Page 84 of Firecracker


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“Yeesh,” I said under my breath as I watched him go. I stood in the bright sunshine for a long moment after he’d let himself in through the french doors, letting him get to wherever he was going so I wouldn’t run into him again.

I didn’t know Thatcher Pennington well—we’d barely spoken more than a few words here and there over the years—but I could not imagine dealing with Brantleigh long-term. I really hoped karma had something good in store for him.

Firecracker:Guess who’s gonna be pitching for Team Honeycutt today? You’re going down, baby.

I glanced down at my phone and smiled.

Me:Wait, are you talking about what’s gonna happen DURING the softball game? Or AFTER?

Firecracker:lol.You’re gonna have to wait and see, Frog.

Fuck, I thought as I tucked my phone back in my pocket. I really hoped karma had something good in store for me and Flynn, too.

But in the meantime, I had a softball game to win.

* * *

“Bases loaded,” Pop Honeycutt warned. “The Wellbridges are up by two, the Honeycutts have two outs and two strikes! Flynn Honeycutt is at bat, and the Honeycutts need a run, but Frog Wellbridge’s been awful stingy out there on the pitcher’s mound for Team Wellbridge. Everyone knows Firecracker’s got a temper and a half on him. Can he stay focused long enough to make the play?”

Flynn tapped his bat on the ground and shot his grandfather a glare at his color commentary.

Pop smiled complacently back at him.

From the pitcher’s mound, I laughed out loud.

“Just throw the damn ball, pitcher!” Flynn called. “I feel myself aging over here. FYI, this is not what they mean by a slow ball!”

From second base, Alden Honeycutt hooted.

“You’re not gonna score on me, Honeycutt,” I yelled, loud enough to carry. “Doesn’t matter how fast or slow I go.”

“I’ve already scored on you, Frog. Several times, in fact.” Flynn’s grin was a feral, gorgeous thing, entirely inappropriate for an occasion when I was wearing tight softball pants, damn it.

“Nuh-uh,” my teenage cousin Nadia yelled from the stands. “You only scored one run. The score’s 3-1, Flynn!”

Flynn’s grin widened as he shifted his stance beside the plate. He and I both knew he wasn’t talking about the game.

“I’m trying to decide how I wanna pitch it to you,” I called, pursing my lips. “Fast or slow? Faaaast? Or slooooow.”

Flynn huffed impatiently. He knew I wasn’t talking about the game either. “If you don’t decide real quick, I’m gonna come over there and pitch it toyou. Hard.”

I bit my lip. “I might let you.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how innings work, though, is it?” Castor called from third base. “You can’t just—”

“I know, Cas!” Flynn said impatiently. I snorted, and Flynn’s hot gaze flew back to mine.

“I think this is a delay of game,” he shouted. “Ref? Ref! Is this a delay of game?”

Pop grabbed his mic and wrinkled his nose. “How the heck should I know? Just move it along, Frog.”

“But Flynn!” I clasped a hand to my chest and smiled sunnily. “I thought you liked it when I… delayed your game. Makes it more fun for everyone that way.”

“More fun for you,” Flynn shot back. “Pitch the dang—”

I wound up and threw the ball unexpectedly, landing it square in the middle of Marta’s glove.

“Strike three,” Pop called sadly. “That’s all she wrote!”

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