Page 101 of Curveball
“Been told that a time or two.”
“Just come with me. I’ll make it quick. Ish.”
“Sure. Gonna grab a beer, first.”
“Yeah. Grab me one, too.”
I pull a couple of bottles from a cooler nearby, pop the caps, and hand him one.
“Any of these pretty ladies available?” I ask as we wade into the crowd.
“Don’t know. Don’t start a fight.”
He drags me from group to group and introduces me, like I know or care who any of these dudes are. Then, one of them, a bald-headed guy, looks at me closer.
“Hey, you’re Torres, yeah?” He sticks out his fist and I bump it.
“That’s me. You like hockey?”
“What’s not to like? Congrats on the big season, man. That’s got to feel good.”
Feels good in my bank account.The words nearly sail from my mouth, then I catch sight of Flynn’swatch itface, and edit myself on the fly.
“Feels great, man. Thanks. Good luck with the rest of yours, too.” Then, I peel off before I realize Flynn’s not right behind me, so I hang tight, scope out the ladies while I wait for him to cut himself loose from the crowd. He finally sidles up to me.
“It’s a target-rich environment, Nichols,” I tell him. More than a few of the women are strutting around in bikinis, and I’m not mad about it.
“So’s Fiji. Maybe you need a vacation.”
I do need a vacation. Need to get laid, too. Then, a girl strides by with her squad on her heels, all dressed in not hardly enough for girls their age, andwhat the hell?I grab Flynn’s arm.
“The fuck kind of party is this? Those are little girls over there.” I point my chin in the direction the girl gang set off to.
“Would you chill? They’re teenagers. Max’s daughter and a couple of her friends. We’re also celebrating his stepson’s sixteenth birthday tonight. Boy’s a ballplayer, too.”
“Good for him. We about done here?”
“Almost. I still need to see Murph. Guys told me he went out front.” We steer for the wide doors that lead back into the house.Flynn gets caught up a couple more times along the way, but I don’t give him shit. Just stand by patiently for him tonetwork. Next stop is dinner, and a chat about next year. After the way I played this season, I’ve got a few ideas about how the team can say thank you.
“So, this guy . . . Murph?” We make it out to the front porch without any more ambushes. There’s a crowd of people standing around an oversized pickup truck parked at an odd angle in front of the house. A pair of teenage boys are hopping all around and yelling with excitement, like they’ve never seen one before.
“Max Murphy,” Flynn says. “The Terrors’ starting pitcher. That’s him, over there with his boy and the boy’s friend. His wife, Palmer, and her friend are there, too. Come on and I’ll introduce you to all of them.”
I let him lead me, still kind of watching the kid wearing the Terrors snap cap and messing with the key fob for what’s, apparently, his birthday gift. When I was sixteen, I got brand new elbow pads. My first pair that didn’t already have someone else’s sweat on them.
When we get close and Flynn calls out, the big guy nearest the kid turns our way, taps his wife on the arm, and they both come over. After a few minutes of small talk, Flynn comments about the truck.
“Pretty nice truck, huh? Look like Dylan’s a little excited about it.”
Flynn’s acting all nonchalant, like it’s not Ford’s top-of-the-line model. At least the kid seems to appreciate their gift.
“Don’t even get me started, Flynn,” the lady with the wild curls—fucking Palmer—says with a big smile, but her teeth are clenched. “I better never hear from Alejandro again in my life.”
I want to ask. I want to askso bad. Instead, I’ll just wonder until I get Flynn alone, but why’d they buy him a truck if they’remad about it, and who the hell is Alejandro? As it turns out, I don’t have to wait that long.
“I have a signed statement from him, Palmer,” Flynn tells her as her friend walks up beside her, and my night is looking up. Lady is a smoke show with smooth, golden brown skin and hazel eyes. The skirt she’s wearing is doing fantastic things to her ass, and I peep the rounded tops of her breasts through the plunging front of her blouse. Her dark braid is long over one shoulder, and that shit’s gotta go past her waist when it’s hanging free.
“There you go, Palmer,” she says without even looking my way. “Flynn and Max’s attorney are looking out for you. Now, you going to tell Dylan he has to give it back?”
