Page 8 of Bolo's Curveball
Shaking my head again, I took a small bite of toast. “Sounds like some of the guys at the station.” I was slowly relaxing. It was hard not to. Bolo was funny, and sweet, and too charming formyown good. Things may have started out a bit rough between us, but I had a feeling he was going to make this a smooth transition for me.
CHAPTER 3
Bolo
“Your favorite son is here!” I called out as I stepped into my parents’ house the next night. The lunch date with Devyn had gone great. I’d texted her this morning and she was actually answering back. Seemed like she was serious about trying to make it work. It was easy to see she was still hesitant about trusting me, but I’d prove to her that she had nothing to worry about.
“He’s been here for about half an hour,” Isaac said with a smirk. He was sprawled on the couch with a beer.
I flipped him off then walked into the kitchen, gave Mom a kiss on the cheek as she stood at the stove, then hugged Dad. He slapped me on the back so hard it would have knocked me to the side if he didn’t also have one arm wrapped around me. “Relay’s not here yet?”
“You see him more than we do,” Mom said, with disapproval heavy in her tone.
“Especially now that you guys are living at your club,” Dad added. “You need help?” he asked Mom, looking over her shoulder at whatever she was making.
“No. I’d like dinner to be edible, thank you. Go away.” She looked over her shoulder and planted a kiss on his lips.
“Beer?” Dad asked me as he moved to the fridge.
“Sure.”
“Make it two!” Relay called out from the other room. He must have snuck in after me.
Both Relay and Isaac came into the kitchen and sat at the table while Dad and I leaned against the counters. This was our habit. We didn’t go into the living room to talk because it left Mom in here alone cooking. We always offered to help, but other than some basics none of us were very skilled when it came to food. We could all build damn near anything you needed, but managed to burn anything not on a grill. Even then it could be dicey.
“Anyone bringing home a woman?” Mom asked, still staring down at the stove.
Good thing she was because that woman was perceptive as hell and would have seen me nearly choke on my beer. Relay caught it though. His eyes narrowed on me, though he did me a solid by not saying anything. Probably more from curiosity than brotherly loyalty. I wondered if OD and Kilo had opened their big mouths to him and told him my news. I sure hoped not. It was my job to tell my family about what was happening.
“Someone is going to need to give me daughters-in-law, you know,” Mom continued. “None of us are getting any younger.”
Dad snorted into his bottle as he took a drink. After he swallowed he eyed us. “As much as she wants daughters-in-law, she’s looking for grandbabies.”
“We know,” Isaac said in a wry tone. “She’s not exactly subtle about it.”
Mom turned and planted her hands on her hips. “I had all boys. I’m dying for some female companionship around here-” Her blue eyes began to narrow when they stopped on me, so I quickly looked down at the floor, like I was suddenly interested in the intricacies of the patterns in the wood. “Bolo-”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Isaac said, going over and smashing her into a giant hug, and distracting her at the same time. “I’ll do the family proud and bring home a wife, eventually.”
We all rolled our eyes. Mom smacked at him to get him to let her out of the crushing bear hug. “You’re thirty-seven years old, Isaac,” she told him. “I’ve all but given up on you.”
His mouth dropped open. “What? I’m still young. Practically a teenager.”
“Ihadteenagers at your age,” she said, poking him in the stomach.
“You only act like a teenager,” Relay added. “You look old as shit.”
Isaac glared at our brother. “The fuck I do!”
“Language,” Mom said, turning back to the stove, but her tone was mild because she’d basically given up on trying to train us. Not teach us manners. That was what you did with kids. She’d once stated that feral little beasts like us required training. She wasn’t wrong, especially once the food came out.
I was going to owe Isaac his choice of alcohol later, because I’d just about been busted when he’d distracted Mom for me. Going over to the table, I sat down next to Relay. Maybe distance would help keep her from prying my news out of me before I was ready. It was a futile attempt, but right now wasn’t the time for my announcement.
It took another thirty minutes, lots of swearing, and a fight over whose turn it was to set the table—it was Relay’s—before we were all seated and ready to eat. We waited as Mom dished herself up some pot roast, potatoes, and green beans. It wasa rule my father had put into place when we were ravenous teenagers that ate everything in sight. Mom got her food first. It was one of the few pieces of training that actually stuck.
As soon as her plate was filled with everything she wanted, Isaac and Relay started dishing up. Dad grinned at me. There was no rule saying I needed to be last. No rule that had been spoken out loud anyway, but I’d started waiting to dish up last when I was fairly young, around thirteen or so.
There were two reasons for it. One, my dad would always take his food after everyone else and he had always been—and to this day remained—my damn hero. And two, I ate so damn much I wanted to make sure everyone got enough. Despite Mom always cooking enough for an army, I made sure there were never any leftovers. Somewhere over the years it had devolved into Dad and I dishing up at the same time.
