Page 34 of Reckless Encore

He struggled to free himself, having to resort to a sloppy stomach punch before the bass guitarist let go. “You couldn’t get the ball in if you stood right beneath it.”

“Then I guess we have a deal.” Blake turned to Mason, Ryan, and Sean. “Did you hear that? If I can make it from halfway, I get to name the kid.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“A deal’s a deal, daddy-o.” Mason came toward him, shooing him off the court. “We heard it. Now quit your yabbering while we all have a turn.”

Fucking idiots.

All of them.

But he didn’t care. The alcohol made annoyance impossible. At the moment, he felt like he could walk off the roof and float home.

Blake walked to the middle of the tarred court and bounced the ball over and over while staring at the hoop. One bounce, two. A fake shot, then another mass of bounces.

“Just throw the fucking thing,” Mason snapped.

“Shush.” Blake kept bouncing. “The future of my niece or nephew rests upon this throw.”

Blake didn’t have a hope in hell of sinking the ball through the hoop. Not even if he wasn’t swaying or squinting one-eyed at the backboard.

Mitch glanced at the lush grass behind him, his legs aching. He slumped to the ground, practically collapsing, his ass hitting hard at the same time Blake made a one-handed, over-arm throw. The ball glided through the air, spinning gracefully on a rather accurate trajectory.

Nobody made a sound.

Nobody moved.

Not until the ball hit the backboard, bounced, then descended through the hoop.

Noise erupted.

Blake yelled. Ryan and Mason cheered. Sean let out a piercing two-finger whistle.

“Holy shit. You got it in.” Mitch remained on the ground, stunned, as Blake ran around the court with his shirt raised over his head. “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way.” Blake skidded to a stop in front of him. “Now I get naming rights, motherfucker.” He dived forward, wrestling Mitch backward.

Sean joined in, then Mason and Ryan. The four of them nailed him to the ground like a tent peg.

“Say it, bitch,” Blake slurred. “Say, ‘You awesome motherfucker, you now get naming rights.’”

Mitch shook his head and struggled to free an arm to fight his way out of the mess. “No way in hell.”

Sean jabbed him in the ribs. “Say it.”

Fuck.

“You swore an oath.” Ryan poked him in the eye, the nose, the ear. “You agreed.”

“Jesus Christ, okay.” He bucked with all his strength but they didn’t budge. “Blake gets naming rights.”

His best friend grinned from ear to ear as one-by-one, the assholes climbed to their feet.

Mason released a maniacal laugh. “Good luck explaining that to your wife.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Blake winked. “Allie loves me.”

Not for much longer, that was for sure. In Alana’s current state, he had a high level of certainty that more than one of them would get stabbed with a fork.

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