“Yeah. I’m excited, ready. I think we still have some kinks to work out, but that’s how it always is at the start of the season.”

  “I’m glad we have a fall season where we can work those kinks out before our spring season starts. Gives us a good idea of the level of play the freshmen are coming in at too.”

  He turns left down my street and I see my house come into view. A shot of disappointment ricochets through my chest as he pulls into my driveway.

  “Think Scarlett has been able to pull herself together?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Most likely she’s still incapacitated.” I turn toward Lincoln and give him a soft smile. “Thanks again for today.”

  “Anytime, Mayhem. Just say the word.” He winks, and I unbuckle my seatbelt.

  It’s one of those moments where you’re not really sure what to do. We’re friends, so friends don’t kiss goodbye, even though this friend would like to know what that friend’s lips taste like. But just leaving feels weird too, so I lean over the console and hold my arm out. He brings me in close, hugs me, and I feel his lips press against my head. It’s sweet, not sexual at all—definitely comforting—and when we pull away, Lincoln grips my chin like he has before and says, “See you tomorrow, Indie.”

  I gulp, his face so close, his eyes trained on me. “See you tomorrow, Lincoln.”

  I don’t want to leave. Spending time with Lincoln has been easy.

  Well, except when he was stroking my neck and shoulders. God, I wanted to mount him. Have those fingers caressing other parts of my body. Because Lincoln’s words have rattled around in my mind since he said them. I was jealous that Deacon was holding you and touching you, and I know I have no right to be jealous.

  Why didn’t I push for more then? Why didn’t I ask what he wants instead? Probably because I’m not entirely sure what I want.

  Before I can do something stupid, I hop out of his car and make my way inside. I shut the door and then lean against it, my dirty clothes clutched to my chest, my mind reeling with confusion and excitement.

  “About time you came home,” Scarlett says, startling the crap out of me.

  Lounging on the couch, she’s sporting a pair of sunglasses for God knows what reason and wearing nothing but the shirt she borrowed from Hutton . . . and hopefully underwear. I pray she’s wearing underwear. At least she’s showered, which is a relief since Hutton’s tongue traveled all over her body last night and probably early this morning.

  “Jesus, you scared me.”

  Tipping her sunglasses down, she studies me and says, “Were you just daydreaming about Lincoln?”

  “What? No.” Maybe a little. “I wasn’t expecting you to be on the couch. I thought you’d be sleeping off your fuck fest with Hutton.”

  “I tried, but it was as if his dick energized me.” She waves her hand around the apartment. “I scrubbed every inch of this place and organized both our closets. You have some pretty ugly tops, so we’re going to need to filter those out.”

  I take in the apartment and notice a fresh lemony smell. There doesn’t seem to be anything lying around like shoes or papers. It actually looks really good in here, which can only mean one thing . . .

  “Oh my God, you like Hutton.” I walk over to the couch and set my clothes on the coffee table. “You like him, like him. The only time you clean like this is when you need to think, and you just so happened to do it after spending the night with Hutton.” I poke her but she doesn’t move, just stares at the muted TV. “You like him.”

  “He’s okay,” she answers nonchalantly. “He is quite talented with his penis though, I’ll give him that. Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Scarlett, I’m being serious. You like him.”

  She shrugs and adjusts her glasses. “Tell me about your night.” And that’s all I’m going to get out of her. Some girls are dying to spill their guts to their bestie straight after a significant moment. But not Scarlett. When she shuts down, there’s no way to get anything out of her. And right now? That’s where we’re at. “What’s going on with Lincoln?”

  “Nothing, really. We just hung out.”

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  “We slept in the same bed, but we didn’t do anything.”

  “Not even a kiss, or a grab of his dick?”

  “Nothing.”

  She tsks. “Shame. Missed opportunity, boo.” She pats my leg. “Did you hear me and Hutton?”

  “No, why, were you loud?”

