“So, are we just not gonna talk about how you had your tongue down her throat the other day?” Easton asks for the millionth time.
Mental note. Easton and secrets don’t mix.
We follow the signs to the baseball fields, passing a shit-ton of soccer fields. “No, we’re not.”
“Didn’t look very fake to me,” Easton says.
“And you’re going to keep your mouth shut about it. It’s not happening again.”
He puts up both hands. “Shit, sorry. You two looked hot though. I mean, Deck, her leg was over his hip, and our boy here was grinding into her, his tongue so far down her throat I’m not sure she could breathe.”
“I don’t need or want the play-by-play,” Decker says, shaking his head. “Does Callie know?”
Easton blows out a breath. “Man, you need to worry about the rules a little less. Live a little.”
“No, she doesn’t know, and she won’t because it’s not happening again. Now let’s just find Lincoln’s team. I wanted to be here earlier, but you jackasses tagged along.” I shut down the conversation about my make-out session with Leighton, eager to see her in action.
She was so worried the other night. I didn’t want to overstep, but she asked for some help, so I showed her some things she could have the kids work on. Having her watching from the patio chair and me in the yard with Lincoln felt really nice, like we were a family.
“I give up. Where the fuck are the fields?” Easton throws his hands in the air. He’s a little pissy after going oh for three today at the plate.
“That sign says the baseball fields are this way. Let’s go.” I point at the sign, and we head in that direction.
We reach a hill, and when we crest the top, all three of us stop.
“Holy shit, there’s a million of them,” Decker says.
He’s right. Little yellow bodies, little red bodies, little green bodies all running around in organized chaos.
“Lincoln’s team has maroon jerseys,” I say, scanning the area.
“There.” Easton points.
“I think that’s red.” I pull off my ball cap and run my hand through my hair before fitting it back on my head.
“No, there.” Decker points.
“Are you color blind? That’s brown.” Easton crosses his arms.
I finally spot them mixed together with the orange team. Why are they playing a game when every other team is practicing in the outfields?
“There they are.” I point in their general direction. I lead the way and the guys follow.
“Some of these kids are really good,” Decker says.
“Hopefully, since she has their team in a game, she got some more advanced kids. It would make it easier for her,” I say.
As we approach the outfield, I overhear a couple of the dads talking.
“I don’t get it. Why doesn’t she just let Mike coach? They’re going to fall back this year now.”
Easton’s eyebrows raise, and Decker mouths, “What the fuck?”
I decide to slow my steps and lean against the fence line. “New coach, huh?” I ask, lowering my baseball hat.
Easton and Decker do the same, standing on either side of me.
None of the dads take their eyes off the field, so I’m pretty sure I don’t need the ball cap.
