Chapter 18
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The Tides turned out to be just as terrible as Scooter had claimed. Maybe worse. Andy didn’t even really like baseball, but he was pretty sure he could do better. And yet, somehow, it was still fun.
“I didn’t know you could getthat many errors in a single inning,” Andy said, licking hot dog grease and suspicious “cheese” sauce off his fingers. “Seriously, is this staged? Like, you know, the Senators at a Globetrotters game?”
Scooter propped his feet up on the empty seat in front of them, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “Nah, they just suck. Last game I was at, we lost twelve to one. It was amazing.” He flagged down a mobile beer vendor. “And by amazing, I mean, holy shit, guys, get your eyes checked. I never seen so many missed catches in my life. On the plus side, there’s absolutely no investment. We already know we’re gonna lose. No need to get anxious about it.”
The next guy struck out beautifully and Scooter surged to his feet to yell a few choice insults, before settling back into his seat and draining a third of his beer in one go.
“This is more fun than I was expecting,” Andy admitted, watching the team hustle (well, more like shuffle; seriously, guys?) toward the outfield. “Thanks for coming along. I know Kat and D’ante kind of pushed you into it.”
Scooter muttered something under his breath that might have been “meddling kids” and didn’t quite look at Andy, a tantalizing flush climbing up from under his collar. “Ekaterina worries about me, sometimes. Running the Dockside was easier when my folks were alive. You know, the two of em, kinda sharin’ the load. But Dad…just wasn’t the same, by himself. I see why, but…” He crushed the plastic cup in his hand, the last of the beer spilling down the side of his wrist. “She was right. I needed a bit of time off. Glad you don’t mind me taggin’ along.”
“Nah, you’re fun to hang out with.” He might have added something else, but the Tides’ shortstop actually managed to catch a pop-fly without fumbling it, and they had to stop to cheer.
The game ended on a slightly triumphant note, as the Tides only lost by one run, which Scooter promised was better than they’d done in quite a while. Scooter dragged Andy to the souvenir shop and bought a hat over Andy’s protests, which he insisted had to be worn twisted around backward. He stopped to tease some of Andy’s hair out through the gap in the front, letting the tuft curl. “There. Now you look like you belong here,” he said. Several beers had gotten Scooter easy-going and relaxed. He would be sober by the time they’d made their way back to the commuter lot where they’d parked the truck, but now, he slung an arm around Andy’s shoulders as they left Harbor Park, headed for the train.
Andy tried not to think too hard about how good that felt. He was affection-starved, soaking up every touch and casual pat like a sponge. After years of having Nick practically surgically implanted at the hip, Andy would have thought he’d have enjoyed a little personal space, but on the other hand, he couldn’t remember the last time touch hadn’t revolved around sex. So it was nice to bump shoulders and pat arms and lean into someone just because he wanted to. It definitely did not have anything to do with Scooter specifically, who wandered around shirtless in the early mornings and chewed on his lip all the time and had very strict and professional rulesagainst dating customers and employees. 8
Scooter banged on Andy’s door; the dog woofed from inside, startled. Usually Scooter didn’t bother to wake Andy; Trick got Andy out of bed well before his shift started. And unlike Jeff, Andy had some work ethic that made him get out of bed without constant reminders. But today…
Scooter leaned his board against the rail and fidgeted.
The door cracked open a few seconds later, the chain still latched. Just big city caution, or something learned from hard experience? Andy huffed when he saw Scooter and sagged a little. “What is it? Everything okay?”
Scooter grinned, wide. “We’ve got storm surge and high tide,” he crowed. “Come on, come on. You got swim trunks, right?”
Andy blinked at him, that slow, wide-eyed blink that meant he was having to process something a little more than usual. “Uh. Yeah, I think. What’s—” His gaze flicked down, back up. “Okay, swimming, yeah. Give me a minute to change.”
Scooter leaned against the rail, leg jiggling impatiently. The waves on the east coast were usually mild, three to four feet at the most, but when rain was pushing its way up from the Outer Banks, driving wind with it, they could get up to six or seven footers. With the tide rolling in, it’d be a free-for-all. Only the surf-driven tourists would be out; the clouds offshore were fierce and darkly threatening.