The Boyfriend League Read online

  Dad gave me an indulgent grin. “I help with the field maintenance. You need to do your share.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, and he held up a finger. “You wanted a ballplayer in the house.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know I’d have to work to have him.”

  “You know what your mom always says.”

  I groaned. “I know. Nothing ever comes easy.”

  “That’s right.” He reached over and patted my hand. “Go call Ed.”

  “Did you give him Bird’s name, too?”

  Dad grinned one of those big Bruce Willis grins that crinkled his face. “You bet.”

  Chapter 8

  Tuesday afternoon I was at my desk, working on my column, when I heard Jason come home from work. I heard him go into his room and shut the door. I thought about crossing the hall, just to say hey. That would be the polite thing to do.

  Only if we were supposed to treat him like family, then I should really ignore him. After all, I never went out of my way to welcome Tiffany home.

  I heard Jason open his door, heard his footsteps in the hallway, then on the stairs. I wondered if he was going to raid the kitchen, but that made no sense. He’d just gotten off from work, and I’d overheard him mention to Mom that she didn’t need to worry about feeding him when he worked, because he got a free meal when he finished his shift.

  Mom and Dad were both still at work. Tiffany was off cutting the ribbon at the grand opening of an appliance store, which meant it was just Jason and me. Tonight was the season opener, and for all I knew, he might be nervous about it. Maybe he’d want someone to talk to.

  I closed my file and went in search of him. He wasn’t in the living room or the family room. Not in the kitchen, either.

  Then I heard a sound in the laundry room. The washing machine starting its churning cycle. I’d used it a couple of hours earlier. I’d even used the dryer. Unfortunately, I had a bad habit of not retrieving my clothes until I needed them, which meant they were still there.

  I looked into the laundry room. Sure enough, Jason had put a laundry basket on top of the dryer, and he was holding a pair of my panties—a red, lacy low-cut pair—like he thought they had the potential to bite him.

  He must have heard me in the doorway, because he looked at me, his cheeks turning the same shade as my underwear. “I need to get my uniform washed…and dried. I’m not sure who these clothes belong to or what I should do—”

  I stepped into the room, and without actually claiming the underwear as mine, I snatched them from between his fingers and tossed them into the laundry basket. “Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks.” He backed off like they were radioactive. He was wearing a ratty T-shirt and faded gym shorts, the kinds of clothes I usually wore when I was trying to get everything washed on the same day. Except even with ratty clothes on, he looked good. Comfortable. Snuggleable. Yeah, he definitely looked like a guy that a girl would want to snuggle against.

  “We all do our own clothes around here,” I said inanely, pulling the rest of my clothes out of the dryer and dumping them in the basket.

  “That’s cool. Same goes at my house. It’s just that most of the underwear is boxers or briefs. Definitely very little…lace.”

  I looked over at him. “Because you’ve got three brothers. No sisters?”

  “No sisters. I’m discovering it’s way different living with girls in the house.”

  “It’s different having another guy in the house, too. I’m not sure Dad even comes into the laundry room unless one of the machines isn’t working. Otherwise, Mom does his laundry.”

  Could we have a more boring conversation? I was beginning to understand why Tiffany fixated on orphans as a topic. It ensured she didn’t spend time talking laundry. That was worse than discussing the weather.

  “Sorry about leaving the clothes in the dryer. I didn’t realize you’d need to do laundry so soon.” As a courtesy I started to clean the lint filter.

  “I probably should have said something. I always wash my uniform before a game.”

  I stopped what I was doing and looked at him.

  He shifted his stance, as though suddenly very uncomfortable with his confession.

  “Ballplayers have pregame rituals. That’s mine. Washing my uniform,” he explained.

  “What do you do when you have a double header?”

  His cheeks turned red. “Wash it twice.”

  “Do you wash and dry it, then wash and dry it again, or do you wash it twice, dry it once?”

  “Look, I’m not obsessive-compulsive like some guys. I just like to go to the game in a uniform that’s as fresh as it can be.”

  Which wasn’t really an answer to my question, but I let it slide. “Okay, sure. I understand.” Although I didn’t really.

  He gave a brisk nod, and I knew even before he spoke that a change in topic was coming.

  “It was really nice of your parents to make their house available. I know it’s not easy having company all the time. I’m really trying not to get in the way.”

  I waved that off. “Hey, we wanted you here. No way would we consider you in the way.”

  “Still, I know it has to create some stress, a little fissure in the family routine.”

  “Family routine? Please. We have no routine, other than Mom and Dad working all day, Tiffany doing whatever, and me doing this and that.”

  Putting his hands behind him, he lifted himself up on the washing machine, while I put the lint filter back into place and tried to decide if I should go ahead and start folding my clothes. No, that would mean making each piece of underwear visible and available for inspection. That was a little too personal.

  Really I had no reason to stay.

  “So what is this and that?” he asked, giving me a reason. “I mean, what do you do all day?”

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  He laughed. “So, what, like it’s all a big secret?”

  “Not really. I just always wanted to use that line.”

  “So what do you do?”

  “Well, I have my own personal summer reading program. I have to read three books a week. Right now I’m reading Marley and Me.”

  “I read it. It’s good.”

  “It’s going to make me cry, though, isn’t it?”

  “Probably.”

  He seemed amused by that prospect.

  “So you just read all day?” he prodded.

  “I work on my column for the newspaper.”

  Now he seemed impressed. “You write a column for the newspaper? You mean the school paper?”

  “Well, I do write for the school paper. I’m actually going to be editor next year, but I also write a column for the local paper. Before you think it’s a big deal, you should know the editor is always desperate for filler pieces.”

  “But you get a byline and everything?”

  I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. “Yeah, I get a byline and everything. Thursday morning edition. Weekdays are usually slow days, and I think that’s when he’s most desperate for news, so my little column fills up what would otherwise be white space.”

  “So what do you write?”

  “It’s called ‘Runyon’s Sideline Review,’ and I write about things that happen in the stands during different kinds of sporting events, from the perspective of the fan rather than the player. Gives me a reason to go to a variety of events, and I have a press pass so I get in free.” Like I needed a reason.

  “You’re kidding?”

  “I’m serious. For my next piece, I’ll probably reveal the scandalous secrets of the concession stand, since Bird and I are working the first shift tonight.”

  He grinned, like I was clever or interesting…or maybe just amusing in a she’s-fun-to-talk-to-but-I’d-never-date-her kind of way.

  The washing machine went into spin cycle, making a really loud banging noise, and he hopped to the floor.

  “It’s unbalanced,” I said, like may