  “Oh yeah.” She smiles. “He had me up against the wall at one point, and I swear I came from feeling my nipples graze the wall. He’s . . . something else.”

  “Talk about daydreaming.” I shove her and she just smiles.

  “Well, not that it matters. The guy is a whore and we have nothing in common. He’ll be good for a night here and there.” She looks off to the side, her lips twisting together, and I wonder what she’s not telling me. There has to be more if she spent all day cleaning and organizing. Did he say something to her last night? Something that might have scared her?

  I want to ask but I also know I won’t get a straight answer, so instead, I say, “Did you see Asher with that girl in the yellow dress last night?”

  “Briefly. She was really pretty. Had this whole Jessica Day vibe that I was digging.”

  “Asher was digging it too, because she stumbled downstairs right before you did.”

  “What?” Scarlett clenches her fist. “Damn it. I hate that I missed it. Did she say anything to you?”

  I shake my head. “No, not really. She blushed so hard though, it was endearing.”

  “I like her already. How cute would it be if Asher fell in love? The silent, shy guy finds a girl in a yellow dress at a party. Ugh, romance.”

  I lean back on the couch and take Scarlett’s hand in mine. We both stare at the silent TV. “It was a good party. I’m glad I went.”

  “Me too,” Scarlett says wistfully. “It was the perfect party.”

  * * *

  “Good morning, Mayhem.” Lincoln’s voice trails up the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to pop up on my arm. From behind me, he reaches his arm around and hands me a coffee. “Here you go.”

  I turn around and sigh as I take in his dark jeans and tight white shirt. Freaking handsome. His hair is styled and he has the lightest scruff on his jaw, giving him a dark, sultry look this morning. Desire rushes through my veins and before I can stop myself, I bring my arm around him and press my head to his chest, giving him a much-needed hug. When his arm encases me, warmth spreads through me and flows furiously through every one of my limbs, making me feel light on my feet. Okay, so it was much-needed hug for me.

  Yup. I really needed this.

  “Good morning.”

  When I look up at him, he smiles and tugs on my ponytail. “That’s a greeting I enjoy.”

  When I part from him, I hold up my coffee and say, “Thank you for this.”

  “I also got us a cinnamon bun that we can share before class.” He checks his phone. “We have ten minutes, want to sit?”

  “Sure.” We take a seat at a bench right outside the lecture hall. A few guys pass us and give Lincoln a bro shake but thankfully leave us in peace.

  “Only got one fork, so I hope you don’t mind sharing.”

  “I think I can handle it.”

  From his backpack, he pulls out a to-go box from the dining hall and pops the top open to reveal a massive cinnamon bun. Holding the fork out to me, he says, “You can have the first bite.”

  “Are you buttering me up for a reason, Castle?” I sink the fork in the gooey pastry and then bring the fork to my mouth, letting my lips slide over the tines, taking all the icing with me. “Ugh, this is so good. Did you get it from Lakeview?”

  I open my eyes and see Lincoln staring at my mouth. “Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat. “They make the best cinnamon buns on campus.”

  I hide my chuckle and hand him the fork. “When I was staying in the dorms my freshman year, I allowed myself one of these a month. And, I’m supposed to be eating healthy and you’re making that hard on me.”

  He nudges me with his shoulder. “Half a cinnamon bun is not going to kill you.”

  We go back and forth, sharing the fork, and the entire time, I keep thinking about how our mouths are touching but not really touching. It’s torture . . . almost.

  “So have you hit ninety-five yet?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee, letting the hot liquid break down the sugar in my mouth.

  “Nah. Not yet. I have time, which reminds me. If you’re serious about helping me build up my legs, I’ll take you up on that.”

  “Not sure if you can handle my routines.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “If you want it to be, it can be a challenge.”

  “I don’t know.” He studies me. “Any time I challenge you at something, it usually comes back to bite me in the ass. But then again, I really want to build my legs. What a conundrum.”

