“And now I gotta keep from thinking about that. It’s like a logic puzzle—where would all the arms and legs go in a space that small with a third-degree burn risk belching out the stink of old grease and taking up half the room?”
“Maybe for your birthday I’ll draw you a diagram,” I snapped, eyes mischievous. It was his turn to turn a little red and look away.
“I don’t think a diagram’s a good idea. One of my little league kids could find it and that’s a talk I don’t wanna have.”
“Come on, some of those boys don’t have a dad. You could do the birds and the bees talk,” I laughed.
“No thanks. I like coaching them. I don’t wanna be chased out of town with pitchforks. We got a game day after tomorrow. All that rain last spring moved our season late. We didn’t get started till the middle of June, if you can believe it.”
“So much for spring training,” I said, “so how many games you got left?”
“Five. But the new uniforms are in. Normally we’d get those back at the start of the season, but with the weather the way it was, some of the parents were out of work for a while—farms and road crews and stuff—so we put it off. We try to keep their costs down, obviously, and we did some fundraisers. The kids are gonna love these uniforms.”
“Damon showed me a picture. They look great,” I said. “He really seems to like coaching. He was always nuts about ball. Did you play? I don’t remember.”
“When I was a kid, but I wasn’t that into it. I mainly like working with the kids. They’re something to look forward to when it’s been a bleak time at work nothing but the same junkies robbing the same store over and over or getting their kids taken away again. This team though, these are some great kids, and some of them come from some hard backgrounds. But they love playing together, and they try so hard.”
“It sounds amazing,” I said.
My ovaries were melting. Listening to a big, burly cop talking about how much he loved working with kids. He would’ve made a great dad. Damon had mentioned to me once when I was home at the holidays that Brody and Missy had wanted kids but it just never happened. Then she got sick. I figured that must be a sad issue for him, and I didn’t bring it up. He seemed devoted to his players, and it was sweet. Some of them needed a dad figure, and it gave him some children to teach and dote on. It was a good solution, very practical, I told my screaming ovaries. Quit freaking out, don’t churn out an egg or something stupid just because a mega hot guy was going on earnestly about his little league team. We drove to another hangout spot. When we passed a convenience store, I asked if we could stop in.
I needed an iced coffee to cool me off, and I dodged to the bathroom. My damn panties were soaked. I needed a cold shower, or a bag of frozen peas to put on my hot, aching core. I unbuttoned my shirt for a second in the bathroom because my nipples were straining against the fabric. I would’ve worn a perfect size six if it weren’t for my rack that overflowed every C-cup and my ass that was round and muscular from my circuit training. Everything about me seemed too much right then. Too voluptuous for my buttoned-up uniform, too sexual to act like a cool professional, too damn horny and overheated to be normal. I ran one of those brown paper towels under cold water and dabbed off my neck and chest where I was sweating. I splashed my face and glared at myself in the mirror, at my wide, fevered eyes that made me look a little unhinged. I buttoned back up and bought a couple of iced coffees. I took one out to the chief.
“Here,” I said, “this will keep you awake.”
“Do you think it’ll cool me down?” he said, with a little bit of a sheepish chuckle. This guy? Sheepish? It was killing me. “I think my A/C may not be working right. It felt humid in there, a little overheated,” he said. I nodded, and our eyes caught for an instant. The way he looked at me wasn’t as detached and oblivious as I needed to think he was. He took a drink of his iced coffee and looked around, “Is it already hot outside? This early?”
“You lived here all your life and you’re surprised about the heat?” I said.
“Sometimes it slaps you in the face,” he replied. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Thanks for the job,” I said. “I want to find this kid. You think it’s the ex, don’t you.” I wasn’t asking. He gave a nod that can only be called grim.