Page 51 of Double Play

“She didn’t escape before,” I scoff. “I was the stupid one.” I point to my chest.

“And she was young.” He pauses a second, leaning forward to jab a finger into the table. “But now, you’re not. Neither of you are. You’ve sowed your oats.”

“Enough with the clichés,” I warn him. Plus, he knows I haven’t been as wild as our name indicates.

“And she’s had her oats mashed up.” Dasher knows India is divorced. “It’s time to bring your oats together.” He purrs, leaning back in the booth seat again. “Make oatmeal. Or better yet, cookies.”

“What’s with the food analogy?” I laugh.

“Unless you’ve got a raisin down there, all shriveled up and not working anymore.”

“What the fuck?” I choke at his suggestion that my dick doesn’t function.

“All I’m saying⁠—”

“Yes, please say something intelligent,” I interject, before staring down at my glass, clutched between my hands.

“You don’t want to miss another opportunity with that girl.” He watches me a second, his thoughts processing before he wiggles his brows. “And she came to your house dressed for sinnin’.”

My face heats and I look away from my brother. We aren’t ones to discuss women like conquests. India is certainly not one for me.

“I’m going to tell you a funny story,” Dasher begins again, tipping forward and pressing his forearms on the table. “You know Ross Davis has a new wife, right?”

I don’t keep up on the love life of fellow coaches, but I’d heard a rumor.

“And do you know how he met her.”

Uhm, of course not. But I don’t have time to answer before Dasher continues. “They met in an elevator.”

“O-kay.” I blink, wondering where this story is going.

“Then he saw her again months later during Spring Training.”

I tilt my head, puzzled.

“And he offered her this silly proposition. Sleep with him.” Dasher laughs. “Davis swore the woman was good luck for him, as long as she slept with him.”

“Sounds misogynistic.” I didn’t have Ross pegged for that kind of behavior.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. It was literally sleeping.” Dasher twitches one brow. “At first.”

“I’m confused.”

“My point is, Ross knew he had a good thing, he just didn’t recognize yet that it was more than being an overly superstitious ball player, or in his case, coach, thinking this woman was his lucky charm.”

“What was it then?”

“It was love. Sowing its seeds instead of oats.”

“Back to oats,” I mutter. Then louder I say, “Sounds a bit romantic, especially for you.”

“Moi.” He exaggerates, pressing his hand to his chest. “I’m romance personified.”

“Since when?” I snort, but Dasher dismisses me with a wave of his large hand.

“Declan.” My name is said a little too seriously. “Love doesn’t happen by lucky charms or superstitions.”

“I know that.”