“Okay, warm up first, then we’re going to blast your legs with heavy loads of weights. After one round, back to agility, then we repeat weights. We will repeat five times. Your legs will be noodles at the end of this. But it will build endurance.”

  “All right. Lead me through it.”

  “We’ll do ladder work first. Then move to the slide board for a minute. Once warm, we’ll do squats, front lunges, power cleans, and dead lifts. Only five reps of each, but at eighty percent of your best weight. The goal is to make sure when you do lift number five, it’s next to impossible to make it. Then we’ll jump back into agility. One-minute rest in between each set.”

  I nod and then hold my hand out for a high five; she smacks it, a direct hit. “Let’s do this, Mayhem.”

  From her backpack, she pulls out a Bluetooth speaker and sets it on one of the boxes we use for box jumps. “You probably have a stereo system in here.”

  “We do.” I chuckle.

  “But wasn’t sure if you have access to it.”

  “We do.” I laugh some more.

  “Well, doesn’t matter, as I made us a workout playlist last night and I’m going to play it.”

  “That’s fucking cute.”

  She points her finger at me. “Don’t try to be charming, I’m not going easy on you.”

  “Wouldn’t expect you to.”

  Once everything is set up, she presses play on her phone and the first song makes me smile. Okay, she means business.

  Sandstorm by Darude, blasts through the speaker and she turns to me, removing her long-sleeved tee, leaving her in just her sports bra.

  Fuck.

  And how is that helpful for concentration? Because now all I’m going to stare at is how her sweats hang low on her hips, her bubble butt barely holding them up, and her carved abs on display, not to mention how her sports bra molds to her lush tits.

  “Let’s go, Castle. Follow my lead on the ladder.”

  With ease, Indie creates pattern movements.

  In, in, out, out.

  Out, in, out, in.

  Straight hops.

  Diagonal hops corner to corner.

  Her feet swiftly move, not touching the ladder once, and I pay close attention to what I’m doing in order to maneuver my large feet through the ladder and not touch it. But my pace is nowhere near hers. Her arms pump, her concentration is so intense, I’m fucking impressed.

  And turned on.

  “Grab booties for the slide board,” she says, moving quickly to the slide board, bringing the timer with us. I slip on the booties so my feet slide easily, and get into position on one side. “Ready, go.”

  She starts the timer and says, “One minute.”

  Together, we slide back and forth, our feet hitting the sides at the same time.

  “You can go faster, Castle, move it.”

  I smile to myself, squat a little lower and push off faster, sliding faster than her now.

  “Faster,” she pushes, picking up her pace and fuck, she’s fast. I push harder, avoid looking at the clock and when the timer goes off, I slide to one side and then lift up, feeling out of breath.

  Poking me in the chest, she says, “That’s why you aren’t hitting ninety-five. You’re not pushing past your limit. You have more in you, so dig deep to find it. Let’s set up the weights.”

  Christ, she’s lethal, in every which way. Not only is she hot as fuck, but her confidence is even sexier. She’s in her element. This is what she does best: push and encourage. I could see her doing this later in life.

  We set up my weights and she stands behind me as a spot while I move through the different lifts, my legs burning, my arms burning, and sweat already dripping down my back. After the last rep of the first round, I set the barbell down, reach behind my head, and peel my already soaking shirt off.

  I toss the garment to the side and catch the subtle once-over Indie gives me. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her check me out, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. She seems to appreciate the male form, specifically mine.

  “One-minute break,” she says while moving to a chair where she takes her sweatpants off, leaving her in the tiniest pair of spandex shorts I’ve ever seen.

  “Ah, come on, Mayhem,” I groan as she stands.

  “What?”

  I motion to her outfit. “You’re making things really hard over here.”

  She chuckles and says, “And I thought this was what you wanted.”

  I shake my head. “No, sweatpants back on. Stat.”

  “That’s just my warmup gear.”

  “So this is what you work out in all the time?”

  “Of course not. This is just for you.” She winks and then claps her hands. “Ladder. Let’s go, Castle.”

  Four more rounds. Why does it feel like they’re going to be the longest four rounds of my life?

  * * *

  “You’re joking,” Indie says, looking up at me. Sweat is dripping straight into her cleavage, her cheeks are tinted a light shade of red, and her eyes are shining with adrenaline from our workout. She’s so fucking enticing right now that I have to reel back my need to reach out and touch her.

  “What? Do you think you’re going to class like that?” I motion up and down her body. “Sorry to say it, Mayhem, but you stink.”

  “I do not stink.” She playfully whacks me, and I laugh.

  “Okay, you might not stink, but you will if you don’t wash off.”

  “I’m not going to wash off in the baseball locker room. I see what you’re trying to do.”

  “And what’s that exactly?” I ask, leaning against the wall.

  She flits her hand toward the locker room door. “I’ve heard the rumors about what happens in there. Take a girl into the locker room and they’re yours forever.”

