“What did it look like?”

  He takes a beat, then locks eyes with me, like I’m the target. “Everything. It looked like everything.”

  My chest seizes up. Were we that obvious? Maybe we were. Because it felt like everything with Nadia. “But that’s the problem. I need to slow the fuck down. I need to practice being single,” I say as I head into the shop, order a tea, thank the barista, then head back out with the steaming cup.

  “But do you truly need to practice being single?” Holden asks as we walk up the street.

  “Hello? Have you met me? You guys all lit into me the other night about my horrible taste,” I say, then take a scalding sip.

  The tea burns my tongue.

  “We’ve all made mistakes though. Maybe you just need to recognize when something isn’t a mistake.” Holden scratches his jaw as he turns philosophical.

  I go pensive too, considering his words of wisdom. Trying to understand what is and isn’t a mistake.

  “How do you know though?” I ask, wanting his advice now, no longer testy.

  “Maybe when you can’t get her out of your system,” he says, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. “Because there’s always a woman like that, right? The one you can’t get out of your head? Maybe you had one night with her, one kiss, one conversation. Your what-if woman.”

  “You’re talking from experience, aren’t you?”

  “It was a while ago,” he says as we cross the street.

  “Who is she?” I ask, more intrigued now by his sitch than mine.

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t even know what she’s up to anymore.”

  “You going to look her up?”

  “Maybe,” he says with a shrug, then a shake of his head. “But maybe I should just focus on the team.”

  I nod, getting it, understanding confusion completely. “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s what I need to do too. But in the meantime, tell me more about your what-if girl.”

  He cracks a smile. “She’s definitely the what-if woman. It was one night. A couple years ago.”

  “The one-night stand you can’t get out of your mind?”

  He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t scoff. He only sighs wistfully. “Almost. But not exactly. It wasn’t even a one-night stand. More like a great conversation and an out-of-this-world kiss, a great time. Kind of crazy, right?”

  We turn the corner, and then I stop in my tracks when I spot a familiar face. It’s Declan, ducking out of another coffee shop—this neighborhood has them springing up like baby bunnies. He’s got a Hawks ball cap on his head, and a cup in his hand. He lifts his chin in greeting. “Hey, guys.”

  I give him a curious look. “You’re still in town? Figured you had left.”

  “I’ve got friends and family here,” he says. “I stayed an extra night, but I’m catching a flight back to New York in two hours.”

  “Was it good to see peeps?” Holden asks.

  Declan’s lips twitch, maybe with the hint of a grin. “Yeah. Mostly.” Distracted, he looks at his watch. “I should go. I’ll catch you on the first home stand. You’ll be on my turf, and we plan to destroy you,” he says to me.

  Ah, that’s the Declan I know. He’s the most competitive bastard in the league.

  “As if the Comets can do anything but choke on our dust,” I say.

  “You’ll be choking at the plate,” he says with a wicked grin, then tugs on the bill of his cap before he tips his forehead in the direction of the airport. “Gotta take off.”

  “See you,” Holden says.

  Declan takes off, and we head up the block and around the corner, ready to rap on Grant’s door. But he’s already bounding down the steps in his workout clothes, his hair a wild mess, like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket.

  I shoot him a look. “You’ve been DoorDashing on a Saturday afternoon?”

  He rolls his eyes, flipping me the bird. “Yeah, I had a burger and a blow job. Let’s go hit the gym.”

  We do, and the three of us all seem a little lost in our own worlds as we’re working out.

  As for me, I can’t stop thinking about Holden’s comments.

  Not the ones about what-if women.

  The ones about recognizing mistakes.

  30

  Nadia

  Back when I was in my matchmaker phase, I read dating columns religiously—articles on the latest trends in dating, on where to go, ideal topics for discussion on the first date, and how to read between the lines.

  And I want to issue a complaint right now.

  Someone needs to pen a column on how utterly awkward it is to be friends with the guy you gave your virginity to the night before last.

  Here we are at a golf course on the edge of the city, making small talk.

  Small talk is painful. Hell, it’s worse than having your plaque scraped. Loudly.

  “So, you’re looking forward to spring training?”

  “Absolutely. I love it,” Crosby says, all chipper and upbeat.

  “It must feel like everything is possible,” I offer, equally peppy so I don’t think of him doing bad things to me or whispering sweet everythings in my ear.

  “Yes, that’s exactly it. The world is your oyster,” he says as we chat by a golf cart as the event is winding down. “We have a lot to work on with our oyster, but I’m stoked to do the work. It’s always good to get back in the saddle.”

  Ugh, I want to gag.

  He’s talking to me like he’s chatting with a reporter at the end of the game.

  I chuckle, but it’s mirthless, maybe even frustrated.

  Crosby arches a brow. “What’s that for?”

  Should I just let it go? Screw it. “You just sounded like you were giving me a PR answer,” I say.

  He laughs. “I guess I did. The truth is, I’m kind of ridiculously excited. I always feel a little bit like a lion pacing in a cage, or maybe a bit of a lost soul, without baseball.”

