Nope.

  This is him—eating one of our fries without asking—and hanging out.

  “Went for a walk on the boardwalk and did some stretches,” Indie answers, and then elbows his arm. “What about you?”

  I watch from across the table, the ease they already have with each other, the glances, the way Indie’s body almost leans in toward Deacon. It’s not comforting; it’s really fucking annoying, and I can feel the heat of irritation start to bleed up my neck to the base of my skull.

  That’s going to be a tension headache. Yup, I can already feel the thrumming starting . . .

  “Rusty, Hartley, and I decided to toss the ball around on the beach. Just grabbed some hoagies and we’re headed back to the house.” Deacon addresses me. “We tried to text you, man, to see if you wanted anything.”

  “Oh shit, sorry.” I reach for my phone in my pocket, taking in all the missed texts.

  “Nah, it’s cool. I get it. Hartley wants to watch All-American on Netflix when we get home. Want us to wait for you?”

  “Go ahead. I can catch up.”

  “Cool, I’ll leave you guys to it.” Deacon grabs another fry, and then winks at Indie. “I’ll see you later. Have fun, you guys.”

  With a quick salute, he takes off toward the parking lot where I spot Hartley’s black SUV. It’s hard not to spot given it’s a TESLA and fucking sick. Hartley’s dad had an electric plug installed in our house for Hartley’s SUV.

  As Deacon jogs away, I catch Indie’s lingering gaze before she returns to her hot dog, and just like that, the bubble I was living in bursts. I’m left feeling annoyed because of a really nice guy who just bombed my second non-date with Indie. I just wish I knew why the fuck it annoyed me so much.

  * * *

  I pull up to Indie’s house.

  We didn’t talk much the rest of the evening. I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say and it seemed neither could Indie. It was as if Deacon came along with his fucking friendly and jolly Santa-like attitude and threw a bucket of cold water over our impromptu dinner.

  Dousing any flames that may have been sparking.

  Not that I’m looking for sparks, but our connection is hard to deny, especially our easy witty banter.

  Either way, after Deacon left, our night ended abruptly.

  Once we finished our dogs, Indie said she should probably get back to her house to get ready for the school week, and I didn’t argue with her.

  Now that we’re in front of her house and she’s unbuckling her seatbelt, I feel desperate to say something, anything that would keep her in my company for a few more minutes.

  Anything that would make up for my inability to hold a conversation after getting my dick stepped on and flattened by Deacon.

  “Thanks for going on a walk with me,” I say. “And thanks for dinner. I think those were the best wieners I’ve ever put in my mouth.” Not great, but it’s something.

  She chuckles. “How long have you been waiting to say that?”

  “The whole ride home.”

  “What impeccable restraint.”

  She opens the door and before she can get out, I tug on her hand and say, “Hold on a second.” I reach behind her seat and pull out a bag with a bath bomb in it. “Here.”

  Surprised, she examines the bath bomb and then looks back at me. “Is this a bath bomb?”

  “It is. My mom sends a bunch to me every month. They’re infused with homeopathic oils that help soothe my sore muscles. Fill up your tub when you get inside and try to hang out in the water for at least fifteen minutes. You’ll thank me later. Oh, and just so you know, I’ve never handed them out to other people, so consider yourself lucky.”

  “You’re giving me a bath bomb,” she says, still shocked.

  “Yeah, is that a problem?”

  “No, it’s just . . .” Her lips tip up. “It’s really sweet. Thanks, Castle.”

  “You’re welcome.” I shrug, trying to pass it off as nothing.

  Unexpectedly, she leans over the console and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me into a hug. Only able to maneuver so one hand is free, I squeeze her tight, letting myself revel in the feel of her pressed against my body for a second before she pulls away.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lincoln.”

  She hops out and shuts the door. “See you tomorrow, Mayhem.” She gives me a cute wave and then disappears up her stairs and into her house.

  Letting out a long sigh, I rest my head against my seat and start my engine. Time to head home.

  * * *

  Knock. Knock.

  “Come in,” I call out.

  “Are your pants up? Hand anywhere near your penis?” I hear Deacon’s voice call through the door.

  “No, I’m not jacking off like your brother.”

  The door slowly opens, and Deacon peeks his head through, but his eyes are closed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Jesus.” I laugh.

  When he opens his eyes, he sighs in relief. “Can’t ever be too sure. When Rusty was saying yes, it was because he was ready to come, not telling me I could come in. Trust me, that’s an image you don’t get out of your head for a while.”

  “I believe it.” I nod toward my bed for him to sit. “What’s up?”

  Deacon takes a seat and clasps his hands together in front of him. “Can I ask you something? And I don’t want you to get mad at me, but I really need to know the answer to the question.”

  “Sure, what’s up?” I ask, feeling like I know what this will be about.

  “You and Indie.” Yup, I was right. “Are you guys a thing?” Before I can answer, he holds up his hand and says, “The reason I ask is because I don’t want to step on any toes, man. She’s cool and yeah, I would love to take her out, but if there’s anything going on between you two, I want to steer clear of it.”

  I rub the side of my face, scratching my five o’clock shadow. “I appreciate you coming to me,” I say, pausing to think about his question.

