INDIE

  I squat down, the smell of grass and sweat reaching my nose. “What a fucking game,” Scarlett says, pounding me on the back and pulling me to my feet. “Girl, conference champions.” She shakes me and I still feel numb, as if this is a dream.

  Three years in a row, conference champions.

  The crowd around us is still cheering as Coach Wilson walks off with the trophy clutched to her chest.

  “You’re not having a heart attack, right? Are you having a heart attack? I’m going to need you to stand and tell me you’re not having a heart attack.”

  Laughing, I stand on wobbly legs and pull Scarlett into a hug.

  It was a hell of a game. Four to five, we squeaked out a win in the last second. It all still feels like a blur: Scarlett passing to me, finding a hole and kicking the ball to the top right corner of the goal. That was it, we won.

  “God, that was amazing.”

  “And did you see your boy?” Scarlett asks, pulling away, “I think he nearly jumped the fence to come down here.”

  I look over to where Lincoln and the baseball boys are standing, still waving their signs in the air, making a huge deal of our win, which will never get old. Unfortunately, the football team had an away game, so they couldn’t make it. Earlier, Scarlett was disappointed, but she got over it quickly once we were on the field.

  “Think I should go say hi?” I smile.

  “Uh, yeah. There are no rules now, we won.”

  I give Scarlett one more hug and then jog over to the short fence that blocks the fans in the stands from climbing over. But it’s no match for me.

  As I approach, the boys grow louder and Lincoln, in his painted chest and my number painted on his face, comes barreling down to meet me. I hop the fence, and he catches me in his arms, spinning me around, his strong arms acting like a warm blanket as he presses his mouth against my temple.

  “Holy shit, Mayhem.” He pulls away to look me in the eyes. My legs are wrapped around his waist, and we’re definitely drawing attention as he congratulates me. “You fucking killed it out there. Jesus, I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of someone.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, feeling my insides turn to goo.

  “Babe, you were amazing.”

  Babe . . .

  That’s the first time he’s used a term of endearment for me. The first time I’ve heard his deep, sultry voice call me anything other than my first or last name. Calling me something intimate. It makes me feel . . .

  Cherished.

  Special.

  Important.

  “Thank you. I still can’t believe we won. For a second there, I thought it was all over.”

  Lincoln shakes his head. “Not me, I knew you were going to take it home for us. You’re easily the best out there, but you and Scarlett are an incredible duo. The timing. How you know where the other is. Fuck.” He squeezes me again. “We’re celebrating tonight, party at the baseball loft, the guys are already planning it.”

  “Really? That sounds—”

  “Any hugs left in you for your mom?”

  I still in Lincoln’s arms and slowly slide down his chest.

  Oh crap.

  Slowly . . . very slowly, I turn to find my mom wearing a Brentwood soccer shirt, hair teased to high heaven, and a grin so wide that I’m afraid it’s permanent.

  I can only imagine what she must be thinking right now.

  “Mom.” I straighten my jersey, which has some of Lincoln’s body paint on it. Even if I wanted to pretend she didn’t just catch me in an intimate embrace with him, the evidence is painted all over me. “I thought you and Dad couldn’t make it.”

  “Dad couldn’t, but I made the drive.” She opens her arms up. “Come here, sweetie. I’m so proud of you.” Cautiously, I step into her embrace and give her a hug, my stomach twisting with nerves, preparing myself for whatever she might say.

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  She holds me by the shoulders and says, “I got that last goal on camera for your dad, and he’s going to be ecstatic. You were pure brilliance.” Her energy for the game is throwing me off. I don’t expect my parents at my games. I know they’re proud of me, but they’ve never been super fans, and I’ve come to terms with that. But this exuberance is confusing . . . until I catch her looking over my shoulder, where her smile grows even wider if possible. “Hey Lincoln. How are you?”

  Ah, there’s where all her excitement is coming from.

  Should have known it had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the guy cheering for me in the stands.

