Page 15 of Off Season

“Judge all you want, but I gain an extra eight hours of knowledge every night that you guys don’t.”

Bailey shakes her head. “Because the human body requires sleep to function. You’re supernatural.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “I’ve had a lot of men and women tell me that.”

We approach Screwballs, and as soon as we step inside, the entire bar stands and claps. We all swivel our heads and look at each other. What is happening? Why are they clapping? Did someone famous walk in behind us?

The owner, an older man, approaches us with a giant smile on his face. “We had your game playing on all the televisions tonight.It was my first softball game. I can’t get over how great you ladies play. Everyone was mesmerized by the way you dominated the other team.” He holds up a camera. “Can we get a picture of you for you to sign that I’ll hang on the wall?”

We look at each other in a bit of bewilderment before we all happily agree and then pose for several photos with some of the patrons. I see the guys in our big booth, smiling throughout the interaction. They cheered like madmen tonight, and it’s cool that they’re being so supportive.

After the impromptu photo session, we make our way to the booth in a straight line, with me in the far back. Layton smiles. “Kam, you’re technically the last to arrive.”

When Arizona and Quincy were kids, their mom created a game in which the last person to arrive at the dinner table had to tell the group some random fact. This game not only enforces good habits about being on time for things but also forces you to constantly have random facts on hand.

I’ve seen it in action at the Abbott house. Frankly, it’s interesting. I love learning new, random things.

Apparently, Quincy has carried the tradition to every team he’s ever played on. The guys get a kick out of it. By virtue of friendship, it’s carried through to us as well. I don’t mind. I always have random shit churning through my head.

“Hmm. Let me think.” I briefly tap my lip before a good one occurs to me. “Do you know why bananas are crooked?”

Cheetah smiles. “For the same reason Ezra’s penis is crooked. Nature hates him.”

Ezra smacks Cheetah’s arm. “My dick isn’t crooked, asshole.” Then he mumbles, “Maybe a little, but at least I don’t have elephantiasis of the nuts.”

The guys all laugh while Cheetah gives them the finger. Men are such idiots.

I place my hands on my hips. “Does anyone want to know the answer?”

They all nod.

“Because of two interconnected reasons. One, they grow upward in opposition to gravity, which is always pushing against them. And two, they move toward the sunlight. Those two facts together cause them to be crooked.”

Cheetah shrugs. “That’s not why Ezra’s penis is crooked. He has no game and therefore never has a reason for it to grow upward.”

The guys all chuckle again. Even Ezra laughs this time. Men are so different from women. I would never insult my friends like that.

I force Cheetah to lift his shirt so I can see the writing and the artwork closeup. The snake is really good. He denies having it professionally done, but I’m confident he did.

After I take several pictures with Cheetah and his bare chest, which has my name on it, we have a few rounds of drinks, good conversation, and even a little dancing mixed in.

We’re on the dance floor, and Cheetah has his eyes on me the whole time. He happens to be a really good dancer. I ask, “Were you one of those weird kids who took ballroom dancing lessons as a kid? Did you wear tight pants and have slicked-back hair?”

“No.” He shakes his hips. “I’m Latino. Dancing and hip action in general are in my DNA. I’ve got a secret for you though. Trey was one of those weirdos. He can legit ballroom dance. You should have seen the two of them at their wedding. It looked like an episode ofDancing with the Stars.”

I look over at Trey and Gemma, who joined us tonight. He’s twirling her all over the place while they both smile and laugh.

“Wow, they’re amazing.”

He nods. “They are. You’re a good dancer too.”

He grabs my hips and moves them to the beat of the music.

I place my hands on his shoulders as we continue dancing. “I’ll give you a confession, kitten. I wanted to take dance lessons as a kid, but our mother wouldn’t allow it.”

His face falls. “Why not? My sisters all took dance lessons when they were really little, though only one was any good.”

“Our mother was a controlling asshole. We weren’t allowed to participate in normal activities until we were twelve. That’s kind of late to start dancing, and I really wanted to play ball. I had to choose.”

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