Page 73 of Mom Ball

“Yeah.”

“I saw a Double Drive sign. Who owns that?” Nate asks.

“Earl Ed Mayberry.”

His brows lift. “I thought he was in jail.”

“He got out on good behavior and started a go-kart and putt-putt place.”

“Good for him. I thought he got a bad break going to jail for stealing mail.”

“Yeah. The place is pretty fun, actually.”

“You should go with us sometime.” Timothy peeks around me at Nate.

“I will.” He smiles at Timothy.

Then he looks at me and smiles deeper, like he’s trying to convey a hidden message, or maybe flirt. Whatever he’s trying to do, it’s working. I dip my head and follow him inside.

Our group gathers at the door, and a man not much taller than me asks how many are with us. Morgan quickly counts all the adults and kids, then throws out a number that makes his eyes bulge.

“Is it okay to do two big tables and a booth?” he asks in a heavy accent.

“Yep.” She turns to us. “Kids at one table, adults at the other.”

The host leads us to the dining area and speaks Spanish to a waiter. They pull together a bunch of tables, leaving one walkway in the center of the room. The kids pile around one table and the adults at the other. I pull out a chair to sit on the end, and Morgan jumps in it.

She bats her eyelashes at me. “I guess you and Nate are stuck with the booth. Sorry.”

I frown when she drags out “sorry.” Sarcastic minx.

“That’s fine.” Nate takes a couple of menus from the waiter, and we find a nearby booth.

I’ve barely had time to read the specials when I sense someone standing over me. I open my mouth to say I need a few more minutes, assuming it’s the waiter.

No, it’s Jeffrey and Bubba. Two more coaches get up from the booth behind us.

Jeffrey crosses his arms, showing off his fake sleeve and gold watch. His eye is still swollen from this past weekend. “What brings y’all here?”

Nate lifts his menu. “Food.”

“We won tonight,” Jeffrey says with a huff.

“So did we,” Nate says.

“We? You better not have helped coach.”

“I didn’t. I said ‘we’ since I’m a fan. Ask Bradley Manning, I sat on my rear and ate popcorn.”

He sniffles. “Glad to know they won. We can’t have the gray team ruining the Armadillos’ reputation.”

He walks by and his entourage follows. I scrunch my face and watch them march away in a line like ducks in a row. Arrogant, ugly, redneck-men ducks.

“Well, that was entertaining,” Nate says once they’re out of sight.

“And rude.”

“That’s just sports, dumpling. You’ve got to overlook it.” He flips a menu page and continues browsing.

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