  “Hey . . . Mrs. Mayhem,” I hear him say, his voice a little shaky.

  We’re both thinking the same thing: our moms are never going to let us live this down.

  Not that we’re a thing per se, we’re . . . friends, but still, what my mom just witnessed is probably not the same type of friendship she has with her guy pals.

  I don’t know if what I have with Lincoln is very common for anyone, to be honest.

  “You did a wonderful job with your body paint. Your mom agrees. I sent her a pic when I spotted you.”

  Yup, this just confirms everything I was thinking. She’s happy to see Lincoln. She doesn’t care that we just won the conference—which is really shitty—and now I’m in a bad mood. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my mom only made the drive to spy on me. I wouldn’t put it past her.

  “Oh great. Thanks for sending that.” Lincoln turns to me, and I see annoyance in his eyes already. “I’ll catch you later, Indie.”

  I wave awkwardly. “See ya.”

  Turning back to my mom, she pulls me in by the shoulder and says, “How about we go out to dinner? Looks like we have a lot to talk about.”

  * * *

  “So, what’s going on with you and Lincoln?”

  “Wow.” I check my phone for the time. “I’m shocked it took you this long to ask,” I say, reaching for my water while Scarlett next to me does the same.

  I dragged Scarlett along with me to dinner with my mom for two reasons. One, her parents live in Idaho so they couldn’t make it to the game and two, I was hoping that my mom wouldn’t ask about Lincoln with Scarlett present.

  Man, did I underestimate her.

  “I waited until we ordered our food, thought that would be respectful enough. By the way, cute place. Why haven’t we been here before?” my mom asks, looking around the Italian restaurant Lincoln brings me to for calzones.

  “Lincoln introduced it to us,” Scarlett says unapologetically as she sips her water.

  I think we can all agree bringing along the best friend was a bad idea.

  “Oh, is that right?” My mom taps her finger on the table. “Do you care to explain what’s happening? Last time I talked to you on the phone about Lincoln, you said you haven’t seen him around campus. Then I hear from Laura, while doing her hair, that you guys are partners in a class. That came as quite the shock, but I let the slip-up on your end—forgetting to tell me—slide, because I figured you’d eventually talk to me. But then I see you guys humping in the stands—”

  “We were not humping, Mom. Jesus. He was just congratulating me.”

  “Your legs were wrapped around his waist.”

  Scarlett picks up a piece of fresh bread from the table and says, “That’s damning evidence.”

  “Will you shut up?” I say, “Unless you want me to start talking about Hutton.”

  “Hutton and I are way too complicated to unravel over a cozy dinner. That will take weeks,” Scarlett answers, literally giving zero fucks.

  Seriously, bringing her was a terrible idea.

  “Well . . .” my mom pushes, causing me to lean back in the dark red leather booth, feeling defeated. And to think I’d felt such a high an hour ago.

  “Whatever I say you’re not going to believe.”

  “Try me,” she says, folding her hands together as if she’s in a boardroom, questioning one of her employees.

  “Fine, we’re just friends.”

  My mom laughs out loud and shakes her head. “Oh, Indie.”

  “See, I told you, you weren’t going to believe me.”

  “That was not a just friends hug. Just friends hug from the side. They don’t leap into each other’s arms and press pelvises together.”

  There was no pelvis pressing, at least no intentional pelvis pressing. Believe me, I’ve thought about it.

  Chiming in, Scarlett says, “For what it’s worth, Mrs. Mayhem, whenever I ask her what’s going on with Lincoln, the response from both of them is always that they’re friends. I just think they’re close friends.”

  Okay, maybe bringing Scarlett wasn’t that bad of an idea.

  “I think they’re bordering the line of intimacy though. They totally want to bone, the air screams it whenever they’re around each other,” Scarlett adds.

  Scratch that, it was a bad idea.

  “We are not intimate. We just . . . lean on each other.”

