Black skinny jeans, a maroon sweater that clings to her tits in all the right ways, gold earrings and black ankle boots.

  “You look good, Mayhem. And you smell good, too.” Jokingly I tip her chin. “You get all fancy for me?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You wish. This is for your moms.” She leans back into her car, giving me a perfect view of her ass, and she pulls out a pie. “French silk, made it myself.”

  “Dressed up and brings dessert. Damn, Mayhem, you might just kill me.”

  “Stop it.” She playfully swats my stomach.

  Chuckling, I grab her by the shoulders and walk her to my front door. Before we go in the house, I bend down and whisper, “Thanks for coming over.”

  She looks up at me, her appreciative gaze heading straight to my heart. “No, Lincoln. Thank you for inviting me. It means more to me than you know.”

  “You’re always invited to our home,” I say and press one more kiss to the top of her head because I need the contact. I need her to know that everything’s okay, that we’re working back toward our normal.

  I open the door and instantly we’re greeted by moaning and skin slapping.

  “Michelle, not on Thanksgiving.”

  “I just thought of something and wanted to see if it works.”

  “Indie will be here any minute. Turn off the porn.”

  Jesus, fuck. Help me.

  Through a clenched jaw, I call out through the house. “Indie’s here.”

  “Oh my God, Michelle, turn it off.” The sounds grow louder and Indie buries her head in my chest, laughing.

  “That’s not the off button. That’s the volume. Stop touching things, you’re making it worse.” The sounds cease, and I hear a collective sigh from both moms, who appear from the den, awkward smiles on their faces.

  I turn to Indie and say, “My moms were hired to update a popular porn website. It’s not that they enjoy watching porn on Thanksgiving. It’s not a family tradition or anything like that.”

  “Technically, it’s our second porn site,” Mama says, leaning in with her finger pointed to the sky, adding in her correction.

  Mom pulls her back and says, “She doesn’t need to know the details.” Smiling brightly, Mom steps forward and takes Indie into a hug. “It’s great to see you again, Indie. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Castle.”

  “Call me Laura, and this is my wife, Michelle.”

  Mama holds her hand out for a shake, because she’s not much of a hugger, and Indie takes her hand, giving it a gentle shake. “Michelle, it’s very nice to meet you. Congrats on your second porn site job. Must be . . . thrilling.”

  “Why, thank you. And yes, it keeps us on our toes, that’s for sure. And I’m pretty sure it’s ruined porn for Lincoln, which is great.”

  “Can you not?” I ask, already considering this a bad idea. I hand Indie’s pie to Mom and say, “Indie made us a pie.”

  “French silk. Michelle, do you remember the last time we had French silk pie. It was in Cancun . . .” She wiggles her brows and I die a slow death inside.

  “Hey,” I snap, grabbing their attention. “What did we talk about? Don’t be perverted wretches with company over.”

  Indie laughs next to me and when I look at her, she clamps her hand over her mouth, her eyes full of apology.

  “Ah yes, I do recall Lincoln requesting that, but I guess I was too busy staring at your mom’s butt to remember,” Mama says, taking the pie from Mom and walking toward the kitchen. Mom follows her closely behind and I lean against the door, my head pressed to the wood.

  “Whatever happens tonight, please don’t hold it against me.”

  Indie pats my back. “I can’t make any promises.”

  * * *

  “Who the heck is Cain West?” Mama asks, tossing her cards on the table.

  Indie snickers next to me and I gently say, “Mama, it’s Kanye West.”

  “What?” She throws her hands up. “This is absurd. How am I supposed to know these people?”

  “Maybe stop watching men’s balls flinging around and look into some pop culture,” Mom says, gathering our Cards Against Humanity cards and sticking them back in the box.

  “This coming from the lady who didn’t know what a queef was,” Mama says. “You know very well it’s a vagina fart.”

  I press my fingers to my brow and say, “Can we tamp it down on the vagina farts, please?”

  “It’s a natural thing, and I think society needs to embrace it, not shame it,” Mama says, looking far too dignified while talking about flatus from a lady’s nether regions. And yes, the only reason I know the words flatus and nether regions is because of the craziness my moms call education.

