Page 67 of Freak Show

I’d contemplated hopping it earlier when I saw him bent over stretching his hamstrings. I’d also questioned whether I could get there and smack his ass before I either A, got caught by his horrible owner, or B, got caught by him.

Deciding I’d never make it either way, I’d resolved to stay in my seat.

And, to torture myself, I’d decided to check in with my family after radio silence for the last few days.

His eyes were fairly twinkling as he pushed yet again. “Come on. No one is out here but us. We’re the last ones here.”

That was true. The majority of the team had left.

However, Titus and Slone had agreed to stay with a young boy that looked so fresh and new that there was no way he wasn’t just picked up by the team.

I’d sat across from him on the way to the arena on the shuttle that’d been provided for the team.

Now, two hours after arriving, I was overly bored and wondering what we could do the rest of the day…if he was even allowed to go out and do anything.

I sure hoped so, because I’d never been to this particular area before, and what I’d seen so far was gorgeous. Pittsburgh was captivating, and I couldn’t wait to get out and do something other than sitting around and waiting.

I felt like I was practically wasting my vacation.

“Come on,” he urged.

I sighed and got up, making my way toward him down the short flight of steps.

When I got to the short barrier that was separating us, he held up his hands and said, “Come.”

I rolled my eyes and was about to tell him that wasn’t happening when he physically lifted me up and over the fence and sat me unceremoniously on the ground.

“Whoa!” I said, surprised by the sudden movements.

The man was strong.

I kept forgetting how strong, though.

To lift me up and over, that took serious strength.

And let’s just say I hadn’t exactly been willing, so that only made it harder.

“Have you ever thrown a football?” he asked as he handed me the ball.

Where it looked like it fit in his hand, it looked like it was double the size in mine.

“Uh, no,” I said. “A, we didn’t go to school with other kids. B, my dad saw ‘play’ as ‘unnecessary’ and chose not to allow that. C, I have tiny hands.”

Slone’s eyelid twitched. The more I talked to him about my dad, the more he disliked him. He didn’t even have to say a word to relay that message to me.

“Want to learn how to throw it?” he asked.

I was about to say no, but then the look of pure happiness on his face made me reconsider.

“Sure,” I replied hesitantly. “But my hand doesn’t fit all the way around it like yours does.”

“Not even mine fits all the way around it,” he said as he came in closer. I could smell him the closer he got, and just that alone made me want to jump him. I was sure that doing it in the middle of the arena might land him a fine, though. “Here, place your hands like this.”

He helped me position my hand on the ball, putting some of my fingers in the laces, while some remained outside of them.

“When you throw,” he said as he came in behind me and positioned my arm as if I was about to throw. “You want to sort of do this.”

He showed me how to throw it, then showed me how it should come off my fingers.

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