Molly, on the other hand, shot him a look that had “dickhead” written all over it. He’s five, you idiot! Just a little boy! Is winning so important that you’re going to strike out a five-year-old? You’re definitely not ever, ever going to see another pair of bunny panties for the rest of your life! No way, no how. Adiós, muchacho!

Kevin gave him another soft one, and Andrew banged it into short right. The oldest O’Brian kid didn’t know how dangerous even a kindergarten Calebow could be, and he was caught napping. As a result, Linus made it to third, and Andrew settled in with his dad on second.

Dan ruffled his hair.

“Kevin?” Hannah called out politely. “Mr. McMullen’s up next. He wants to know if it’s okay if he uses his walker?”

And didn’t that just say it all.

Finally it was Cody’s team’s turn to bat, and Kevin was up. Near the pitcher’s mound he saw Little Hannah Goodheart huddled with the Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse: Molly, Phoebe, Lilly, and Julie. Finally the females dispersed, leaving their pitcher on the mound.

Molly, the bunny lady.

Kevin couldn’t contain his grin. Now, this was more like it. And guess what, boys and girls? Benny the Badger was showing little Daphne no mercy.

Molly tried to stare him down, but he could tell she was nervous. Damn right. All-American. MVP. Heisman candidate. All-Pro. Good reason to be nervous.

He stepped up to the plate and smiled at her. “Just try to keep the ball away from my head, sweetheart. I like my good-looking nose right where it is.”

“That,” Dan said from behind him, “was a mistake.”

Yeah, right …

Molly went through a few gyrations that were supposed to pass for a warm-up. Kevin tapped his bat to the ground and waited for the pitch, thinking how cute she looked. Better than cute. Her lips were all rosy where she’d bitten them, and her breasts pressed against her purple top the same way they’d pressed against his chest the night before. As she released the ball, her sweet little rear end wiggled inside those tight pink jeans the same way it had wiggled against—

The ball sailed past him while he was distracted. Whoa … what was that about?

“Strike one!” Mr. Canfield called out.

A fluke, that’s all. A lapse in concentration brought on by too little eye on the ball and too much eye on the doll. He stepped away from the plate.

She knew it was a fluke, too, because she started gnawing at that bottom lip again and looking even more nervous than before. That made this a good time to start playing a few mind games. “Nice pitch, Daphne. Think you can do it again?”

“I doubt it.”