  “You’re ridiculous. How about next Monday, before class, we can work on some things?”

  “That works for me.” He offers me the last bite of the cinnamon roll, but I turn it down and lean back on the bench, looking up at the cloudy sky.

  “I’m glad we’re back to normal.” I loll my head to the side, catching that handsome smile on his face.

  “Me too, Mayhem. It was weird there for a second.”

  “And we don’t wear weird well.”

  He shakes his head. “We don’t.” He stands and offers his hand. I take it, only for him to spin me around and then drape his arm over my shoulders, holding me close as we make our way into the lecture hall.

  Every person that passes us stares at our connection, at how close we are, but I don’t give a shit. I’m comfortable. I’m happy. And I think Lincoln is too.

  That’s all that matters.

  * * *

  “You ready?” I ask Scarlett, jumping up and down in the tunnel leading to the soccer field.

  “Ready, boo.” She hops as well, shaking out her arms.

  “Does it seem louder to you?” I ask, trying to peek around the corner.

  “It does. I hope it’s not fans from the other team, because that would just be humiliating on opening day on our turf.”

  From a distance, we hear the announcer of our match say, “Now, let’s welcome our Brentwood women’s soccer team.” They play our walkout song, My Songs Know What You Did in The Dark by Fall Out Boy, and our coach gives us high fives as we sprint out onto the field. And to my absolute shock and surprise, we run out to a packed stadium and a massively loud crowd. At the epicenter of it all, I see the men’s baseball team with signs and pom-poms.

  The Baseball Team Loves You

  Kick Ass, Girls

  Mayhem is Coming Your Way.

  The last sign is held up by the gorgeous Ken doll himself, Lincoln Castle. He has my number, three, painted on his face and . . . oh dear Jesus, he’s not wearing a shirt. His body is painted in black and green, and I think I just swallowed my tongue.

  Beside them is the football team: Hartley, Hutton, Rusty, and Deacon all decked out in paint as well.

  And then the men’s soccer team, women’s softball, and women’s basketball.

  What on earth?

  Lincoln is screaming his ass off, holding the sign above his head, and Hutton starts a cheer by clapping.

  It feels like the entire stadium is shaking. I’ve never experienced anything like it, at least never while I’m on the field. I’ve seen the way the student population cheers for the baseball team, and this doesn’t fall much short of that.

  Tears well in my eyes, and I try to hold it together while Scarlett comes up to me and says, “You realize this is all on your boy, right?”

  I glance at Hutton again, his eyes on us. “I don’t know, could be your boy.”

  Scarlett doesn’t bother looking in the stands. “Doesn’t matter, let’s give them a show, yeah?” She grips the back of my neck and presses her forehead to mine. “You and me, Indie.”

  “You and me, Scar.”

  We jog to our bench while the crowd continues to cheer. I take one more look at Lincoln and we make eye contact. He winks and then yells, “Let’s go Brentwood,” and I swear, in this moment, Lincoln Castle just secured a piece of my heart.

  No one, not even my own parents, has showed this level of comprehension and respect for my love of soccer. I will always remember this moment, where Lincoln showed me what it meant to be admired. Believed in. I have no doubt he’s responsible for making our opening match special by filling the stands. Of course, he did it for the team, there’s no doubt about that. There’s also no doubt that I feel love for this man. Not over-the-top romantic love. But an appreciation that this guy is special. That no matter where our lives take us, I will always remember this moment. Him.

  * * *

  “You ready?” Scarlett asks, freshly showered, her backpack slung over her shoulder.

  “Yeah.” I grab my backpack as well, fix it on my shoulders, and then pick up my phone from the locker. “How’s the thigh?”

  “Sore as fuck, but it was worth it.” Scarlett gives me a sly smile. “Taking out number twelve was a pleasure.”

  I chuckle and follow her out of the locker room.

