Page 4 of About Time

I turn my attention back to Hattie. “Thanks for bringing that over, kiddo. You saved me.”

She steps back like she saw I was one impulse away from ruffling her hair. “It’s Hattie, not kiddo. Whatever, you have your glove now so I’m done here.” She spins on her heel and gives me a dismissive wave over her shoulder as she walks away.

I fight the urge to laugh. Her surprising rise in temper distracts me. It’s been a while since I’ve been amused by a woman, or in this case a girl. I decide the little brat is going to be my friend. I look over at the redhead still giving me fuck me eyes, and back to Hattie. She’s a bit of a tomboy in her Chucks, overalls, and high ponytail. Her face was noticeably clear of makeup, and the only color was the blood making her cheeks burn bright red.

Somehow irritating her is more fun than I expect I’m going to have with the woman whose name I don’t even plan on learning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to go home with her, but I’m not sure why at the moment.

Every Sunday our team gathers in the Parkers’ backyard for a barbecue. He’s the captain, which doesn’t necessarily mean he’s in charge of all of our team-building activities, but Martin has always been a take-charge kind of guy.

He’s a success story in Harriston. No, he didn’t go off to a big university with his baseball talent. He wanted a quieter life, and by everything I’ve seen, he’s very happy with it. He married his high school sweetheart, Elisa, months after graduation. Then they both went off to the community college one town over. He’s a radiology technician and makes enough money to have a house and support his family.

Elisa stopped working as a bookkeeper when she got pregnant with Wren at twenty-one. She’s pretty much the gold standard of mothers. She volunteers for the PTA, bakes brownies for fundraisers, and chaperones field trips.

As teenagers, we were all lusting after Elisa Reynolds. Her blonde hair, green eyes, and curvy figure had us all following after her. She only ever had eyes for Martin though. They were the “it couple,” and while some of the guys poked fun at them getting married so young, me included, I get it now. When you have a woman like Elisa, you have to lock her down fast. If you don’t, some other guy out there won’t be a dumb ass and realize the perfect woman is right in front of them.

Elisa is the real reason the Parkers’ barbecues are so popular. While Martin mans the grill, Elisa whips up some of the most amazing dishes to go along with it. She can turn simple potato salad into something you’d sell your left nut for. Don’t even get me started on her pies. It’s a good thing they only do these oncea week, or our winning streak would go down while we try to lug our fat assess around the bases.

I contribute beer. No one wants me in the kitchen, so I’ve been designated beer bitch. Well, me and a few other guys, because this is Harriston and what else is there to do on a Sunday? Go to church? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. If I stepped one foot inside I can’t swear that the building won’t spontaneously go up in flames. I can’t have that on my conscience, now can I?

“Beer Bitch!” They shout as I stroll into the backyard with a case in each hand. It’s the cheap stuff, but we aren’t snooty assholes here talking about the flavor of hops in our microbrew. We proudly drink weak-ass beer as long as it has alcohol in it.

Immediately I spot a woman who is neither on the team, nor the wife or girlfriend of someone who is, which can only mean one thing. I send up a silent prayer that she’s here for Rick, the only other single guy on the team. I doubt anyone would bother setting him up though, because he’s hopeless. I might be a bachelor by choice, but he’s one because even in Harriston women don’t want a dude who’s still living with his parents at thirty. Not only that, but his mom makes his lunch and does his laundry still.

“Martin—” I use his name like it’s both a statement and a question.

He holds his hands up. “I know, Charlie. It’s not my fault. Elisa wanted to introduce you.”

“Lis,” I whine. “I’m very happy being a slut. I don’t want a wife.”

She puts her hand on her hip and gives me a look that makes me want to go clean my room. “What makes you think she wants marriage?”

I shake my head. “Who else wears a sweater set to a barbecue except a woman longing to join you on the PTA.” I pause for asecond and a chill rolls down my spine. “Wait, you didn’t meet her on the PTA did you? I am far too irresponsible to be set up with a single mom. I’m better equipped for a play date with the kid.”

I hear a burst of laughter behind me and turn around to find Hattie sitting in the shade by the house. “At least he’s self-aware.”

I glare at the kid. “At least I know that overalls are for toddlers or old men.” I regret the words the second they are out of my mouth. She’s not even wearing the offensive garment today. I hold my breath waiting for tears, which will make me feel like shit. I don’t make girls cry, just cry out in pleasure.

Hattie’s green eyes spit fire. “It’s actually a trend, TLC even wore them in a music video. You’d probably know if you paid attention to women other than those who think bras are outerwear.”

Elisa laughs, then tries to cover it with a cough. I’m ignoring her though and focusing on her brat of a baby sister.

Hattie’s lips twitch and my eyes narrow. “You’re funny kid.” She does have a point though. The women I’ve hooked up with recently have been low on substance.

The sound of a car honking interrupts whatever she is going to say. She stands up, and she’s definitely not wearing overalls today, nor does she look like a kid.

“That’s Donovan and Mandy. We’re going to Mandy’s to watch movies,” she says as she tries to hurry from the backyard.

“The Miller kid?” I ask, stepping in front of her.

“Elisa,” Hattie says instead of answering me.

Martin puts his hand on my shoulder. “He’s a good kid. They’ve been friends since junior high.”

“Is he a sixteen-year-old boy?” I ask him.

He gives me a puzzled look, not catching on to what I’m saying. “They’re all sixteen.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Do you remember being a sixteen-year-old boy?”

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