started off awesome and ended with getting my ass handed to me. So, I get it. Even if I think you’re nuts for not liking barbecue.” Really, who the heck doesn’t like barbecue?
She bites her bottom lip, like she’s fighting her smile, and shuffles the bag into the crook of her elbow. She holds out her free hand. For me to shake, I guess? I eye her before taking it carefully. Pretty sure I’ve never shaken a girl’s hand before, but there’s a first time for everything.
“Here’s to hoping for better nights,” she says.
At least, I think that’s what she says. It’s hard to know for sure when all I can do is stare into those pretty eyes, which are nearly as wide as the moon. She’s tiny, almost a foot shorter than me, with wavy hair spilling across her shoulders. And she’s definitely new around here. Everyone our age has been born and bred in this place.
Her handshake slows. “Can I have my hand back now?”
Shaking my head, I let go immediately. Smooth. Really smooth. “Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Sorry ’bout that. You have a good night.”
She moves past me and laughs a little, but it sounds like one of those nervous I-think-I-just-met-a-serial-killer laughs. “Good night, Barbecue Guy.”
I whirl around, watching her walk to the BMW SUV parked right up front. Sure enough, a man and woman are sitting in the front seats. She yanks the door open and climbs inside.
“Barbecue Guy,” I mumble as they pull away. Safe to say that’s one I’ve never heard before. Now I kind of wish I’d told her my name. Barbecue Guy ranks down there with Right Field Randy.
The restaurant’s loud and bustling as I head inside. A couple junior girls lingering at the front counter call my name. I shoot them a grin and wave. I guess everybody else wanted chicken and barbecue at ten o’clock, too. Take that, Shrieking Girl. My chair screeches against the floor as I pull it out and plop down at the guys’ table. Leaning forward, I pull off my cap and run a hand over my hair. The three of them stare at me until I say, “What?”
“You look like shit, that’s what,” Jay says. “Seriously, like you just got dog shit shoved in your face.”
“Come on, man.” Eric gestures to his mountain of barbecue and fries. “Trying to eat here.”
Actually, I feel like I got mowed down by a combine tractor, but that works. I snatch a fry from Eric’s plate. “Dog shit covers it.”
Eric and Brett share a worried look. They’re a year apart, but they might as well be twins.
Eric clears his throat and bites into a fry. “The hell did Coach want? You’re good for the season, right? He didn’t even keep me behind, and I’m the one who got locked up last week. I was scared as hell that I was a goner this year.” He snorts. “But we can’t have the USC hotshot screwin’ up, I guess.”
He’s got a good freakin’ point. “Seriously, dude. You get thrown in a cell for drivin’ drunk—which was really damn stupid, if I haven’t told you enough—but the man lays into me for my grades.” I rub my face. “I don’t know, y’all. He reminded me how much of a dumbass I am, and that I can’t afford to be a dumbass anymore if I want to keep the mound. That’s what I got out of it.”
Brett narrows his eyes. “You all right, man?” he asks.
Nope. I bang my head on the table. “I will be.”
chapter two
Momma’s dainty little flower shop is a freakin’ shrine to my baseball career, with newspaper clippings practically wallpapering the place. It’s sort of embarrassing, but I am pretty proud of the write-up the paper did on me last year.
ENTER SANDMAN: BRAXTON PUTS BATTERS TO SLEEP IN NO-HITTER STREAK
You really can’t go wrong with that headline. It makes being in here every afternoon more bearable. I’m going to miss these glory days once I’m in Columbia. Of course, there should be plenty more of those to come.
Hopefully.
Braxton’s Bouquets has been in business since before I was born. Once I was old enough to know the difference between a lily and a tulip, my parents put me to work. Whether you’re getting married or burying someone, Momma can hook you up with an arrangement that puts any big-city florist to shame.
Footsteps trail down the shop’s stairs, and Momma heads toward me and the counter with a clipboard