starting at Little League, explaining he was Dylan’s father and not an older half brother or something.
While the other fathers chatted, he checked his phone for the fifth time in eight minutes, but that was only because it was still buggy and didn’t always put through his calls.
Coach Frasier came out before any of the team, his broad shoulders and massive stride dwarfing every parent there. He’d coached Dylan’s summer Little League back in the day and was the first to say that Dylan could use baseball to get someplace in life. He’d even been good enough to turn a blind eye to missed dues and secondhand shoes. James had a slightly strange relationship with Coach Frasier, seeing as how he hadn’t been that many years out of high school himself when they’d first met. He always had a funny feeling that the coach saw them as some sort of double mentoring project.
“James, how’s it going?” He delivered a bone-rattling slap to James’s back. “Your boy did good today.”
“I don’t know. It looked like he was favoring his ankle a bit in the seventh.”
“He’ll be fine. And I got those stats you sent last night. They’re always a help.”
“No problem. Sorry I got them out a bit late.”
“That’s understandable.” He gave James a bit of an elbow to the side. “I hear you had a date last night?”
From the corner of his eye, James could see the other parents listening in. “Dylan told you?”
“Boys do gossip. They’re worse than girls at the end of the day. And Dylan’s damn happy about it. He worries about you.”
“No one should be worrying about me, especially him.” It was a phrase he was sure he’d been repeating daily for months now.
“That’s not going to happen. I remember when you turned twenty-five, he worried himself sick. Thought you were going to have some sort of early midlife crisis.”
“What did he think I was going to do?”
“I don’t know, but it got him all worked up.”
It was getting James worked up. “Well, for the record, yes, I had a date, yes, it was nice. Am I having another one? I don’t know. And he needs to not worry about me and keep focused on his game. If he gets sloppy and twists his ankle again, that’s his scholarship gone.”
“I know, James.” Coach Frasier gave him a careful pat on the shoulder this time. “We’re all keeping an eye on him. I’ve put more than a few years of work into him myself. I want to be able to put his baseball card up on the wall of my office and say ‘I coached that boy.’”
“I just want to get him to eighteen alive and with minimal damage. Then I’ll start worrying about his Major League career.”
G ABE LOOKED at his phone, then at his papers, then back at his phone. He checked the time, picked up the receiver, then put it back down.
Tamyra brought in his morning coffee. He didn’t grab for it; he was too busy staring at the phone and internally growling at it. He’d spent all of Sunday practically sitting on his hands to keep from calling James. That wasn’t the way his dates went. If a guy was worth calling back, he’d get to it within a few days, if the guy didn’t call first. He did not spend his weekend obsessing. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work.
Tamyra put her hands on her hips. “Okay, what is it?”
“How long do I have to wait to call someone about another date without sounding desperate and needy?”
“You are desperate and needy.”
“Thank you. Answer the question.”
There was a quick knock, and the door opened. Frank and Nate let themselves in, wearing matching grins. Nate lifted his phone to read off it. “According to today’s weekend gossip roundup, Most Eligible Bachelor, Gabriel Juarez, CFO of TechPrim Industries, came out over the weekend by arriving at his own charity event on the arm of a UCB academic named James Mazon.”
Gabe grabbed the Tux stress penguin on his desk. It had taken him through acquisitions, million-dollar deals, and