I smile brightly and hand the team captain three balls. “I’ll personally refund your money if you dunk him.”
Reid grins. “Are you kidding? I’d pay double.”
Carter laughs and shakes her head as the guys tell Coop to kiss his ass goodbye.
Reid rolls his shoulders, winds up, and lets it rip.
The ball streaks toward the target like a bolt of lightning and anticipation flutters in my chest.
It misses.
It actually freaking misses.
Coop howls with laughter as the ball hits the backdrop and falls to the ground, landing in the grass.
“Is that the best you can do? I’ve seen toddlers with better aim.”
Reid laughs good-naturedly and tosses a ball in the air, catching it easily. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
He adjusts his stance, and this time, when he hurls the ball, I know it’s going to hit the target. I can feel it.
One big fat helping of cosmic justice coming right up.
The ball slams into the bullseye with a loudcrack.
Nothing happens.
No release. No splash. No sputtering jock.
Even Coop looks shocked.
The surprise doesn’t last long. He immediately returns to heckling Reid. “Damn, I wish I had this on film. Coach will never believe it.”
The corners of Reid’s mouth tighten, and I can’t blame him. The guy got robbed.
Stupid, defective rental tank.
Reid looks like he’s debating his next throw when a guy wearing a backward ball cap jumps the line. “Need me to show you how it’s done?”
The newcomer is tall and trim. Well-built, for sure, but compared to the football players, he’s downright skinny. He’s got a few guys with him and one of them is wearing a Waverly baseball hoodie.
Oh, shit.
It’s no secret the two teams have a longstanding rivalry. Noah once told me that’s the reason the Sigs don’t allow baseball players to rush the frat. Too much potential for trouble until Coop graduates.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Noah barks from the front of the booth. “If you want to support childhood cancer, cool. If not, move along.”
“It’s all good.” Reid doesn’t take his eyes off the baseball players. He rolls his neck and holds out his last ball. “If you think you can do better, McCoy, by all means, give it a shot.”
McCoy takes the ball, flashing a victorious grin at his buddies.
One of the football players mutters, “asshole,” but we all pretend not to hear it.
I can’t speak for the rest of them, but I don’t care who dunks Coop. I just want to see him take a bath.
Yes, it’s shitty, but what can I say? Thatisthe point of a dunk tank.
And the guy’s been talking smack like it’s his job.