  “Have you had sex?” my mom asks point-blank, shocking the hell out of me.

  “God, Mom, that’s none of your business.” She gives me a pointed look and I want to chuck a piece of bread at her head. She’s not letting up, so I say, “If you must know, no, we have not. We haven’t seen each other naked, we haven’t touched private parts and guess what, we haven’t even kissed.” I pick up a piece of bread as well and take a bite out of it. “Out of comfort—as friends—he holds my hand occasionally, but that’s it. We hang out, and I’ve been helping him build up his leg endurance.”

  I don’t mention the showers we’ve taken together—technically together since we’re showering at the same time and in the same room.

  “So, there’s really nothing going on between you two?”

  I shake my head. “Just a really good friendship, one that I cherish, and one I’d appreciate if you didn’t go blabbing to Laura about. I don’t want to freak him out.”

  My mom chews on that for a second and then says, “Let me ask you this. Have you two been dating other people?”

  “Indie started seeing a football player named Deacon, Lincoln’s housemate actually, but that was a tiny blip and once again, nothing happened,” Scarlett says, mouth full of bread.

  “Hey Scarlett, why don’t you just focus on eating bread, huh?”

  She shrugs and smiles. Remind me to put a personal ad out tomorrow for a new roommate.

  “Why didn’t things work out with Deacon?” my mom asks, probably categorizing all this information so she can tell it to all the girls at the salon when she returns to work.

  “Because, just like I told you at the beginning of summer, I don’t want to date anyone. It’s too much stress. I like being able to come and go as I please and not have to worry about anyone else while I’m focusing on my schoolwork and soccer.”

  “But soccer is over now, so you can start dating.”

  “It’s not over, Mom. We still have the national championship to fight for. Which means practices are going to become much more intense. Why can’t you respect the fact that I don’t want to be with anyone right now?”

  “You’re so caught up in soccer. There’s more to life than kicking a ball around. And I’m worried,” she says, moving her finger around on the table.

  “Worried about what?” I ask, feeling exhausted and annoyed.

  “That you’re leading Lincoln on.”

  “Mom, please, the guy—”

  “Laura’s concerned too. She mentioned it when I was doing her hair.”

  “What?” I ask, my cheeks starting to burn with embarrassment. “What did she say? What did Lincoln say to her?”

  “He didn’t say much, but she said he wouldn’t stop talking about you, and when she asked him why not ask you out, she said he commented about you not wanting to date anyone. She came to me as a concerned mother, wanting to make sure that you weren’t leading him on only to break his heart.”

  “I would never,” I say, but my mind starts to wander. I’m not leading him on, am I? He’s the one who takes my hand, the one who invites me to spend the night. If anyone is leading anyone on, it’s him . . . right?

  I bite my bottom lip, trying to give this serious thought.

  Or is it me?

  Wait . . . no, no one is leading anyone on. We’re friends.

  “We’re not leading each other on, Mom. We’ve talked many times about our friendship and how much we cherish it.”

  “Uh-huh.” She crosses one leg over the other as she shifts in her booth. “So, if he started seeing someone, you’d be okay with that?”

  Because I’m bound and determined to prove my mom wrong, I say, “Yes, of course. Hell, I’ll even hook him up with someone. Maybe I’ll do just that tonight at the party.”

  “Bad idea,” Scarlett mumbles next to me, but I ignore her.

  “Yup, that’s how much I know we’re just friends. I’ll find him a girl tonight, prove you both wrong.”

  “You don’t need to prove me wrong, sweetie. I think you’re trying to prove yourself wrong.”

  “No, Mom. Unlike you, I refuse to live a lie.” At that, she narrows her eyes at me, shocked, and probably worrying I’ll share her secret with Scarlett. But why bother?

  It’s rare that I think about my mom and dad’s marriage. I can mostly ignore it given I live hours away from them. Though with Mom in front of me, reality stares me in the face.