  We won, three to one. I scored two goals and Scarlett scored one, giving us a head start on our stats for the year. It felt freaking good out there. Once the game started, I completely forgot about the crowd, about Lincoln in the stands, and his six-pack painted in black and green. It was just me, my team, and the field, the field that never looked clearer to me. We had a few moments we could have better capitalized on, but it’s a learning game, and we saw the potential strength in the team.

  “Number twelve was running her mouth way too much. Glad you took care of it.”

  “Was she bumping you with her boobs? I swear she used them as a weapon. And was that a turtle shell sports bra she was wearing?”

  “Something like that,” I answer. “Felt like protective armor. I think I almost cracked a tooth on it one time when she ran into my face, chest first.”

  “Girl needs to work on her footwork, then she wouldn’t have to use her boobs as much.”

  “Could not agree more.”

  We push through the doors that lead to the parking lot and are greeted by raucous cheering.

  Still holding their signs, Lincoln and Hutton—with wet hair, but sans body paint—cheer for us as we walk up to them.

  Lincoln doesn’t hesitate by pulling me into a hug, picking me up and spinning me around. “Damn, Mayhem, you were epic out there.”

  He sets me down and for the first time since I can ever remember, I feel a blush creep up my cheeks. It’s one thing to tell me I played a good game, but it’s a whole other story when the hottest guy in school—in my opinion—picks you up and tells you you’re epic.

  Huge difference.

  “Thank you.”

  I look over at Hutton and Scarlett, and they’re just staring at each other, as if they’re making silent promises about ripping each other’s clothes off.

  “You were hot out there, Scar,” Hutton says. “I especially liked it when you took out that girl like a bad ass.”

  “Just another day in the office,” she says, shrugging off the compliment.

  And then I watch Hutton take Scarlett’s hand, her eyes flash up to his, her mouth slightly parted. “Want to grab something to eat?”

  There’s hidden meaning behind his question and she reads all over it. “There’s food at our place.”

  “Perfect.”

  Still holding hands, they walk down the sidewalk to the parked cars, Scarlett calling over her shoulder, “You might want to go out to dinner or something.” Then she winks, and I don’t need her write it out for me.

  They’re going to have sex and they’re going to be loud. Noted.

  Facing Lincoln, I say, “Uh, want to grab dinner anyplace other than my place?”

  He nods at my backpack. “Got a spare set of clothes in there?” I nod. “Then why don’t you come to my place? We can pick something up on the way and hang.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say, nervous and excited butterflies flitting around in my stomach.

  Like he did on Monday, he takes my hand in his and walks me to his Jeep, the whole time talking about how amazing the game was. And once again, he blows me away. He watched. He cheered. He understood the game. He gets me. He was there for me.

  * * *

  “Indie,” Deacon says when I walk through the door. “Damn, girl, you were amazing out there.” He gives me a massive hug, and then I’m picked right back up by Rusty.

  “There’s my girl. Incredible as always.”

  “Thank you,” I say as he sets me down. “And thank you so much for coming to our game. It meant a lot to all of us.”

  “It was all the big guy’s idea.” Rusty nods toward Lincoln, who’s in the kitchen getting drinks.

  “Yeah, he came barreling into the house yesterday with bags full of arts and crafts and called the house to a meeting. We spent an embarrassing amount of time on the signs,” Deacon says and then leaning in close, he adds, “He really cares about you, Indie.” When he pulls away, he winks, and then walks into the kitchen where he pats Lincoln on the back.

  They exchange a few words and honestly, I’m impressed. Normally you’d see a pissing match from two guys when they butt heads over a girl, but not Deacon and Lincoln. They’re cool with each other and it’s admirable.

  What’s also admirable? Having someone who is not related to me care about me. My parents, for example, have never made signs for any of my games, or cheered as enthusiastically like Lincoln did. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt special to someone. And Lincoln does it effortlessly. Yeah, he might have made some signs and gathered some recruits to come to the game, but even before the game today, he’s done things, said things, that made me feel like I matter.