Hissy Fit (The Southern Gentleman #1)(15)

Hell had frozen over.

“Come on,” he urged, his eyes genuine. “Please? Is it so hard to believe that I find you pretty, and want to take you out to dinner?”

I didn’t want to tell him no.

I’d tell him yes every single time.

Do you want to come to the moon with me, Raleigh? Yes, I’ll fly to the moon with you every day and twice on Sunday if only you asked it.

Will you loan me eight thousand dollars? Sure, let me borrow against my 401k. It takes two days. Is that okay?

I need bone marrow from a child that’s of my blood. Will you have my babies?

“Raleigh?” Ezra urged.

I blinked, startled.

“Yes, I’ll have your babies,” I blurted.

His face split into a wide grin. “That’s not quite what I asked.”

I felt like I was going to vomit.

That did not just come out of my mouth.

I looked at him wide-eyed. “What did you ask again? I’m afraid I got lost when you told me I was pretty.”

His smile turned soft. “I asked if you’d go to the baseball game with me, and then go out for a bite to eat afterward.”

So nowhere near ‘have my babies.’ Got it.

“I don’t know...” I hedged. “Me and sporting events aren’t really a good idea. The students weren’t joking. They all look at me like I have the plague when it’s mandatory that I attend. You should’ve seen the last event that I was forced to help chaperone. Everyone was on their best behavior because they thought I was going to ruin it if they did anything to garner my attention.”

He snorted and scooted minutely closer.

“I promise that it’s not going to be bad. You don’t need to show up until the end of the game,” he said. “And you can hide in the back by the dugout. They’ll never even see you unless you come around the wall.”

I frowned. I could do that…

“All right,” I acquiesced. “But if this goes bad, you only have yourself to blame.”

He winked at me. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

In two hours, he’d be choking on those words.

***

Ezra

“Johnson,” I bellowed. “Pull your head out and play ball!”

As a coach, I probably shouldn’t tell any of my players to ‘pull their head out.’

However, they were playing like utter shit. Like we hadn’t gone through practice for two months working on the most basic of drills.

Yet, here they were, missing balls left and right, showing me that they weren’t near as ready as I thought they were.

A little league team could play better than them right then.

I should also have some more composure than I did, but I couldn’t manage to get my shit together.

My day had gone from great that morning after spending it with Raleigh, to absolute and utter shit the further the day went along.

All of that had to do with the goddamn school board and their refusal to consider building the athletics department a goddamn field house or sporting complex that wasn’t falling down to the ground.

Hell, getting new uniforms out of them had been like pulling teeth, and even then, they’d only had to cover the cost of shipping the goddamn things. The damn booster club had raised the money for all the rest.

“Safe!”

I looked at the ump, my blood boiling, and felt my entire body go stiff.

The umpire wasn’t helping things. Not only were my boys playing bad, but the umpire was making calls that were clearly in favor of the other team.

“All right, boys. Bring it in!” I called.

My players brought it in, but a whistle from the far side of the dugout had me turning to see the principal there, gesturing me over.

I grimaced when I saw the superintendent of the school district standing beside her.

Son of a bitch.

“All right, boys. Pay attention to the song. Talk quietly amongst yourself. I’ll be back.” I patted Johnson’s hat with the tips of two fingers, and he winked at me.

Normally, I’d have left the team in the assistant coach’s hands, but since the assistant coach was busy teaching the JV team currently, they didn’t have anyone to distract them while I likely was on my way to getting my ass chewed.

Every step I took in their direction was purposeful and measured.

I’d just about gotten to them when I saw Raleigh at the entrance to the field next to the end of the dugout, trying valiantly to help Morgan Bryce get over the hump that separated the grass from the other side of the fence.

I let out a sigh of relief when I saw what it was the superintendent and the principal had needed.

The weight of Morgan’s wheelchair made it nearly impossible to get over the hump.

“You singing for us, Morgan?” I asked, hopeful.

Morgan shrugged. “Yeah.”

I laughed. “Don’t sound so excited about it now. You might pop a blood vessel in your exuberance.”

Morgan snorted. “Help me out here, will ya?”

I went to the back of his wheelchair and finagled him out onto the field, patting his shoulder as I did. “Can you get there the rest of the way?”

I eyed the wheels on the wheelchair, and then the thick grass and dirt that separated him from the microphone that they’d set up for him to sing “God Bless America” and likely “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” too.