  “Or, we just don’t talk about vagina farts with your son and his friend.”

  Mom winks at me. “Then I wouldn’t be able to see that sweet blush on your cheeks.”

  Standing from the table, I hold my hand out to Indie and say, “We need some fresh air.”

  On a laugh, she takes my hand and I walk her to the sliding glass door that leads to the back porch. I snatch a blanket off the couch and then guide her outside, shutting the door behind us. Thankfully, we have a partition that grants us some privacy from prying eyes and a porch swing that’s perfect to gather some peace from all the vagina fart and Cain West ridiculousness.

  I sit on the cushioned swing and steady it so Indie can sit as well. Instead of facing toward the trees, she faces me and drapes her legs over mine. I cover us both with the blanket and then rest one arm on the back of the swing, the other on top of her leg.

  “Comfortable?” I ask her.

  “Extremely.” I feel her gaze on me and then she chuckles.

  “What?”

  She reaches out and runs her thumb over my jaw. “It’s really cute seeing you with your moms. I kind of like this embarrassed Lincoln and the best part is, you’re never rude or disrespectful to them as you deal with their antics.”

  “I mean, yeah, they get on my nerves, but they also gave me a life I never would have had without them. My birth mom was a drug addict and my birth father wasn’t any better. They gave me up at birth and my moms were called, asking if they wanted an newborn boy with a drug addiction.”

  She clutches her chest and sits taller. “Oh my God, you were born with an addiction?”

  I nod slowly. “Yeah, my birth mom used her entire pregnancy. It’s a shock I’m as strong and healthy as I am. But it was hard on my moms. I had a diva moment when I was in middle school and told my moms I wanted to live with my birth parents.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  I nod. “Unfortunately, and regrettably, I did. They drove me to my mom’s parents’ house and told them to take me to my birth parents. I didn’t think they were serious until my grandparents packed me up in the car and started driving to Detroit. That’s where I heard the story of my birth, the pain my moms went through to get me healthy. I cried and begged them to take me back to my moms. They said they’d only take me back if I spent the rest of my life appreciating the sacrifices they made to raise me. From then on, I put up with whatever they threw my way, even if it’s my mom trying to set me up.”

  Indie chuckles. “Well, it all worked out.”

  “It did.” I look out toward the trees. “They gave me a great childhood and things might be slightly different than the quote unquote normal family, but we have love and appreciation for each other, and that’s all that matters.”

  Indie’s hand goes to my hair, and she plays with the short strands. “The normal isn’t all that great. My mom put together the traditional Thanksgiving dinner and we sat at the table, eating, silent, unsure what to say to each other. I would have much rather come over here, had chicken from the crockpot and roasted potatoes while talking about the porn your mama is watching.”

  “Technically not watching. Working on.” I boop her nose and she smiles. “Big difference, Mayhem.”

  “Either way, it’s the love you guys exude for each other that’s making this Thanksgiving so much better. So thank you for inviting me over.”

  “You’re always welcome here, Indie.”

  “I would say you’re always invited to my house, but I fear you’d run into one of my parents’ lovers.”

  “Yeah.” I move my hand over my jaw. “That’s got to be awkward.”

  “You could say that. But I don’t want to talk about them.”

  “What do you want to talk about, then?”

  “Anything. Are you going to come back to training sessions on Mondays?”

  “I don’t know, are you going to try to hook me up with Jasmine again?”

  She chuckles. “No, I learned my lesson.”

  “And Brandon, are you . . . you know, getting to know him?”

  Her eyes pop up to mine. “No. Why, do you want me to get to know him?”

  “You can do what you want, Indie,” I say growing serious. “But I want you to know I’m content with what we have right now.”

  “And what is that exactly?”

  I move my hand to her hair where I play with the silky strands, biding time to figure out the answer. What is it exactly that we have? Even though we say it’s a friendship, I know it runs deeper than that. There are feelings involved, feelings it seems neither one of us wants to admit to, but we rely heavily on when it comes to one another.

