When the first throw landed close to Reece’s left ear, he wondered why the hell he hadn’t asked to review the lists of events Andie had signed him up for. He’d lay a ten-dollar bet his sorry-assed brother had something to do with Reece’s head and arms trapped in the holes of this plywood-framed room, while half the population of Whispering Cove and their visitors took wild shots at him with ripened tomatoes. Paybacks are a bitch, he silently swore. In all honesty, all of this was for a good cause. With the excess profits, the Community Center would get much-needed supplies, computers and a host of other things. The second tomato the boy tossed, he caught in his right hand and hurled back into the growing audience. The crowd scattered with screams and peels of laughter. Part of the entertainment was trash talk, so Reece growled, “My momma can throw better than that.” The child wound up his arm and released.