  Is there anything going on between us?

  Nothing more than what’s probably happening with Indie and Deacon. I’ve noticed that Indie likes to flirt, and she’s fucking good at it, but she also keeps everyone an arm’s length away. So even though I would like to believe that maybe there’s something there, I know there really isn’t.

  And that should be okay with me because, just like her, I’m not in a position to start anything with someone, especially someone as strong-willed and determined as Indie. I wouldn’t want to fuck up any of her finely engineered plans for her future.

  It might be great, having a shot at being with her, but I know that past the curiosity of it all, it’s not what either of us needs.

  I shake my head. “Nah, there’s nothing going on. We’re just friends.”

  Deacon doesn’t seem to buy it. “Are you sure, man? I saw the way you were looking at her last night, and then today, at the hot dog place. You looked like you wanted to shove your hot dog down my throat to get me the hell out of there.”

  Shit.

  I guess I didn’t play it as cool as I thought I did.

  “I mean . . . yeah, she’s pretty amazing, but I know we’re in different places in our lives, headed in opposite directions, so friends works for us.”

  Deacon nods. “What kind of place is she in her life?”

  “Honest truth?”

  “Yeah.”

  I bite on the side of my cheek, wondering how much I should tell him, if I should speak for Indie or not. Hell, she said she’d go out to dinner with him, so maybe she is open to a relationship if it’s with the right guy. Who am I to stop that?

  Then again, Deacon’s my friend too. Indie has told me numerous times she doesn’t want anything serious in a relationship. I could see Deacon falling for Indie and falling hard; that would be difficult on him if she didn’t share the same feelings.

  Deciding to be careful with my words, I say, “Not sure if she’s looking for anything really serious right now. I think she’s more about having fun.”

  Deacon pulls on the back of his neck. “Yeah, that was the impression I got as well.”

  “But who knows,” I say, for some reason. “Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He leans back on my bed, his hands behind him as I sit at my desk, wishing for this conversation to be over. “I think I might still take her out, I mean . . . if that’s okay with you.”

  “You don’t need to ask my permission, dude.”

  “I know, but . . .” He bites on his lip and looks to the ceiling. “Jesus, don’t hate me for saying this, but I just get this feeling that you might like her and don’t know it yet.”

  Oh, I know I like her. But there’s nothing I’m going to do about it, because when it comes to Indie, giving in to those feelings would be a slippery slope.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m good. Take her out. You’ll probably have a blast.”

  “Okay,” he says with reservation. “If you’re cool with it, I’ll text her this week.”

  “Do what you want. We’re good, man.”

  * * *

  Despite going to bed early last night, it feels like I got two hours of solid sleep, max.

  I kept tossing and turning, uncomfortable in my own bed, with this heavy weight sitting on my chest from my conversation with Deacon. I meant what I said. He can do whatever he wants. I have no claim on Indie, but hell, I couldn’t stop thinking about what happens if they did go out, if Indie did break her rule and decide to date Deacon. How would that make me feel?

  Not great.

  But then again, it’s not like I’m making a move on her, or even like I should. We’re both going different directions in our lives and it doesn’t feel right to even consider asking her out.

  Deacon is the more suitable choice—as if I’m the one to make the decision—as he has another year at Brentwood after this year, and so does Indie. They would be good together.

  At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  Leaning back in my seat, I pull my hood over my head and close my eyes as I wait for class to start. Fuck, I’m going to have to take a nap in between classes and training today. Thankfully our locker room has some really nice couches in it.

  Students filter in, but thankfully they don’t bother me; they shuffle down into the small classroom, taking their seats and ignoring the guy in the back trying to keep the world at a distance.

  That is, until Indie sits next to me.

  “Here,” she says, setting something on my desk. “Looks like you need this more than me.”

  Sitting up, I open my eyes to see a large coffee on my desk. I glance at her and she smiles, reaching out and lowering my hood.

  “That’s better. Now drink up, sleeping is not allowed in class.”

  “Did you already drink out of this?”

  “Are you serious right now?”

  I laugh and bring the lid to my mouth to take a large gulp. I hand it back to her and she takes a drink as well, and for some reason, her not even caring that my lips were just on the lid does something stupid to my insides—makes them all tingly and shit.

  Jesus Christ, man.

  “Why so tired?” she asks, getting out her notebook. Something I like about Indie? She takes handwritten notes unlike everyone else with their computers on their desks. And she changes the color of her pen, so she knows when her notes start and stop from each class, alternating between blue and red. It’s cute.

  “Couldn’t find my REM cycle. Mind was racing.”

  “About what?” She hands me back the cup and I take a sip, faintly tasting her cherry ChapStick.

  Now, I could tell her the truth. I could say that Deacon came to get my blessing last night, and I had to explain that you weren’t wanting a relationship. Just to see what she thinks after seeing him yesterday. Because if I’m anything, I’m mostly honest. But when I dig deeper, I don’t think I want Deacon to be a recipient of Indie’s hugs. The feel of her against my body last night was hard—no pun intended—to shake off. And if they date . . . well . . . he’ll get way more than her hugs.

