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“There’s no crying in baseball!” Stiles shouted.
“First, I’m not crying, and second, we’re not playing baseball,” Derek pointed out as he tried to lift the corner of the couch to get to the dice that Stiles had thrown. He hadn’t taken it well when his father had bought Boardwalk. It caused Stiles to go bankrupt and lose the game they’d been playing off and on for the past five days.
“If anyone’s being a crybaby, it’s you,” John pointed out, carrying the empty chip bowl to the kitchen to retrieve the vacuum. “After all, you’re the one that threw the dice and dumped the chips everywhere. Thought I raised you better than that.”
Stiles’ eyes widened, and he pointed at his father. “Betrayal! This is exactly how you raised me! Need I remind you of the great Sheriff’s Department Softball Scuffle of 2005?”
John returned to the living room, a stern look on his face. “You have no idea what you're talking about, young man.”
“Mom videotaped it, and I transferred it to digital a couple of years ago,” Stiles said, looking smug, and Derek knew he was proud of himself. Derek also knew he had to stay out of it for his mental well-being.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing that Danny put all of your baby photos into a digital slideshow,” John said. He turned to Derek. “In the mood for a show? Stiles went through a nudist phase.”
“I don’t think he’s outgrown it,” Derek countered, figuring if embarrassment were the theme of the day, he would join in on the fun.
“Derek!” Stiles and John cried out in unison.
“There’s no crying in baseball,” Derek said, smirking.
“We’re not playing baseball,” John said.
“But you are crying?” Derek teased.
“Maybe we should play baseball,” Stiles said.
“What?” Derek and John asked.
Stiles shrugged. “We keep talking about baseball. Now I want to play.”
“There’s only three of us,” John pointed out.
Stiles smiled at Derek, who was already pulling out his phone. “You order the pizza. I’ll call the pack,” Derek said.