  I try to hold back my smile. “Pretty close, Mayhem, but the legend is if a baseball player has sex with a girl in the baseball locker room, then they’re bound together for life and will get married within three years.” I look her up and down. “I don’t know about you, but I just planned on showering.”

  “I can run over to my locker and take a shower, smartass.”

  “Don’t be stupid. There are stalls in the showers and I won’t look.”

  “Oh, okay,” she scoffs. “You were staring at me every chance you got during our workout.”

  “Uh, to make sure I had the right form. Jesus, Mayhem.”

  False. I was staring at her tits when she was squatting. At her ass during dead lifts. Her stomach during power cleans. Her toned legs during lunges. I was checking her out every chance I got.

  “Sure.”

  I open the locker room door with my keycard and nod inside. “It’s not a big deal, come on.”

  She peeks inside and I see interest flash over her face, so I grab her hand and take her inside.

  She stops short just in front of the door, taking in the entire space.

  “You know, I had an image of what it might look like in here, but I never expected it to be this nice.”

  I go over to the fridge that’s stocked with electrolyte drinks and hand her a bottle. “You don’t have large-screen TVs in your locker room?”

  “Uh, no.” She laughs, taking the drink from me. “Nor do we have a fridge with drinks or five couches and a table to sit at.”

  I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “Well, this is embarrassing then.”

  She steps forward and peruses the space. “Where’s your locker?”

  “Far corner.”

  She walks over there and I follow her. She spots my nameplate at the top of my locker and runs her finger over it before examining the rest of my space. Her fingers sift through all the practice shirts hung up, and then she goes to my turf shoes and cleats.

  “No pictures. I half expected to see a heart frame with a picture of your moms in it.”

  I reach above her and pull open the closed-off part of the locker. On the other side of the door is a picture of me with my moms outside my high school baseball field.

  Indie clutches her heart and then looks up at me. “Oh God, look at you being a mama’s boy.”

  “Guilty.”

  In the center of the locker is a shelf stacked with towels. I grab two for each of us and hand her a set. “There’s shampoo and all that stuff in each stall. You might smell a little masculine, but at least you’ll be clean.”

  “Are you really not going to look?”

  “I won’t look.” I might sneak a peek though, but she doesn’t need to know that. “This way, Mayhem.”

  We pass the rest of the lockers and when we step into the shower room, her eyes narrow at me.

  “These aren’t full stalls.”

  “And you’re short enough so you’ll be covered. You’re fine. Stop being such a prude.”

  “Says the guy who only needs to cover his crotch.”

  “I promise I won’t be able to see anything.”

  She studies the shower stalls, walks up to one, measures what it covers, and realizes that sure enough, it will cover everything that needs to be covered.

  “See?” I give her a playful shove. “Now get clean.” I walk over to the opposite side, step into a stall, and start stripping down and hanging my clothes on the side. I flip the shower on and let the cold water blast me in the chest, cooling off my body. I stand there for a few seconds, letting the cold seep into my skin, waking me up and also freezing the shit out of my junk. You know, just in case.

  When I turn around, my eyes immediately go to Indie, who is naked, fully under the water, head tilted up, letting the water run down her face and the front of her body. All I can see is the slight swell of her breasts when her arms lift.

  And that’s all it takes.

  Despite the freeze-out I attempted, my cock jumps to full mast within seconds.

  She steps out of the water, wipes her eyes, and then meets my gaze across the shower wall. “I thought you said you weren’t going to look.”

  “I, uh . . .” My cock twitches. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Despite how hard you seem to be trying.” She chuckles and puts some shampoo in her hair. I’m fucking stunned, immobile as I watch her fingers sift through her hair, causing the soap to bubble up into suds. I can’t look away. I know I should, but I can’t. I watch in fascination as she washes her hair, the suds falling down her body in slow motion, over her shoulders, to the front of her chest.

  I ache to touch my cock, to relieve the building pressure.

  But there is no way I can get away with jacking off in front of her. Talk about being a goddamn creep, especially given she told me not to look. I’m over here being a fucking voyeur, unable to peel my eyes away.

  “No conditioner?” she asks, looking around. “Ugh, I should have known, boys don’t use conditioner.”

  “It’s uh, a shampoo-conditioner combo,” I say, reaching out and grabbing some shampoo so it looks like I’m doing something other than staring.

  “It will still probably take me an hour to comb my hair. I’m blaming you, Castle.” She takes some body soap and starts rubbing it all over her body. Jesus Christ. “Oh, this smells really good.” She smiles and looks up at me. “Smells like you, Linc.”

  And that right there makes me fucking melt into a puddle of horny teenage boy mush. The smile, the shortening of my name, and the cute way she says it.

  I’m fucked.

  I’m totally and utterly fucked.

  Stupidly, I answer, “I take a lot of showers here.”

  “That’s obvious.” She makes a turning motion with her fingers. “Now look away, I need to wash my private areas and I don’t need you staring at me while I do that.”

  Yeah, I need to wash my private areas too . . .

  I spin around and rinse the soap out of my hair. I then wash my face and wipe the water out of my eyes. From behind me, I hear the stall door shut.

