aside to make way for her, so obviously intimidated by the pretty girl’s moxy. Sure enough, once she fully opened the cooler’s lid, a dozen green bottles peered out through crushed ice. She grabbed a handful and began her strut to the picnic table.
“ Throw me that can of cow pee and I’ll bring you a real beer, Cracker Jack,” she taunted, playful, to which I immediately tossed the can without thinking first.
More gasps—this time from nearly everyone including me. But Angie smiled naughtily, balancing the bottles between one arm and her bosom while she effortlessly caught the can and flipped it back toward the open cooler. The can careened off the lid and into the ice. No harm, no foul—unless Tom’s labored breathing counts for anything.
While the rest of us marveled at Angie’s party trick, she moved over to the table. Tom hurriedly motioned for Tony to help him carry a platter filled with burgers and weenies to the table. Justin picked up the condiments from a small table next to the built-in grill on Tom’s deck, while Jackie grabbed a bowl of potato salad to go along with another one filled to the brim with baked beans.
That left Fiona, who paused by the cooler until she fished out a bottled Coke, since a sinus headache’s onset was upon her. She joined me near the end of the table, and everyone else found an open spot. Jackie and Tom joined us on the side closest to the grill, while Tony and Justin hesitated for a moment on the other side, as if silently debating between them who’d get the frightful pleasure of sitting next to Angie. Justin won the honor, as Tony found an excuse to revisit the grill.
“ So, where’d you learn the over-the-shoulder bank shot, Muscle Mutt?”
Hoping to further lighten the mood, I voiced the first thought that popped in my head. Angie really hates my pet name for her, since it brings to mind some muscle-bound body builder—which she’s not. ‘Body sculpting’ is the way she likes to refer to it, and recently Fiona and Jackie have been letting her teach them the basic initial exercises to help firm their thighs and legs, though I can’t really see where Fiona needs the help. Maybe she’s just trying to help Jackie not feel like the ugly duckling in our group. But Jackie’s not bad looking at all. The way the other guys’ eyes linger on her from time to time tells me they’d readily second that notion.
“ I grew up with three brothers—all older than me,” she replied, pausing to pass the potato salad to Justin, who then handed off to Tony at the table’s end. “The oldest was all-city basketball in Hartford, and my other brothers lettered in high school. So, along the way, I guess they showed me a thing or two on how to shoot deceptively, since I’m the ‘shorty’ in my family.”
They must be frigging giants. Hell, Angie stands at least an inch taller than Fiona, who is considered pretty tall at five-nine. Since she grew up in Connecticut, Angie’s the second friend of Fiona from the east coast. Candi was the first, hailing from Trenton, New Jersey.
“ You must be pretty good, then,” said Jackie, nodding approvingly. “And here I thought your favorite sport was Taekwondo.”
“ It is, although Taekwondo is more a philosophy and way of life for me, and not really a sport. Tennis is a sport.”
She glanced at me, as if this was some private joke…some secret dig brought on by my recent taunt? Maybe it goes along with her favorite moniker for me, ‘Cracker Jack’. I have no idea at all as to why she chose it. I mean, a smiling cartoon sailor on a box of sweetened pop corn with a cheap, meaningless toy in every box…. Okay, maybe it ain’t so vague, since who in the hell wants to be compared to that?
“ This is excellent!” Fiona enthused, pointing to her burger. “Really good , Tom!
Everyone else chimed in, and I have to say the burger and hotdog I ate seemed unusually good. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, as my appetite
“ Throw me that can of cow pee and I’ll bring you a real beer, Cracker Jack,” she taunted, playful, to which I immediately tossed the can without thinking first.
More gasps—this time from nearly everyone including me. But Angie smiled naughtily, balancing the bottles between one arm and her bosom while she effortlessly caught the can and flipped it back toward the open cooler. The can careened off the lid and into the ice. No harm, no foul—unless Tom’s labored breathing counts for anything.
While the rest of us marveled at Angie’s party trick, she moved over to the table. Tom hurriedly motioned for Tony to help him carry a platter filled with burgers and weenies to the table. Justin picked up the condiments from a small table next to the built-in grill on Tom’s deck, while Jackie grabbed a bowl of potato salad to go along with another one filled to the brim with baked beans.
That left Fiona, who paused by the cooler until she fished out a bottled Coke, since a sinus headache’s onset was upon her. She joined me near the end of the table, and everyone else found an open spot. Jackie and Tom joined us on the side closest to the grill, while Tony and Justin hesitated for a moment on the other side, as if silently debating between them who’d get the frightful pleasure of sitting next to Angie. Justin won the honor, as Tony found an excuse to revisit the grill.
“ So, where’d you learn the over-the-shoulder bank shot, Muscle Mutt?”
Hoping to further lighten the mood, I voiced the first thought that popped in my head. Angie really hates my pet name for her, since it brings to mind some muscle-bound body builder—which she’s not. ‘Body sculpting’ is the way she likes to refer to it, and recently Fiona and Jackie have been letting her teach them the basic initial exercises to help firm their thighs and legs, though I can’t really see where Fiona needs the help. Maybe she’s just trying to help Jackie not feel like the ugly duckling in our group. But Jackie’s not bad looking at all. The way the other guys’ eyes linger on her from time to time tells me they’d readily second that notion.
“ I grew up with three brothers—all older than me,” she replied, pausing to pass the potato salad to Justin, who then handed off to Tony at the table’s end. “The oldest was all-city basketball in Hartford, and my other brothers lettered in high school. So, along the way, I guess they showed me a thing or two on how to shoot deceptively, since I’m the ‘shorty’ in my family.”
They must be frigging giants. Hell, Angie stands at least an inch taller than Fiona, who is considered pretty tall at five-nine. Since she grew up in Connecticut, Angie’s the second friend of Fiona from the east coast. Candi was the first, hailing from Trenton, New Jersey.
“ You must be pretty good, then,” said Jackie, nodding approvingly. “And here I thought your favorite sport was Taekwondo.”
“ It is, although Taekwondo is more a philosophy and way of life for me, and not really a sport. Tennis is a sport.”
She glanced at me, as if this was some private joke…some secret dig brought on by my recent taunt? Maybe it goes along with her favorite moniker for me, ‘Cracker Jack’. I have no idea at all as to why she chose it. I mean, a smiling cartoon sailor on a box of sweetened pop corn with a cheap, meaningless toy in every box…. Okay, maybe it ain’t so vague, since who in the hell wants to be compared to that?
“ This is excellent!” Fiona enthused, pointing to her burger. “Really good , Tom!
Everyone else chimed in, and I have to say the burger and hotdog I ate seemed unusually good. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, as my appetite
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