Elton? The jackass Robbie had been feuding with?
They didn't even appear to be related.
But clearly, they were, in some way.
Excellent.
His shot with Skylar was basically nonexistent now.
But as he watched the blush creep up her cheekbones, the way she ducked her head as if shy about her brother's open admiration, Robbie decided he was still going to try like hell. A Division 1 All-American pitcher who made fun of his shoes and implied she'd like to stab him with a hockey skate?
Hot. That was fucking hot.
Even hotter?
When she stomped her way through the baseball players to reach her brother, slapping him in the chest with her glove. Hard. "Idiot. Can't believe you pulled something like that," she hissed, referring to the glaring reality that he'd brought Chloe to the field just to piss off the Bearcats.
Skylar hit Elton once more—Robbie almost swooned—before heading for the pitching mound and calling over her shoulder, "I'm telling Mom."
Elton trailed after her. "You better not."