  Scarlett and Mom know nothing of the pain I carry. They don’t know what they’re talking about. Yes, I have strong feelings for Lincoln, but they’re because I truly cherish him as a person. My person. And I want the best for him. So why wouldn’t I hook him up with someone? It sounds like the perfect way to let everyone know again that we’re just friends.

  * * *

  “Why are you doing this?” Scarlett asks, as I search the party, looking through the throngs of people, seeing if I spot any single girls I can introduce Lincoln to.

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Yes, you are. When you get your stubborn mind set on something, you don’t stop until you complete the task. You’re only going to end up hurting Lincoln and yourself.”

  “How is finding someone he can hook up with hurting him?” I spot a gaggle of freshmen soccer players and assess them. Hmm, maybe Jasmine? Not quite sold on her yet.

  “Hey.” Scarlett pulls on my shoulder so I’m facing her. “You know I’m all about denial. Hell, I’m practically the conductor of the denial train, but if you suggest to Lincoln that he wants to hook up with a different girl, you’re going to hurt him.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “He likes you, Indie,” she says louder, pulling my attention away from searching.

  “He doesn’t like me like that. If he did . . .” My voice fades and I look away.

  “If he did . . . what, Indie?”

  I chew on the side of my cheek, my hands twisting in front of me, angry that we’re having this conversation at the baseball loft where anyone could hear us if the music died down for a second.

  “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It does so matter if you’re about to hurt the one person who’s been by your side since the beginning of the school year. Do you honestly think you just finished your best regular season of your career only because of all the hard work you put in? Yes, there’s something to say about the extra hours, but credit should also go to Lincoln. He’s kept you calm, relaxed. You’ve actually had fun this season rather than being the stress ball you usually are, and there’s a reason for that. Are you just going to ruin that because you’re too afraid to make a move?”

  “He doesn’t like me like that, Scarlett,” I say more angrily. “If he did, then we would have already kissed by now. Trust me, he’s had his opportunities. Okay? He sees me as a friend, and that’s fine. His mom had it wrong, I’m not leading him on.”

  “He’s had opportunities to kiss you? When?” she asks, her voice soft, her hand going to mine.

  “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is he didn’t take them. And yes, I may be comfortable with him and maybe I lean on him a little too much, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t hook him up with someone he might actually want.”

  Scarlett shakes her head. “I don’t know, Indie. I really think this is a big mistake.”

  “Well, you have your opinion and I have mine.” With that, I walk away and into the center of the party, still debating if Jasmine would be a good fit. I know she’d love the opportunity to know Lincoln. I heard her proclaim that to the locker room before people knew Lincoln and I were good friends. But would he—

  “There you are.” Strong arms wrap around my midsection as a pair of lips kiss the side of my head. “How was dinner with your mom?”

  Lincoln turns me around in his arms and my heart leaps out of my chest, right between us, from the mere sight of him. Freshly showered, rid of all his body paint, he’s dressed in a simple navy-blue long-sleeved T-shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is styled in that artful, messy way like he just had epic sex, and he’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug his thighs and hips to perfection.

  Easily the most attractive guy in the loft.

  “Uh, dinner was fine.”

  His brow pinches together. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I shake my head.

  “It doesn’t look like nothing. What did your mom say to you?”

  “Nothing to worry about.” From the corner of my eye, I see Jasmine heading in our direction.

  “Uh, when did I start not worrying about what’s going on in your life? You matter to me, so I want to know why you have that look in your eyes like you’re unsure if you want to cry or not.”

  “I’m fine, Lincoln,” I say as my chest grows tight and emotions bubble up my throat. Why am I getting emotional? I shouldn’t be getting emotional. There’s nothing to be emotional about.

  Get it together, Indie.

  Turning just in time to grab Jasmine, I take her by the arm and say, “Come here, I want to introduce you to someone.”

  “What?” Jasmine says, caught off guard. Ignoring her surprise, I bring her in front of Lincoln, who immediately frowns at me.