better.
And look how well that had worked out for him. Snapping his teeth closed, he tore a vicious bite out of the dog.
Intellectually, he knew one thing had nothing to do with the other. And yet—
Damned if he would ever allow himself to get caught in a trap like that again.
* * *
“G OOD GAME . G OOD GAME . Good game.” It was all Austin could do not to laugh like a lunatic as he and the rest of the Bulldogs filed in a line past the players on the opposing team, slapping hands and chanting the postgame wrap-up ritual with each man. ’Cause, jeez. It had been good game quadrupled. They’d kicked some serious ass today, winding up the final inning with a score of six to two.
He didn’t even mind that his old man had come. Okay, maybe he was the smallest bit glad that he had.
Because the guy had been crazy enthusiastic. He knew his baseball and totally got it when Austin’s team did something good, even if the fielding strategy of the moment didn’t result in a base gained or a point scored. He’d yelled his support over every single play the Bulldogs had pulled out of their hats, and whipped the surrounding parents into a cheering frenzy. He got them to chanting, “Hey, batta, batta, batta,” with each new batter up. That was probably some old nineties thing, but he had to admit, it was a little cool.
What was maybe cooler, though, was the way Jake had vocalized a singsong “Sling it in there, oh babe, oh babe!” every time he had winged a ball toward a baseman, then yelled, “Way to go, Austin!” And the three times his plays had failed, he’d called, “Good try!”
Then there was the photography. That was in a category all its own.
At the bottom of the third inning, his old man had climbed down from the stands with a big deal-looking camera slung around his neck. And, man, he’d been all over the place, the camera apparently an extension of his eye, one hand supporting the long lens. Whenever Jake—as Austin had caustically begun referring to him when he was forced to name him at all, since he was damned if he was going to call him Dad—was anywhere near, he was accompanied by a constant click-whir, click-whir.
Dude had also all but worn a path parallel to the foul lines, stalking up toward the outfield and back to the infield, with stops in between to take shots, often sinking down to squat on his heels. One time, when Daniels took that dive for third base in the sixth inning, his father had dropped full length on his stomach, only his elbows keeping him from doing a face-plant in the grass.
Austin was surprised he hadn’t climbed the damn backstop to take a few bird’s-eye-view shots.
His friends thought the whole deal was completely bitchin’, saying stuff like they could see how he stalked tigers and shit through the jungles. If someone held a torch to Austin’s feet, maybe, maybe he’d say that he thought it was pretty bitchin’ himself.
Maybe.
* * *
J ENNY TURNED TO T ASHA the minute they climbed into her car to head over to Bella T’s. Reaching across the console, she poked her friend in the arm. “What the hell was all that about?”
“Huh?” Tasha blinked. “What was what?”
“That whole let’s share the hunk and put him in the middle crap?”
“I thought, that is...” Tasha trailed off, giving Jenny a perplexed look. “You aren’t attracted to him, then?”
She blew an incredulous pffffftt. “Of course I am—have you taken a look at the guy? He, however, is not attracted to me. Which, trust me, made that whole shoving us together thing awkward as hell.”
The strawberry blonde snorted. “Please. I saw him looking at you that night at the Anchor—not to mention the fact he was practically in your lap way before I pushed him there—and he is definitely attracted!”
“No, he really isn’t.” The last thing she wanted was to go into this morning’s Three Stooges reference, so she cut to the meat of the matter. “He thinks I’m amusing.
And look how well that had worked out for him. Snapping his teeth closed, he tore a vicious bite out of the dog.
Intellectually, he knew one thing had nothing to do with the other. And yet—
Damned if he would ever allow himself to get caught in a trap like that again.
* * *
“G OOD GAME . G OOD GAME . Good game.” It was all Austin could do not to laugh like a lunatic as he and the rest of the Bulldogs filed in a line past the players on the opposing team, slapping hands and chanting the postgame wrap-up ritual with each man. ’Cause, jeez. It had been good game quadrupled. They’d kicked some serious ass today, winding up the final inning with a score of six to two.
He didn’t even mind that his old man had come. Okay, maybe he was the smallest bit glad that he had.
Because the guy had been crazy enthusiastic. He knew his baseball and totally got it when Austin’s team did something good, even if the fielding strategy of the moment didn’t result in a base gained or a point scored. He’d yelled his support over every single play the Bulldogs had pulled out of their hats, and whipped the surrounding parents into a cheering frenzy. He got them to chanting, “Hey, batta, batta, batta,” with each new batter up. That was probably some old nineties thing, but he had to admit, it was a little cool.
What was maybe cooler, though, was the way Jake had vocalized a singsong “Sling it in there, oh babe, oh babe!” every time he had winged a ball toward a baseman, then yelled, “Way to go, Austin!” And the three times his plays had failed, he’d called, “Good try!”
Then there was the photography. That was in a category all its own.
At the bottom of the third inning, his old man had climbed down from the stands with a big deal-looking camera slung around his neck. And, man, he’d been all over the place, the camera apparently an extension of his eye, one hand supporting the long lens. Whenever Jake—as Austin had caustically begun referring to him when he was forced to name him at all, since he was damned if he was going to call him Dad—was anywhere near, he was accompanied by a constant click-whir, click-whir.
Dude had also all but worn a path parallel to the foul lines, stalking up toward the outfield and back to the infield, with stops in between to take shots, often sinking down to squat on his heels. One time, when Daniels took that dive for third base in the sixth inning, his father had dropped full length on his stomach, only his elbows keeping him from doing a face-plant in the grass.
Austin was surprised he hadn’t climbed the damn backstop to take a few bird’s-eye-view shots.
His friends thought the whole deal was completely bitchin’, saying stuff like they could see how he stalked tigers and shit through the jungles. If someone held a torch to Austin’s feet, maybe, maybe he’d say that he thought it was pretty bitchin’ himself.
Maybe.
* * *
J ENNY TURNED TO T ASHA the minute they climbed into her car to head over to Bella T’s. Reaching across the console, she poked her friend in the arm. “What the hell was all that about?”
“Huh?” Tasha blinked. “What was what?”
“That whole let’s share the hunk and put him in the middle crap?”
“I thought, that is...” Tasha trailed off, giving Jenny a perplexed look. “You aren’t attracted to him, then?”
She blew an incredulous pffffftt. “Of course I am—have you taken a look at the guy? He, however, is not attracted to me. Which, trust me, made that whole shoving us together thing awkward as hell.”
The strawberry blonde snorted. “Please. I saw him looking at you that night at the Anchor—not to mention the fact he was practically in your lap way before I pushed him there—and he is definitely attracted!”
“No, he really isn’t.” The last thing she wanted was to go into this morning’s Three Stooges reference, so she cut to the meat of the matter. “He thinks I’m amusing.
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