Page 10 of Totally Fanatic

“Don’t you dare!”

“Come on, man, we’re hungry,” he whines.

“You can wait one minute. I want to get the ribs out.”

“Ohhh, there are ribs, okay, I’ll wait,” he says, plonking down on the seat next to Ian and cuddling in at his side. Just then, I notice the little yellow spots around the roof. Ducks, and fucking hell, there are a lot of them.

“When did you have time to duckify my roof? There must be twenty up here.”

“Try one hundred,” Duckie laughs. “You’re welcome, now come on, feed me before I go down to the car and grab the other hundred.”

“You’re kidding?”

Ian shakes his head, and I open the smoker, filling the roof space with the sweet scent.

***

The ribs were perfect, and when I threw on gloves to shred the pork shoulder in the tray, everyone gathered in close with their brioche buns at the ready.

I pull out my phone and take a photo of the guys all enjoying the meal, then turn around and get myself in the shot, too.

“Smile,” I call out, and they all cheer, mouths half stuffed with food. It’s a great shot, the fairy lights strung around the roof glisten behind them like bright stars and cover them in a warm glow.

I open up my socials, and before I get lost in checking in on the feed, I upload the photo and caption it,Game night and BBQ. My second favorite double of this week.

I’m hardly scrolling a minute when the notifications of likes and shares start coming through, and my heart picks up a little when I see a comment from Kittyball100.

“Have a great night killing it on and off the field,”Kittybal100 writes, and I quickly reply.

“I don’t know if we’re more competitive on the field or off these days.”

“Whatever you’re doing is working, just take on game night like you take on a fly ball and you’ll get the win. But most importantly, have fun.”

Kittyball100 is right. I didn’t start having game nights because I wanted another way to win. I did it to hang with the guys and have some fun. I scroll back up my feed at earlier posts to see if there are any comments there, too. I know I shouldn’t care so much about what other people think, about having likes and building followers but I do. I care that people like me. I care that people see me. I care. And it’s because I care that I get so lost in scrolling and commenting that I don’t see that everyone else is finished eating and is sitting waiting for me.

Duckie grabs the top of my phone, pulling it free from my hands.

“Okay, food’s done, time’s up,” he says.

“I was just replying to some posts,” I say, and he scrolls through my feed. Then pauses and tilts his head to one side.

“Is this the guy from the other night?” he asks, swiping his fingers on the screen to zoom in.

He turns the phone, and on the screen is Lion, the guy we met picking up dinner the other night, and who I’m eighty-five percent sure is Kittyball100. He’s in a crowd shot cheering at our last game.

“Maybe, so what? He said he’s a fan, our fans come to games.”

“And eat at the same restaurants,” Duckie adds.

“It’s got the best ribs in Savannah, lots of people eat there.”

Ryan reaches for the phone. “What’s the issue?”

Duckie hands it to him, and Ian whispers for him to stop, but Duckie isn’t one to listen to anyone when he gets going.

“This guy loves Tim. Like, loooves Tim. He sounded a bit obsessed the other night.”

“He did not.”

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