  Yeah, no.

  Let’s not go there, Castle.

  “Everything. The season,” I say, coming up with an excuse on the fly. “Coach wants me to up my velocity to ninety-five this year, which seems next to impossible. I tap out at ninety-one. Can’t seem to get over that hump.”

  “Ninety-five? Hell, I’d be lucky to throw at fifty miles an hour.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, and I’m sure it would take me about fifty tries to score a goal from midfield.”

  “Only fifty?”

  I nudge her shoulder playfully. “I’m still athletic.”

  “Pretty sure I’m more athletic than you.”

  “Uh, are you serious with that?” I ask, feeling more alive.

  “There’s no competition, Lincoln. I’m easily the more athletic one between the two of us.”

  “How do you figure?” I ask boldly, feeding off her spitfire attitude.

  “Well, the women’s soccer physical test alone debunks your theory, but I have to be able to juggle a ball with my feet while keeping my eyes on the field. Agility alone, I have you beat, hands down. All you do is stand on a mound and throw a ball hard.”

  “All I do—” I suck in a sharp breath. “I have to field too, and bat.”

  She rolls her eyes. “We all know batting is a joke when it comes to pitchers.” Cupping her mouth, she whisper-shouts, “Easy out, folks. Easy out.” With a raise of her brow, she chuckles to herself and drinks more coffee.

  “Wow, tell me how you really feel.”

  “Okay. Yes, you might have a great physique and sure, you can toss a basketball at an arcade game, but when put on the field, there’s not a chance you’d be able to beat me. Hell, I bet you anything if you pitched to me, I’d be able to hit off you.”

  “It’s sickening how confident you are.” We both laugh, still waiting for our teacher to show up. “Anyway, Coach Disik says it’s all in the legs. If I build up my leg strength, it will translate to velocity. I’ve been spending more time in the gym, focusing my efforts there, but it seems to be doing nothing.”

  “Maybe you’re doing the wrong workouts. In soccer, we’re all about leg strength and agility. I can take you on the field and teach you a few things.”

  “Is that so?”

  She smiles and removes the cup from my hand. After a large sip, she hands it back. “Yeah. Stick with me, Castle, and you’ll be hitting ninety-five before you know it.”

  Just then, our professor walks in and sets his bag on the desk. He sits down and says, “Lesson plans, they’re due in two weeks. I want drafts by the end of the week.”

  Indie and I both look at each other, eyes wide.

  Whispering, I say, “Uh, want to grab lunch after this?”

  She whispers, “I think that would be best.”

  Chapter Nine

  INDIE

  “Where do you want to go?” Lincoln asks, hands gripping the straps of his backpack. Despite looking a little tired, he’s handsome as ever in a black hoodie and jeans that hang low on his hips. It’s casual, but his tapered torso does all the right things for his form and sex appeal. Not to mention his messy hair, or the light tan on his face, which makes his blue eyes seem even bluer this morning.

  “Lakeview?”

  “I’m down for that.” As if it’s the most natural thing, he loops his arm over my shoulders and we start walking toward the dining hall next to the athletic dorms. It’s not only the dining hall I’m most familiar with, since my entire freshman year was spent eating there, but it’s the prettiest because it looks out over Lake Michigan.

  Lincoln’s cologne is making my head feel dizzy . . . and possibly confused. “Uh, aren’t you hot in that sweatshirt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you take it off?”

  “You looking for me to take my clothes off, Indie? At least wait until we’re somewhere private.”

  “I see that coffee has kicked in.”

  He stops and takes his backpack off, handing it to me. I hold it for him as he reaches behind his head and starts to pull his sweatshirt off. As if in slow motion, the back of his shirt starts to lift, which then lifts with the front of his shirt, showing off one of the most amazing six-packs and hip divots I’ve ever seen.

  No wonder his jeans hang low on his hips—there’s nothing there to hold them up.

  The waistband of his black briefs hugs his muscled skin, and rests low, just low enough that it makes my mouth water with curiosity.

  But those abs, oh my God, clearly defined and sculpted, stacked one on top of the other, with a thin line of trimmed hair that travels down to the waistband of his briefs. My fingers itch to reach out and touch that hair, to see where it leads, to dip my hand past his waistband and see if the rumors floating around school are true.

  “Want me to take my other shirt off too?” Lincoln asks, his deep voice startling my eyes up to his.

  “What? No. Sorry . . .” I bite my bottom lip and look away, an awkward laugh bubbling up my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just”—I lean forward and say—“you have great abs.”

  “Right back at ya, Mayhem.” He winks and ties his sweatshirt loosely around his hips and for some reason, it adds about twenty more hot points to his overall appearance, if that’s even possible. His light blue shirt clings tightly to his biceps, making them look like boulders in his arms, and the hem of his shirt is loose, accentuating how fit he is.

  I’ve always been into bulkier guys. Men like Deacon, who fit the description of a lineman, but Lincoln is making me think I’ve been wrong about my own taste my entire life, because I can’t seem to stop staring at him, especially after seeing his abs. That image has been burned into my brain, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be next to impossible to get it out of my mind.

  “Come on.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder again and leads me toward Lakeview.