Fowl Play (Tuft Swallow)

11. Brian

CHAPTER 11

As I walk uncomfortably towards the bleachers to take a seat and watch the match, I can feel every rheumy eye of Tuft Swallow’s geriatric population on me.

Not exactly the best circumstances in which to hide a chubby.

I’m still shaking from my body’s reaction to Kodi’s and my fake kiss. Or, what I had intended to be a fake kiss. I may have gotten a little carried away when she moaned into my mouth. I guess I’ll add “impressive actress” to the growing list of that woman’s surprise skills.

Do I find the receptionist attractive? Of course. I have eyes, after all. Even a man who was 100% gay could admit that Kodi Gander is a beautiful woman.

Between her wavy, dirty-blonde hair with natural gold highlights, her toned body, and her strong brows, innocent freckles, and dark pink lips— lips that I now know are also incredibly soft…

Fuck, Gosling, you better find a place to sit down STAT.

I park myself in the row immediately to my right, which thankfully has an open spot right next to the aisle. I’m not prepared to scooch myself past a row of bleachers full of families with a noticeable bulge behind my zipper.

But fuck. Who would have thought I’d react so strongly to something as silly as a pretend kiss to make my boyfriend jealous?

Ex. Ex-boyfriend.

Eyes shift away from me as I take my seat and the game begins. I’d been so caught up in seeing Zeke again, I’d lost sight of how dangerous it would be for me and my business if the townspeople found out I’d dated public enemy number one. My head is swimming with Kodi’s quick thinking. Not to mention the fact that she would take it upon herself to try to save me from the incredibly awkward situation of seeing my ex play for the rival cornhole team. Her solution is mind-boggling. And nerve-wracking.

With one sentence and a kiss on the cheek, she probably has that Nosy Pecker so turned around in trying to keep up with my cyclone of a love life—or what they think is my love life—that they may not even write about it next week.

She straight-up Bonnie Raitt’d the Tit Peepers. People are talking? Let’s give them something to talk about.

I need to talk to her about it. There’s no way we can keep up the act of the two of us being in a relationship until I get settled in Tuft Swallow. How long exactly is she planning to keep up the ruse? Through cornhole season? Through the summer?

Suddenly, the music over the loudspeakers cuts off, and a voice broadcasts over the field. To my surprise, it sounds as though a professional radio DJ is announcing the game, his voice eerily similar to the color commentator that calls for the Sox games I used to listen to on the ride to work. As he announces the players on all the teams, the respective fans in the bleachers roar their appreciation, with a few rounds of cheers going on a little longer than others. It becomes apparent there are hometown favorites on either side. To my surprise, Zeke garners the loudest applause from the visitor’s side, but I try to limit my reaction. I can still feel a fair amount of attention on me from Mr. and Mrs. Woodcock, and I’m not eager to give them any more honest fodder for tomorrow’s Pecker.

I clap along when the announcer calls the names of the few people I’ve met in the week since I arrived into town, including Caleb, Nick, and Lily, who’s been gawking at her best friend ever since she stumbled back onto the field. When he calls out Kodi’s name, I actually let out a vocal cheer.

Until I understand her intentions with this whole fake relationship, I suppose I need to play along, right?

I’m not the only one to change my response for Kodi’s name, though. A small but enthusiastic chorus of boos rings out from underneath the home bleachers.

What’s that about?

On the field, Kodi, who has been running from player to player, whispering into ears and clapping shoulders, freezes for a moment: her furrowed forehead tilting toward the bleachers. I’m not sure if she can see me, but I give her a thumbs up.

The moment passes as quickly as it came, though, and the announcer barrels on to explain the rules. As I’ve never played cornhole outside of a couple of Fourth of July barbeques over the years, I pay attention.

“For today’s match between the Mighty Swallows and Spitz Hollow, we’ll be playing doubles as laid out by the American Cornhole Association. Any player who steps beyond the foul line at the opponent’s side of the league-regulation boards gets two warnings before they earn their team a penalty. Three penalties results in an automatic forfeit of the match–so make sure to stay in your lanes, baggers!”

Interesting. Of course, I know that there has to be regulations around distance and such with any game or sport, but I wasn’t aware that Cornhole had an official association tied to it. Are there people in other towns this serious about yard games?

“For today’s match, hanging chads are only worth one point.”

“Aw, come on!” One of the Spitz Hollow players shouts. “Two-point chads!”

Immediately, the visitor’s side bleachers erupt in a rhythmic chant of “Two-point chads! Two-point chads!” Two middle-aged men dressed in black and white striped polos and black shorts, who I assume to be referees, march onto the field and mutter to each other. One of them waves to the press box from center field, and I straighten in surprise as the distinctive crackle of a headset mic buzzes through the loudspeakers over the noise of the crowd.

“League regulations. One-point woodies, one-point chads, three point cornholes.”

They have mics for the referees. Like in the NFL.

Dazed, I look around me at the rest of the townspeople, checking to see if anyone else is as surprised by this extravagance as I am. But I’m met with un-ironic rapt attention and concern at the unruly behavior of the opposing team and cheering section. A few parents even tsk and shake their heads.

The commotion eventually dies down, and the announcer continues explaining the rules, the most important of which is that each pair of teams are to play to a score of 21, which is to be kept by the referees. Three teams from each town face off at once, and the in-progress scores are to be kept by the refs on their respective sides of the field.

For this match, there will be three rounds of six total games, with a final tiebreaker played between the two team captains in a singles round, if needed.

Four teams square off at the 40- and 50-yard lines, the air horn sounds, and the games begin.