Page 122 of Wild Love
“Okay. What about… 4 Guys 12 Balls.”
“Fuck no,” a dry voice grumbles from behind me. I turn to see Bash, beer in hand, pulling up a stool at our high-top table.
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “Got back yesterday. West called today for a practice. Figured, why the hell not?”
I spin on West. “I didn’t know other people were coming to our practice.”
West shrugs, brushing me off. “I wasn’t expecting this to be the moment you declared your love for my sister.”
“Rosie?” Bash’s brow furrows, and I prop my elbows on the table, dropping my head into my hands. “Explains why you fired Scotty. That kid thinks with his dick,” Bash mumbles before taking a deep swig.
“Okay, enough about Rosie. Back to team names.”
I ignore West. “Bash, are you going to wear a team shirt?” He shrugs, face impassive. “Sure. I don’t care. Not concerned about how I look in a magazine. Would rather beat Stretch.”
God. I’m so petty. I swear all anyone has to do is mention beating Stretch, and I totally pivot.
“Okay.” West holds his hands up like he has something amazing to announce. “Here’s another one. Bowls Deep.”
“No,” I say, right as Bash quirks a brow and asks, “How old are you?”
“Okay, fine. Gutter Gang?”
“That makes it sound like you’re all a bunch of rats that live in the sewer,” a feminine voice cuts in.
When I turn, I come face-to-face with the woman who’s always at the town bistro where I buy Rosie her tea.
“Tabby!” West lifts his hands up in greeting.
The name rings a bell. She looks familiar, and I suspect I should remember her from summers spent here as a kid. But it’s her hand, wrapped tight around a mountain of a man’s bicep, that draws my attention.
“Overheard your phone conversation earlier, West. You need a fourth for your team?”
West glances back at us. “Oh yeah, forgot to mention that Crazy Clyde is in the hospital. Kidney issues. Had to go check on him. Assure him they weren’t making up his diagnosis just to harvest his organs.”
Bash grumbles and shifts in his seat. “Who the fuck would want Clyde’s organs?”
“Right. Well, here. This is Rhys. Take him.” The tiny woman shoves the man forward like he’s nothing, even though he’s got at least an inch or two on me and is built like a football player.
He’s on the scruffy side, with long, dark hair and a beard.
But it’s his eyes that are the darkest. I’m not easily intimidated, but if I was going to be intimidated by someone, it might be him.
West clearly suffers from no such feelings. “You’re one big bitch, aren’t ya?” he says as he claps the guy on the shoulder. “You can say that again.” Tabby scowls at the guy’s back, and he stiffens at her words, though he doesn’t turn to face her.
“You ever bowled before?” West carries on.
“No,” the guy grits out, clearly annoyed by the situation.
“You a dad? We can always get you a cat or something if you’re not. Then it will still count as Dads’ Night Out.”
“You’re going to make this guy a cat-dad?” Even Bash sounds floored by West’s confidence.
“Not a big cat guy,” the guy responds. “And I’m not really a dad either.”
Tabby barks out a laugh. “Rich.” Then she turns on West. “Heisa dad, whether or not he wants to admit it. And for what it’s worth, I think you should name your team the Man Children.”