  “See? That’s a better answer. Because you love it,” I say, glad to be talking honestly now.

  His smile is magnetic, genuine. Like a kid riding a bike for the first time. “I do. It’s definitely my first love,” he says.

  In some ways maybe I should feel jealous. But I don’t. I’m glad he has something that he loves that much. That baseball is it for him. “That’s how it is for me too. I’m not out on the field playing, obviously, but I grew up with a football-is-life worldview because of my dad. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Is it crazy that even when I was a little girl, I wanted to run my dad’s football team?”

  “No frogging way,” he says, smiling widely.

  “I see I’ve rubbed off on you.”

  “In more ways than one,” he says, wistful, his eyes a little lost.

  I feel the same. My God, I feel the same.

  “It was good to talk to you,” I say, gesturing from him to me. “Like this.”

  “It was, Nadia. It was great,” he says, and we both shuffle closer.

  It’s that awkward moment when you don’t know if you should hug or not.

  We go for the full awkward embrace, and the scent of him, the mind-bending, knee-weakening soapy scent of him, makes me feel lost all over again.

  My heart is empty, but I know exactly how it would feel full again.

  When I return home, I’m ready to write to the dating sites and tell them what to say. How to deal with this frogging mess.

  Deal with it by saying it.

  I want the friendship.

  I want the love. I want to be the girl warrior and the woman who falls hard for the man. I want to have it all. Is that so crazy?

  I send a note to Scarlett.

  * * *

  Nadia: Is it insane to think we can actually have it all?

  * * *

  The hour is late in Paris, and she doesn’t answer, but that’s okay. I think I know the answer.

  I grab a late dinner with my mom that evening.

  After we order yellowtail and edamame at my favorite sushi restaurant, I give her a wide-eyed look. “So, did Jackson Browne grease the wheels for you this weekend, Mama?”

  A flush crawls up her cheeks, and my jaw goes slack. “Are you kidding me, Mom? For real?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” she says, hushing me, but it’s a half-hearted denial.

  “So what are you saying, Mommykins?” I bat my lashes.

  She lifts her green tea and takes a sip, her brown eyes sparkling with the kind of delight I haven’t seen in them in a while.

  “What I’m saying is I had a lovely time and I’m going to see him again. I want to see what happens. It seems kind of foolish not to.”

  I repeat her words in my head—kind of foolish not to.

  They feel true.

  They feel important.

  They feel like one of those statements someone makes that stays with you.

  That becomes a brand-new mantra.

  More powerful than the one about speaking up.

  Or maybe it’s the perfect corollary. “Are those words to live by?”

  “I think they are,” she says, then tilts her head, studying me. “Is there something you’d be foolish not to do?”

  The answer is as obvious as knowing who I want to hire for the GM.

  As instinctive as selecting what pair of shoes to wear.

  As simple as talking to my mom.

  I know what I want.

  “I fell in love with Crosby,” I confess, my throat catching, “and I think the timing is all wrong.”

  “But you think you’d be foolish not to try to make it work?”

  A tear slides down my cheek. “I do. I want to have it all. And really, why be a fool?”

  She lifts her mug and clinks it to my glass.

  That night when I slide into my bed, two messages light up my phone.

  One is a reply from my friend in Europe.

  * * *

  Scarlett: You should have it all. And if something is getting in the way, figure out how to get rid of it and go get your all.

  * * *

  Then a note from my brother.

  * * *

  Eric: Just landed. Anything interesting happen while I was in the Maldives?

  * * *

  I run my thumb over his message. Should I tell him? Well, not that I discovered I love when Crosby plays with my ass.

  But rather that I’m in love with his best friend?

  I flash back to the mantra that has served me well.

  Don’t be afraid to speak up.

  I answer Eric with three words.

  * * *

  Nadia: Yes. Crosby happened.

  31

  Crosby

  I cut the engine in my mom’s driveway, grateful that she stayed up for me. I head up the steps to her lemon-yellow Victorian house, lined up amid the painted ladies on Steiner Street, and the second I reach the top, she opens the door with a soft whoosh.

  She lifts a finger to her lips, letting me know Kana’s asleep. I nod and slip out of my shoes as I go inside. We pad quietly to the sunroom at the back of her house on the far side from the bedrooms.

  Starlight streams through the windows, and I grab a seat on the rattan couch, tossing my keys on the table. Mom pats my leg. “Want some tea? Some sliced mango? Kale soup?”

  Laughing quietly, I shake my head. “Nope. Just good old-fashioned advice.”

  “Ah, that’s a piece of carrot cake,” she says, then pats my leg again. “I assume this is about Nadia?”

  “How did you know?” I ask, but truthfully, I’m not surprised.

  “Like I said the other night, it’s been years.”

  “Yeah, what did you mean by that?”

  She licks her lips, a sign that she’s thinking. “It means I always saw something between you two. But especially you. You were so . . . enchanted with her.”

  My heart warms like the sun. “Sounds about right.”

  “You loved listening to her tell stories, you loved talking to her, and you were nearly impossible to pull away from her when you were at their house,” she adds.

