Page 107 of Mom Ball

It’s nights like this I miss Dom. He was my other first roommate and an awesome catcher. A few years in, the Dodgers snatched him. Last year he retired and moved back to the Dominican Republic to coach young players. That was always his goal, and I admired him for it. I’m not certain if Ace has a goal, other than to live life like one big party.

Needless to say, Dominic and I had more in common. Except for him being the oldest of eight boys and me an only child. Plus, he had a great father figure. And thinking of that makes me miss Timothy too.

I almost choke on my tea when Ace slaps my back. “Come play some pool.” His perfect teeth shine in the dark lighting.

“Let me finish my food first.”

“Eat, sleep, work out.” His voice is monotone.

“I don’t sound like that.”

He laughs and slaps me harder. “Come on man, live a little. We’re not even thirty yet.”

I push back my chair and start to stand.

“All right, you’re in.”

“Nope. Going to the restroom.” I stand and drain my tea, then pass him.

He boos behind me, but stops when I take a few steps. I hear him talking with a woman and shake my head.

This is one guy I don’t see settling down. Dom, definitely. Me, Lord, please, with Brooke. Ace, never.

I pull open the heavy metal door to the restroom and open the door to a stall. After I’m done, I rush to wash my hands. My goal is finishing my meal and heading home before something crazy happens with Ace. Because it always does when he’s involved.

As I’m grabbing a paper towel, I see a woman standing behind me from the mirror. I flinch and turn around when I recognize her from earlier.

“Ma’am, this is the men’s restroom.”

“I know.” She does something sensual with her lips. “And I’m no ma’am.”

I exhale in frustration. This doesn’t happen to me often, but when it does, the women are relentless—and crazy.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I wipe my hands and shift to sidestep her.

She presses herself closer until we’re about an inch away. Then she pulls the napkin from her cleavage. “You forgot to write your number.”

“No, it’s on there. Number sixteen.” I tighten my lips, showing no sign of amusement.

“I meant your phone number.”

Obviously, but I don’t give that away.

She reaches for my belt and I shrink back against the counter. I could move this woman with one finger, but that would do one of two things. Either give her the impression I’m interested or have her report me for physical abuse. Regardless, I won’t win.

I have no choice but to resort to distraction. “Let me fix that for you.” I take the napkin from her hand.

I turn and drop it in the sink, then twist the faucet. Water flushes the napkin, and she shrieks.

Luckily, she’s so focused on the napkin disintegrating that I slide by her and out the door. Ace is at our table with a woman on both sides of him when I return.

In my estimation, I have about two minutes before the bathroom barracuda either slings a drink at me or keys my truck. I pull a hundred from my wallet and slap it on the table. Then I pick up my plate and head for the door. A hundred dollars should more than cover the cost of that plate.

I hurry outside and climb in my truck. Only when I’m safely at a red light about a mile away do I relax and stuff a few fries in my face.

I have somewhat of a reputation for stealing plates both on and off the field. But it’s always for a good reason.

The light turns and I drive toward my condo. Nine years ago, I left Pool Pub in Atlanta with a half-eaten burger on a plate. Back then, it was a huge sacrifice to leave a twenty, and my truck barely made it to Tuscaloosa.

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