Julia glanced at Ricky. “Wanna ride with me?”
Ricky’s gaze shifted. “Can I drive? I have a permit.”
Before Brock or Heath could warn her, she chirped, “Sure, if you carry the box.”
“Deal.” Ricky grabbed a box of paper and trotted off with Julia.
Heath made the sign on the cross over his chest.
“Is his driving that bad?” asked Ashley.
“Should we warn her?” Brock asked Heath.
Heath kissed the cross hanging on a gold chain around his neck and looked towards heaven as if invoking a blessing upon Ricky and Julia. “It’s in God’s hands now.”
Sheila pressed her hand to her stomach. “I actually like Julia, so if there’s something you all want to tell me …”
The group held their breath as Julia’s car started up, backed slowly out of the parking spot, and left the stadium.
“Huh?” Brock ran his hand through his hair. “Maybe he needed a female instructor.”
“Yeah, or you suck.”
Brock lifted a shoulder. “I’ve never taught anyone to drive before. It’s like trying to explain how to walk.”
“Or how to hit a ball,” added Heath.
Ashley giggled. “Maybe for some of you.” She smacked Heath’s arm, and his ears flamed.
Brock folded his arms, enjoying his buddy’s discomfort. “Hey, if you guys get done in time, you should go to the cages and let Heath show you how to hit. See if he’s any good at coaching.”
Heath rounded on him, his jaw clenching.
“What? If Brayden Birks can coach pitching, you can coach batting.”
Sheila rescued Heath with, “Work on the flyers first, please.”
Heath grumbled what sounded likelittle Pez headas he reached down and picked up the second to last box. “Where to?”
Ashley pointed to her light blue car. Heath headed that way. As they were walking, Ashley flipped around and fanned her face. Sheila shook her head and mouthedwork.Ashley gave her one of those shrugs that said,I can’t be held accountable for what I’m about to do.
Sheila sighed. “It’s a wonder any work gets done around here with twenty-five hotties running amuck.” She grabbed the back of the dolly so she could roll the box around the parking lot. “My car or your truck?”
Brock’s head spun. “Twenty-fivehotties?”
Sheila swatted at his arm. “Come on. You guys have to know you’re all totally hot.”
Brock struck the pose Juan did when he was bragging about the underwear commercial he’d filmed. “Whatever do you mean?”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly hot?”
“Oh my gosh. Get in the truck.” Her face was pink.
Brock had the unmistakable urge to run the backs of his fingers down her cheek, to feel the softness of her skin, the warmth. Instead, he opened her door, then the back door where he loaded the box, and finally the tailgate where he slid in the dolly. It fit perfectly against the stack of wood he’d picked up that morning.
“Project?” Sheila asked as he climbed in the cab and clicked his seat belt in place.
