“I ought to call security and get you dragged off this plane.” Trevor glared down at Jim, who was hiding in the restroom of the small chartered plane.
“We’re already in the air,” Jim pointed out. “Too late.”
“Are you so sure about that?” Trevor wore his game face, the Viking iceman warrior look that sent terror through opposing pitchers. It worked on Jim too, but this was too important. He steeled his spine and stood his ground.
“It’s the only way I could figure out to attend the wedding and get back in time for the next game.”
“Oh, you think you’re getting a ride back? That’s rich.”
“Do we have to discuss this in the restroom? Can we, you know, sit down and fasten our seat belts, like the pilot just said?”
“No.” Trevor folded his arms across his chest and glared.
Jim winced, becaus
