. perhaps we could wrap them with a bit of cloth, douse them in some lighter-fluid, and then you could give me a little performance," he snickered.Mom...giggled, blushed, which I could see her doing there in the front seat, though she leaned over whispering, making dad blush. She never was good at whispering quietly however when I heard her telling him. "The only fire you're going to see, is the fire between my legs baby," she said and then kissed him.Bella held a smile, glanced at me, and then. I couldn't get it done.As it turned out, I couldn't get a flat .400 done, either. Still, the batting average was only an afterthought when we won the Division and sent the Yankees home for the year without giving them so much as a smell in the playoffs.Now, that was satisfying!My final regular season average for my rookie year was .394.I would be the American League batting champion. The nearest guy to me had hit .346. (I had to go and look at his whole line, of course. The bastard had hit 17. More

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