Page 70 of The Call-Up
Danton tips his head back, laughing. “He’s got you there, Rye. But…” He pauses and takes his attention back to Brandon. “Again, who stores Pop-Tarts in the fridge? I don’t think it’s possible for those things to even go bad.”
“It’s not!” I say. “I should know. I’ve been slowly making my way through a case I bought at Costco when I first moved out of here and into my own place.”
Vicky visibly slumps. “Ryan. No.”
Damn. I thought she reserved that tone for Moxy alone.
“I’m taking back my request,” Roysy says. “Ryan and Baby clearly need Vicky’s help more than I do. I can at least manage a Pop-Tart and all other forms of toaster strudels.”
“Or,” Clemmers’ wife says, “you could all grow up and learn to take care of yourselves.”
“Oh, right,” O’Shea says. “Like Clemmers over here can make a meal. The man can’t even bite into an apple.”
Clemmers shrugs. “I puree a mean cauliflower soup, though.”
His wife kisses him on the cheek. “You do, honey.”
“It’s starting to sound like this team should put out a cookbook,” Danton says.
“Actually,” Vicky says, her eyes lighting up, “that’s a good idea.” She then turns her attention to the wives and girlfriends. “Ladies, let’s do this. It can be a lot of fun and we can raise some money for charity with it.”
“Agreed,” Clemmers’ wife says, and they all begin chatteringabout the details. I’ve seen these women in action enough times in my years here with the Mules. They’ll have a full-on publishing company up and running by next Tuesday if that’s what it takes for them to get this accomplished.
“So,” Danton says with a clap of his hands. “Who’s up for some pool?”
Brandon
It’s gotten late and almost everybody else has left but Ryan seems to be in no hurry. I don’t want to rush him either. It’s interesting. Ryan has always been a pretty even-keel guy. Measured, steady. Whereas I’m always the one of us who’s a bit of a tornado. However, there are moments when I feel his energy shift. Not in a bad way, but in a way I can’t soothe by myself. I noticed it when he lived with my family when we were younger, and I notice it now.
So if he wants to play another game of pool down here in the basement while Danton and Vicky are upstairs going through their nightly routine of getting the kids ready for bed, I will. It’s not like I’m itching for him to leave anyway. That’s one of the drawbacks from not being on the road. We sleep apart.
But down here in the basement we can have some time together. Even if it’s accompanied by the soundtrack of everyone’s footsteps running back and forth above us. Big feet and small feet racing around, winding down their day with a dog chasing after all of them.
“They never stop, do they?” Ryan muses. He’s standing next to the pool table, leaning forward, braced by his stick while he watches me line up my next move. Not that it matters. I’m terrible at pool. He, of course, is great.
“Nope,” I say as I completely whiff my shot, sending the cue ball into one of his instead of mine. Thankfully, there isn’t much power behind it, and it only knocks his ball a few inches forward.
Unfortunately, it also lines him up perfectly. He bends over the table, and I swear to God he’s making a show of it. Leaningfarther forward than he needs to. Raising his ass higher than necessary. Asshole.
With a crack, he hits his shot and sends his ball right into the corner pocket.
He gestures around the table. All that’s left for him to win is to land the eight ball. I, however, have all but one of my balls to go. “Did you want to go again before I close this out?”
“Sure,” I say, my voice full of sarcasm. “There’s totally a chance I can still win this game.”
“You just need more practice,” he says at the same moment he takes his shot. The balls clap together with another satisfying crack. I may suck at pool, but I do love that sound.
“I need a tutor,” I say as I start to take the balls out of the pockets and roll them to the end of the table to be racked.
His eyebrow quirks up, and he grins. “I can tutor you.”
I can’t help but smile at him, even though this does feel a little bit like a trap. “I don’t know,” I say. “You’re not very good at this game, either.”
“Bullshit.” He laughs, then points at me with his stick. “Rack them up, Baby. We’re gonna make this interesting.”
“How interesting? Because if you’re looking to play strip pool, you may as well just ask me to take my clothes off now.”
“Not that interesting,” Ryan says, smirking at me. “Unless…”
