“I can’t.” Logan waggles his eyebrows. “I’m Ryan’s wingman.”
“Wingman.” She spits the word, then points a sparkly fingernail at both me and Logan, but I don’t miss how it lingers on me. “One of you needs to find a girl and commit. I’m tired of this testosterone bull.”
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
40
Lacy hates the string of girls I’ve dated over the summer. She’s terrified I’ll influence Chris to drop her, though she should know better. Chris reveres her as his own personal religion.
“You didn’t approve of the one I committed to last time,” I say. “Why should I try again?”
“Because you can do better than evil.”
I drop my tone. “Gwen’s not evil.” Gwen
and I broke up, but there’s no reason to talk trash about her.
“Speak of the devil,” mumbles Logan.
“Hi, Ryan.” I turn my head to witness Gwen in all her glory. A blue cotton dress swishes around her tanned legs, and she wears a new-to-me pair of cowboy boots. Hand-curled ringlets bounce at the ends of her long blond hair. Surrounded by her three best girlfriends, she floats right past, but keeps her green eyes locked on me.
“Gwen,” I say in return. Reaching the
concession stand, she sweeps her hair over her shoulder as she refocuses her attention. I keep staring, trying to remember why we broke up.
“Drama!” Lacy purposely blocks my view
of Gwen’s ass. “She was nothing but drama.
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
41
Remember? You said, ‘Lacy, there’s nothing real about her,’ and I said, ‘I know,’ and I happily threw an ‘I told you so’ in your face.
Then you said, ‘Don’t let me go back to her,’
and I said, ‘Can I rip off your balls if you attempt it,’ and you said…”
“No.” I said no because Lacy would actually do it, and I prefer my balls attached, but I did ask her to remind me of that conversation if I became weak. Logan and I should ask some girls to the movies next weekend. Hell, if Skater Girl had given me her number, I might even have considered calling her. God knows she was sexy as hell and when it comes to Gwen, a distraction always helps.
“Come on, Logan,” says Chris. “I’ll give
you a ride home.”
Near the dugout, Dad wraps an arm around
Mom as the two of them chat with Coach and a man dressed in a polo shirt and khakis. I wonder if anyone else notices how Mom leans slightly away from Dad’s body. Probably not.
Mom’s in homecoming-court mode, all smiles and laughs.
From over his shoulder, Dad indicates I
should join them by giving me one of his rare HC TITLE-AUTHOR
42
I’m-proud-of-you smiles. It makes me
unbalanced. Yeah, we won, but we win a lot.
It’s what state champions do. Why the
outpouring of pride now?
As I said, Dad and I are clones, except for the age and the skin. Years of rain, sun, heat, and cold have seasoned his face. Owning a construction company requires a lot of time in the elements. “Ryan, this is Mr. Davis.”
Mr. Davis and I both offer our hands at the same time. He’s tall, thin, and possibly my father’s age, except Mr. Davis doesn’t look weathered. “Call me Rob. Congratulations on a well-played game. You have a hell of a fastball.”
“Thank you, sir.” I’ve heard it before. Mom tells everyone God gave me a gift, and while I’m not sure what I think of that, I won’t deny I’ve enjoyed the ride. Too bad Dad and I couldn’t garner any interest at pro baseball tryouts.
I’m used to meetings and introductions.
Because Dad owns his own company and has a seat on the city council, he’s into networking.
Don’t get me wrong—Dad’s not the power—
hungry sort. He declined running for mayor HC TITLE-AUTHOR
43
several times, even though my mom has
been begging him to consider it for years. He’s just real into the community.
Rob tilts his head to the field. “Do you mind throwing a couple for me?”
Mom, Dad, and Coach share knowing grins
and I feel like someone told a joke and left me out of the punch line. Or maybe I am the punch line. “Sure.”
Rob pulls a radar gun and a business card out of the bag. He keeps the radar gun in his left hand and hands me the card. “I came here today to watch a player from the other team.
Didn’t see what I was looking for with him, but I think I found something promising with you.”
Dad claps my back, and his public showing of affection has me looking at him. Dad’s not a touchy guy. My family—we aren’t like that. I grip the card in my hand, and it takes everything I’ve got not to swear in shock in front of my mother. The man heading to the area behind home plate is Rob Davis, scout for the Cincinnati Reds.
“Told you that spring tryouts weren’t the end of it.” Dad motions for me to follow Rob. “Go HC TITLE-AUTHOR
44
blow him away.”
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
45
Beth