Taylor picks up where Preston left off, “It must be the hair and the way his ass looks in those baseball pants.”
“You checking out my ass, Tay? You know you can have this anytime you want. But I don’t know if you can handle my particular brand of pleasure.” Miller winks and Taylor pretends to gag.
“Ew, gross. Can we not hear about what you like to do in the bedroom?” I toss in, shuddering at the thought of Miller in bed.
“Doesn’t always have to be the bedroom.” Miller smirks but lets it go.
“Who is coaching this year?” Ivory asks between bites. I shoot her a look of thanks for directing the conversation away from Miller’s bedroom prowess.
Preston reaches over to rub her shoulder. “I’m thinking it’ll be your old man.” She smiles at him.
The sportscaster confirms our guess when he says, “Coach Mike Crenshaw will lead the National League team this year. He’s doing great things in Nashville for the Troubadours, so this honor shouldn’t be surprising to anyone.”
“Yay, Daddy Mike,” Taylor cheers, drawing a glare from Ivory and making us all laugh.
“It’s just too easy, Hollywood.” Preston drops a kiss to her head when he walks inside to get a fresh round of drinks.
“Did I hear my name?” Mike walks around the side of the house to the back where we are sitting.
“Daddy Mike,” Miller and I shout this time with Taylor.
Mike just shakes his head and points at Miller. “Don’t you fucking start that in the locker room.”
“I don’t know, I think it’d be fun. You are our daddy after all.” This time it’s Ivory who laughs when Mike slaps Miller on the back of the head.
“Hey, Bug.” Mike wraps Ivory in a bear hug and kisses her on the cheek. “Ya’ll celebrating?”
“Just enjoying the official announcements. Preston is inside. Make yourself a plate. We have plenty.”
“Hey, Coach, help yourself,” Preston leaves the door open ashe rejoins us on the porch. He carries a tray of drinks in one hand and shakes Mike’s hand with the other.
“I see they’ve got you trained, son,” Mike says with a chuckle as Preston hands out our cocktails.
“Anything for my girls,” Preston smiles.
“Suck up,” Miller coughs into his hand, making us all laugh again.
Preston flips Miller off and says, “Grab a drink, Coach. We have to do our toast.”
Mike pops inside to grab a beer and quickly makes a burger while we wait for him.
“To our All Stars,” I say, starting the toast.
“And our favorite Coach and Daddy,” Taylor adds.
“To our ladies supporting us in the stands,” Miller says.
“To the best friends in the world,” Preston holds up his drink.
“To family and baseball,” Mike ends the toast. We all clink glasses in the center of the table and then again individually.
This group. This family, as Mike called it, is everything to me. I’ve been no contact with my blood family for so long that I didn’t realize what I had been missing out on while I was living here in Nashville by myself. When Ivory moved here, the boys got traded, and Taylor started visiting regularly, it was as if all the puzzle pieces came together and filled my life with a beautiful image.
If only it didn’t feel like a piece was still missing.
Again, my mind wanders to Chase. Or better yet, the man I met on vacation who I knew as Matt. Was the fantasy better than the reality? Or is my missing piece shaped like a overconfident baseball player ten years younger than me who is most definitely off limits?
“Gabberina,” Miller calls from somewhere in my house. Tonight is the Miller Foundation Charity Gala, an annual event to honor his sister, Mandy, who succumbed to breast cancer when Miller was in college. Since he’s been playing professionally, they try to time the gala around the All-Star break. This year, the gala is the Thursday before the break since the team had the day off.
