New Balls Please (Ball Games #3) by Andie M. Long

They've their own paths to make.'
    'They'll come on a Sunday.' Tim reassures me. 'They love The Red Lion’s Yorkshire puddings.'
    I throw a cushion at him.
    He throws himself at me.
    Afterwards, he lies back on the lounge rug but he has a grimace on his face rather than a look of sexual satisfaction.
    My brow furrows. 'What's up with you?'
    'Dora,' he says, then winces. 'I swear to God I've worn myself out over the last week. My dick hurts and my balls, they've been flapping about like a fish breathing its last.' He cups them in his hand.
    'Dora I need new balls.'
     
     
    Later, written on a post it. Framed and fixed on the wall above the bedhead.
     
    We vow:
    To speak to each other when there are problems.
    To get the ironing done by someone else.
    To have a lie-in on a Sunday and have lunch in the pub.
    To enjoy some fantastic joint holidays.
    To stick together through good times and bad.
    To love each other.
    Signed Dora Evans and Timothy Turner
    21 June 2016
     
     
    Saturday 25 June 2016
     
    ‘Tim. Tim!’ I squeal.
    Tim comes rushing downstairs from his music room. I must have screamed loud because he usually has the music turned up that high I have to enter his room to tell him anything.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    I point at the TV. ‘I’ve won.’
    ‘Won what?’
    I do a facepalm impression and point to the balls on the screen. ‘The lottery, you div. I’ve won the lottery.’
    Tim turns pale.
    ‘Not the big prize. I’ve got five numbers, though. Oh, my God. I wonder how much I’ve won?’
    The prize turns out to be eighteen hundred pounds. About what I spent in Center Parcs.
    Sunday, I receive an email from Jackie. She and Cole have been together since that final Friday in Center Parcs and it’s going well though it's early days.
    I’m reading a book about fate. It was obviously meant to be that I left that Saturday. If I hadn’t, Cole and Jackie wouldn’t be together now. I’m a born matchmaker.
    I settle myself in front of the television with coffee. It's Monday 27th June and it’s the first day of Wimbledon.
    I listen to the umpire. ‘New Balls Please.’ I think of Tim holding his the other night and chuckle.
     
    THE END
     

Coming soon
     

    It’s Beth’s turn for romance in Balls Fore , coming 7 June 2016. You can pre-order it here: http://getbook.at/BallsFore
     
    Here’s your sneaky advance peek:
     
    Beth
    It’s not every day a chocolate penis is wanged in your face.
    ‘Mum. Stop it, you’re in a Children’s Play Centre,’ yells my best mate Camille. Her shouting only has more people turning towards us.
    ‘Oh, Camille. How do you think all those children were made? If it wasn’t for willies, there wouldn’t be anyone in your business.’
    ‘Talking about in your business, leave Beth alone.’
    ‘But she’s an expert.’
    ‘Not with penises I’m not,’ I sigh. ‘But chocolate yes. Cam, go make us a drink so I can have a proper conversation with your mum.’
    Camille huffs and goes off, giving her mother a sly look.
    ‘What can I do for you, Dora?’
    ‘I’m giving up my cleaning job with Tim’s permission and I’ve had a good think about what I could do instead. At first, I was thinking of taking a job in a supermarket but then I read a book about careers and it asked what I enjoyed. Well, that’s my baking. Then my thoughts went on and before I knew it, I was making chocolate willies. But as you can see, mine needs work.’
    I appraise a penis. It’s a little wonky.
    ‘You need a good mould, and you have to learn the process of tempering chocolate.’
    ‘Would you mind if I sold willies and boobies, Beth? I don’t want to take your trade if you were thinking of expanding.’
    I sell children’s chocolate bars. As a single mum to my three-year-old son, Trey, it’s a business that fits in around nursery runs.
    ‘Dora, you’re absolutely fine. I can’t sell sexy stuff alongside children’s chocolate. It wouldn’t be right.’
    ‘Well, my thought is to