  I groan, dropping my head into my hand. “What am I going to do?”

  Her soft laugh fills the room. “Stop being so superstitious, I presume?”

  I look up. “Why do you assume I’m being superstitious?”

  “Because I raised you. You always liked your routine, everything in order. Practice at a certain time. Putting in so much work. Wearing your lucky socks. If you had a bad game, you’d figure out what you’d done differently and try to undo it,” she says, calm and knowing.

  I push out a forced laugh. “Sounds like me.”

  She smiles like it’s a fond memory. “And you’d analyze every game. See what you could learn from it. Do better. It’s served you well in baseball, all the way to the major leagues.” She squeezes my leg. “But I suspect you’re not worried about baseball right now.”

  I slump back against the couch, heave a sigh, and scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “No. I’m here about the woman. The one who enchants me.”

  She chuckles knowingly. “Well then.”

  I cock my head, meeting her eyes. “Well then, what?”

  She rolls her eyes, something she rarely does. “I feel as if your question has already been answered.”

  I frown, trying to unpack her meaning.

  But then I stop.

  I stop analyzing, and I listen to what she just said.

  I can’t apply baseball logic to women. I can’t force superstitions on love. And I definitely can’t expect lucky-sock reasoning to apply to my past.

  Or my present.

  Or the future I want to have.

  “So what if I swore off women?” I say, straightening. “So what if I was taking a break?” I stand to pace the room. “Who cares if I should take things slow, or if the timing is wrong? None of that matters.”

  Mom simply grins.

  I grab my keys from the table. “This isn’t about being smart or measured or patient. This is about not being a dumbass who lets the woman who enchants me pass me by.”

  She stands, clasping my shoulders. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  I hug her hard, kiss her cheek, then get the hell out of there, dialing Eric from the car.

  He starts speaking as soon as he picks up. “Well, I bet you—”

  “Listen, I broke the pact. I don’t care. I’m in love with your sister. Some people aren’t meant to be just friends.”

  He coughs, sputters, then laughs. “I’m not in the least bit surprised.”

  Ten minutes later, I pull up to the curb outside Nadia’s house, turn off the car, and call her as soon as I hit the sidewalk.

  She answers right away, sounding breathless. “Hi, what’s going on?”

  “Wait. Are you going somewhere?”

  “I’m in the elevator. I was going to see you.”

  I grin like it’s going out of style. “Talk about lucky socks. I’m right here, waiting for you to buzz me in.”

  Thirty seconds later, I see her through the glass door, coming through the small lobby, a wild smile on her face.

  She lets me in, and I lift her in my arms, kiss her gorgeous mouth, and say what I should have said yesterday morning. “Screw adulting. I’m in love with you.”

  32

  Crosby

  Nadia wraps around me like a koala, her legs around my hips, her ankles hooking over each other behind my back, her arms around my neck.

  I couldn’t be happier to have her go all marsupial on me.

  Still, I tip her back so I can look her over. She’s absolutely adorable in a peach hoodie, jeans, and Converse sneakers.

  “Were you going to catch a Lyft or something?”

  She nods, laughing and smiling. “Told you I was going to see you. And yes, I better cancel the Lyft. But first I just want to say, adulting sucks.” She drops a kiss onto my lips. “And I am stupid in love with you. I don’t care about timing or how things are supposed to happen. I don’t care about dating in a certain way or certain order.”

  The beautiful admission spills out of her in a fantastic rush.

  A rush that makes my heart thunder, and my happiness meter redlines, going off the charts. “You’re taking the words right out of my mouth, sweetheart. I don’t care either. I was so caught up in my old mistakes that I didn’t realize till tonight that leaving things between us as just friends would’ve been the biggest mistake of all.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, roping her arms even tighter around my neck. “I was going after you to tell you that too, because I’d be a fool to let you go without saying how I feel.”

  “Let’s not be fools,” I say softly.

  She kisses the corner of my lips. “Let’s not.” She pulls back, a brow arching. “But I should cancel the Lyft.”

  I set her down, she grabs her phone from her back pocket, and a few taps later, she proclaims, “Done!” and slams her body against mine, snuggling up against me. Holy hell, I love this woman’s affection. I love how she wants to get close.

  “Do that again,” I murmur.

  “I want to do everything with you.” She presses harder against me, then gazes up at me, her tone going all vulnerable and thoroughly sweet. “This is what I realized this weekend—I wanted a relationship like Eric and Mariana have, or Brooke and David, or my mom and dad. I thought we needed to do it that way. How they did.” She pauses, takes a breath, and smiles once more. “But you and me, we can do things our own way.”

  “We sure can, sweetheart,” I say, buzzing with possibility as I brush another kiss to her lips, savoring the moment, the contact, the connection. “We can do everything our way. And I just hope you’ll forgive me for being so stupid yesterday,” I say, sliding my hands up her back, never wanting to stop touching her.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I agreed to be all adult about it too. What a ridiculous idea,” she says with the most adorable eye roll.