Emily didn’t get a chance to finish what she was saying, because Franklin piped up with “Crickets? What are you talking about, Christian?” His little lisp turned the Brit’s name into Chrishian. “Crickets are bugs!”
Samantha wasn’t sure if she should be annoyed by the interruption or relieved. Why do all the BKI women keep acting like I’m the potential bad guy in this situation? It boggled her mind.
“Yes. Crickets are bugs.” Christian nodded, tossing the ball to Ozzie. “But cricket, singular, is a sport. The best sport on the planet besides football.”
“I like football.” Franklin grunted with the “effort” of catching the ball Ozzie once more tossed directly into his glove. “The Bears are my favorite team, but Daddy says they’re s’posed to be shitty this year.”
Every adult in the courtyard choked. Except for Michelle. “Franklin!” she sputtered, then shushed JJ, who had nodded off against her chest but stirred at her outburst. “For goodness’ sake! You know that word is naughty.” She narrowed her eyes until Franklin looked down at his feet and dug at the seam between two flagstones with the toe of his sneaker.
“Sorry, Momma,” he mumbled.
“Uh-huh.” Michelle muttered under her breath. “And add your father to the list of men I need to murder.”
Franklin’s little cheeks were bright. Being scolded in front of the others, particularly men he looked up to, had embarrassed him. Ozzie quickly came to the boy’s aid. “Well, Christian isn’t referring to American football anyway. He’s talking about soccer.”
Franklin lifted his head and wrinkled his nose at Christian. “You think soccer is the best sport? No way! It’s baseball!” To prove his point, he chucked another zinger above Christian’s head.
“Americans,” Christian lamented as he once again snagged the ball midair. “You’re all hopeless gobshites.”
“And on that note,” Michelle said, “it’s time to call it a night.”
“No!” Franklin howled. “Ten more minutes!”
“Nope.” Michelle shook her head. “You have school tomorrow, mister.”
“Aw, Momma!” Franklin did the disappointed, foot-stomping dance all kids seemed preprogrammed to know. “Please?”
Michelle pushed from the bright-red Adirondack chair, patting JJ’s bottom. “How many times has arguing ever worked with me?” she asked her older son.
Franklin slipped off his baseball mitt, shoulders slouching. With his bottom lip thrust out, he admitted, “Never.”
“That’s right.” Michelle tousled his hair. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the effort. Now, tell everyone good night.”
“G’night, everyone,” Franklin muttered sullenly.
Michelle shook her head, her gray eyes filled with love for her pouting son. “Yes, good night, everyone.”
When the trio headed toward the back door, Becky and Emily pushed up from their seats. Becky stretched her arms over her head and let loose with a noisy yawn. “I’m calling it a night too.”
“Me three,” Emily added, her dark hair catching the lights and shining like melted chocolate. “’Night all.”
Christian was quick to add his good-byes, and before Samantha knew it, she and Ozzie were alone.
“And then there were two.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. She couldn’t read the look he shot her from beneath the fan of his thick lashes. It seemed a little bashful. But that didn’t make sense. Ozzie was a lot of things. Bashful wasn’t one of them. “Do you…uh…do you feel like turning in? You’ve had a hell of a day. Again.”
“I seem to be making a habit of that, don’t I?” She downed the last of her wine and pushed up from the lounge chair, carefully folding the blanket Michelle had given her into a neat square. “But no. I’m not tired yet. Of course, if you want to—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m still keyed up. So…what should we…uh…what should we do?”
Samantha lifted an eyebrow. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the magic of the moonlight. Or, hell, maybe she was sick and tired of avoiding the subject. She blurted, “Oh, I can think of a thing or two. Both of them involve you naked.”
He choked on a laugh. “Wow. You don’t mince words, do you?”
“Not tonight.”
“Huh.” He nodded. Then, “How is your head?”
Was it just her, or was that question out of nowhere and seemingly apropos of nothing? “Fine. The wine helped.”
