Page 16 of Elusive

“I’ll go get the gear while you pick teams,” Emmet volunteers. “Still in the garage, Laney?”

“Yep, purple bins.”

“Gather round, people, draft starts now.” Presley directs, clapping once, sharp and hard. “Again, you suck worse than me, Sky, so you can pick first.”

“F you very much, and I pick Judd.”

“Brynny, you sure you got the pitchin’?” Presley asks her.

“All. Day. Long.”

“Then get over here.”

“Mom, you’re with me.” Sky takes her turn.

Presley slowly scans those remaining and I avoid her eyes as they make their way to me. I know she’s gonna leave me standing here, and it bothers me way more than it should. Brynn whispers something in her ear but she instantly shakes her head no to whatever was said… and captures my gaze, dead-on. “I pick Sutton.”

I hide my surprise — Presley’s full of ‘em — keeping full eye contact as I walk over to stand beside her.

“Since you’re here,” she leans in and whispers, at last airing the issue, “surely you can use that big ass body of yours to stop a ball. Don’t read more into it than that, though.”

Too late.

The back-and-forth continues until the teams are: Sky, Judd, Laney, What’s His Fuck, Zach, Evan, and Bennett, versus Hot Shot, Brynn, me, Dane, JT, Sawyer, and Bellamy.

“I’m sorry I picked you last,” Presley places a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder, “but I know you’re woman enough to handle it, whereas my dad or your man would’ve been butt-hurt the rest of the day.”

“I heard that.” Sawyer tugs on Presley’s ponytail. “Okay, I assume the plan is, Sutton’s gunning for major league boy,” thanks for outing me, boss, “so I should chop Zach, Evan, and Judd at the knees, right?”

“Beckett,” Dane shakes his head while pinching the bridge of his nose. “First off, my wife can outplay all of them, and if you touchher knees, I’ll break both of yours. Also, there’s the tiny, but pertinent fact, that it’s baseball. Not football. Not cage fighting. Bat, run, catch, throw. That’s the gist of it. No knee-chopping.”

“Now that we’re clear on the sport we’re actually playing,” P smirks pointedly at her father, then cups her hands around her mouth and yells toward the other huddle, “game on, bitches!”

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