Page 43 of Bridesmaid for Hire
“Oh yeah?” Hardy says with a smile. “What else do you do?”
“Eh, we don’t need to get into—”
“They swap underwear,” Maggie answers.
Jesus Christ.
“What?” Hudson and Hardy say at the same time.
“Contract,” I mumble as I cough behind my mimosa. “Contract.”
But either she chooses to ignore me or doesn’t hear because she continues. “Oh yeah, they swap underwear. Sure, it’s clean, but they pick four different pairs and swap, and they’re only allowed to wear that underwear on game days. The tradition came when halfway through a playoff game in college, the Rebels were killing it, and Gary realized he was wearing Brody’s underwear. They shared a dorm. It was at that point that they established an underwear swapping ritual.”
Hardy turns to Hudson and elbows him. “How come we don’t swap underwear when the Bobbies are playing?”
“Because we don’t need to—the Bobbies always win.”
I’m about to protest when Haisley says, “I’ll swap underwear with you, Hardy.”
Hardy’s brow raises as he tilts his head, giving it some thought.
Jude pushes Hardy’s shoulder. “Don’t even think about it. I don’t need your balls on my wife’s underwear.”
That makes everyone laugh.
“What other rituals do you have?” Hudson asks, bringing it back to me.
I dismissively wave at him. “Oh, nothing really—”
“So many,” Maggie steps in once again, not getting my hint. “Where do we even begin? They hug three times before every inning. During theseventh inning stretch, they boop each other’s noses. And if the Rebels win, they each take a turn slapping each other’s butt while saying good game.”
So are we just throwing the contract right out the window?
“Not to mention what happens if they make it to the World Series.”
“Ooh, what happens?” Hardy asks, leaning forward with his mimosa.
“We don’t need to get into that,” I say, nudging Maggie this time.
But she seems to be on a roll of not giving a fuck. “If the Rebels make it to the World Series, Brody and Gary are required to perform the following rituals in this order. First game, both lying on their backs, pinkies linked.”Jesus, not the pinkies linked.“Second game, back-to-back, rotating every half inning so they don’t strain their necks.”That one just makes sense.“Third game, they feed each other potato salad every inning. That one’s disgusting to witness.”We keep a cooler to the side so it doesn’t get warm, not that you were asking.“Fourth game…hmm, what do they, oh yeah. They pretend their feet are phones and ring each other up every inning to call in the inning’s play.”That one we could have left out.“Fifth, sixth, and seventh, those are up for grabs. But if they do reach game seven, they have to wear their clothes backward with their underwear on the outside and sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ before every inning while holding hands and spinning around in circles.”
Well…fuck.
That’s pretty damning.
And for the record, I carry that song for the both of us. Gary has an awful voice, and I should be sainted for dealing with his off-pitch singing.
Hardy, Hudson, Jude, and Haisley are all crying-laughing, while Maggie smiles up at me, as if she has no idea what she just did. The twins are in the pool, completely oblivious to my undying embarrassment and thankfully, Reginald and Regina went for a walk.
But the damage has been done.
The Hopper siblings know and only time will tell when the news spreads. Fucking Gary and his traditions.
“That’s amazing.” Hardy wipes his eyes. “And that is why we’re not Rebels fans. Our boys just win without us having to sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.’” He laughs even harder.
Yup, I’m going to kill her.
“This slider is delicious. Oh my God, the beef is so juicy. Want to try a bite?”
