Page 99 of Just One More Thing

“The waist thing is?—“

“Wayne,” Jake warns.

“—a whole relationship communicated through hand placement.”

“Wayne.”

“I studied film. I know what I’m looking at.”

I glance up at Jake. “Does he always?—“

“YES,” Jake and Ryan say in unison.

Bethany walks past carrying a box of bottled water in her arms. “I’ve got a hand placement for you,” she says without slowing down.

“Name the time and the place,” Wayne calls.

We head toward registration, where a kid in an OFFICIAL STAFF shirt is clutching a clipboard. “Wheeler and Donovan,” Jake says.

The kid looks up. His eyes go wide. He fumbles the clipboard and catches it. “Good recovery,” Jake says.

“Kid’s got potential,” Ryan adds.

The poor kid checks us in with shaky hands. “Lane four for Fetch-A-Fish,” he says. “Ball Bowl Roll is east lawn. Tug-A-Shore south dock. Doggy Paddle staging near the lighthouse. Holler Crawler…” He hesitates. “You’ll know.”

“Why does that sound threatening?” I ask.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Wayne leans over the clipboard, then looks around wildly. “Ryan, what’s our team name?”

“We don’t have one.”

“We need branding.”

“We do not.”

“The Buccaneer Ballers.”

“No.”

“The Ball Slappers.”

“No.”

“The Scoregasms?”

Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’re not calling ourselves the Scoregasms at a charity dog event.”

“Kerr and Knox,” Ryan tells the kid.

The kid scans the sheet. Clears his throat. “Kerr isn’t registered.”

Silence.

Wayne blinks slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Kerr isn’t on the list.”