  “I’m done and going to get changed in one of the bathrooms just in case one of your guys comes in.”

  “Okay. Be out in a second.” The minute she leaves the shower, I place one hand against the tile in front of me, quickly soap up my body, and then grip my cock.

  I start low at the base and then squeeze hard as I pump up toward the tip.

  Knowing how sound echoes in the shower room, I bite my bottom lip to keep my mouth shut.

  My mind falls back to the soap cascading down Indie’s body, her head tipped back under the water, the swell of her breasts, the way she looked in her workout gear.

  Ah, fuck.

  My legs start to shake and I pump faster, pressure building at the root of my cock.

  Her tits and how they looked like they were about to fall out of her sports bra when squatting.

  The groans she made when maxing out her last rep.

  That smile . . .

  My balls tighten and a surge of euphoria shoots through me as my cock swells in my hand, and I come in the locker room shower for the first time in my life.

  I pump for a few extra seconds, a few more pulses of cum falling out of me and down the drain.

  “Fuck,” I mutter softly and then lift my head into the water, cooling my face down.

  I needed that, more than I thought I did.

  I finish rinsing the rest of my body off and then turn off the water. When I turn around, I’m relieved to see that Indie didn’t catch me. That would have probably been really fucking embarrassing. What would I say?

  Probably the truth like I did yesterday.

  That she’s hot.

  That she turns me on.

  That I can’t stop thinking about her.

  That I want her. I want her bad.

  * * *

  “Where are you headed?” Hartley asks me, his eyes barely open as he makes his way to the coffee maker.

  “Leg day with Indie,” I answer, shoving the rest of my protein bar in my mouth. “I’ve been leaving early every Monday for the last three weeks, man. Way to pay attention.”

  He presses one of his palms against his eye and says, “Dude, I’ve been dealing with my own shit, I don’t even know who’s coming or going anymore.”

  “Alice?” I ask. He nods. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not even a little.” He sighs and lifts his fresh cup of coffee to his lips. “So what’s going on with you and Indie? Are you guys a thing? Because it sure seems like it.”

  “Just friends,” I answer, even though it feels like more than just friends despite never getting physical.

  “She spends the night here sometimes, and you’re telling me you’re just friends?”

  “Yeah. We’ve never done anything.”

  “Seriously?” Hartley blinks a few times. “You’re telling me you’ve had Indie Mayhem in your bed several times and haven’t done one goddamn thing? Not even felt her up?”

  I shake my head. “Nah, man. We’re not like that.”

  “I’ve seen you hold hands on campus. People notice that shit.”

  I plop my baseball hat on my head and then twist it backwards. “Friendly handholding.”

  “What about the way you look at her? You get all heart-eyed when you see her.”

  I shrug.

  “And territorial when other guys are around.”

  I shrug again.

  “And you can’t tell me you haven’t jacked off to her image at least once.”

  Too many times to count at this point.

  “Hey, so Alice was here the other day and I heard rumblings in your room. What was that about? Hmm?”

  “Point made.” Hartley holds up his hand and then studies me. “I will say this though, you seem happier, man.”

  “She’s cool, fun to hang out with, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Hartley looks to the side and scratches his chest. “We have a big game this weekend. I’m going to run over some plays since I’m up this early.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  I start to walk away when he calls after me. “Hey. Asher said he saw you and Mayhem walking out of the baseball locker room together last week.”

  Fucking Asher.

  “We shower in there after working out. Just easier. Trust me, if I had sex with Indie in the locker room, you’d hear about it.”

  He points at me. “I’m holding you to that.”

  Hartley goes back upstairs and I think about my comment. He’d hear about it? Where did that come from? I’m not some boasting dickhead who talks about his conquests. Hell, if I had sex with Indie in the locker room, I don’t think I’d tell anyone. I’d keep that nugget to myself, hold on to it tightly, and savor every last morsel.

  Grabbing my bag and water bottle off the counter, I head to the front door just as my phone dings with a text message.

  I glance down at the screen.

  Indie.

  Indie: Food poisoning got me last night. Not able to make it. I’m sorry.

  Oh shit. I quickly text her back.

  Lincoln: Are you okay? Do you need anything?

  Indie: Sleep. I need sleep.

  I stare at the phone and before I even have a chance to plan out the logistics, I exit the house. Destination? The nearest drug store.

  * * *

  Luckily Scarlett is home and opens the door for me when I arrive. To my surprise, Hutton is lounging on their couch, shirtless, and eating a bowl of cereal.

  As if it’s normal, he nods at me and says, “What’s up, man.”

  “Uh, hey.” Bag in hand, I ask Scarlett, who’s wearing Hutton’s shirt, “Where’s her room?”

  “Upstairs, second door on the right.”

  “Thanks.” I jog up the stairs and approach her door. Slowly, I open it. Her room is completely dark from her curtains, and there’s a lump curled up on the side of her bed. There’s a trashcan on the floor and water bottles on the nightstand. “Mayhem, it’s me.”