  Is this the moment where I cross that line?

  All night, watching her with my moms, it felt so real, so right. Joking around, playing games, having a pie-eating contest. I was the winner—naturally—of who could eat the most, although Indie gave me a run for my money. She fits in perfectly, but there’s so much ahead of us that I don’t know how to navigate, like what happens when I’m drafted? She wants to go pro, so what happens when we’re both pursuing our dreams and potentially on opposite sides of the country, our schedules not matching up? It could only lead to heartache, but not having her in my life isn’t an option either.

  Letting out a long breath, I roll my head to the side and say, “Hell if I know, Indie. But I like you a lot, and I don’t want you out of my life.” It’s a lame answer, but I’m having a hard time expressing myself.

  “Why do you care if Brandon’s interested in me?” she asks, and it almost seems like she holds her breath as she says it.

  She’s coming in hot with the questions tonight.

  I drag my hand over my mouth and try to find the right words, hoping and praying she’s feeling the same way, that I’m not in this alone.

  Turning toward her, I decide to go with honesty, because when we’re honest, we’re closest. Complete. “Because I don’t want you hanging out with any other guys the way you hang out with me.”

  She smiles and plays with the three buttons on my sweater. “You want me all to yourself, Castle?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  She shakes her head. “I want you all to myself too.”

  It’s as if a dam just broke in my body. Relief floods through me—she wants the same thing as me. I’m not in this alone when it comes to these crazy, confusing feelings.

  “Yeah?” I ask, moving my hand to the back of her neck.

  She nods. “Yeah.” She licks her lips and briefly looks at mine.

  I’ve seen this look before. It was once when we were in my Jeep. She wet her lips, leaned in, and I swear she wanted me to kiss her, but I was too much of a chickenshit to close the space between us.

  Tonight though? Fuck, tonight, I don’t think I can hold back, not after everything we’ve been through over the last few days, not after seeing her interact with my moms, laughing and joking with them, and not after her claiming me for herself.

  It feels right. Like our relationship has been building to this moment, the tension stretching like a rubber band until we’re both at snapping point—buzzing—ready for the next step.

  I’m ready for the next step.

  So fucking ready.

  Gently, I pull her closer by the back of her neck and cock my head to the side, going in for the perfect angle. The space between us diminishes and just before I lay my lips on hers, I hear a sharp intake of air before her soft, perfect lips meld against mine.

  It’s just a light press at first. I don’t move quickly, because I want to be able to gauge her reaction in case this isn’t what she wanted. But when her hands fall to the side of my head, and she intensifies the kiss, I know. This is exactly what she wants.

  Thank fuck.

  I pull her in closer until she’s sitting on my lap. I tilt my head back so she has a good angle, and I let her take over my mouth.

  With slow, languid kisses, her lips feel like puffy clouds, soft and plush as they move over mine. When I first met her, her lips grabbed my attention, they intrigued me immediately, and now that she’s kissing me, I know I had good reason to stare at them. She’s making me lose all thought as they open over my mouth.

  We both groan when our tongues clash against each other. I bury my hands into her thick hair, controlling the direction her head goes with my fingers, tilting her to the right, moving her back to the left.

  Desperation claws at me, eating away at my veins as I try to claim her. The months we’ve known each other all spilling out onto the deck swing. The tension, the pent-up frustration, all the times I’ve wanted to touch her more than just a friend would.

  Her kisses are slow, drugging, irresistible. Whereas mine feel urgent with a hint of desperation.

  I grip her tighter, she moves in closer, her breasts brushing up against my chest and before I know what to do with myself, her hips start rocking over mine.

  Ahh . . . fuck.

  “Are you two done with the—”

  Indie shoots off me so fast she nearly flies off the swing.

  “Sorry, didn’t realize you two were making out,” Mama says. Leave it to Mama to point out the obvious. God. So awkward. “I don’t think your mom was aware that you’re make-out type of friends.” Leaning back inside the screen door, Mama shouts, “Did you know they made out, Laura?”

  “What?” I hear the shrill cry of my mom’s voice and the pounding of her feet as she comes to the sliding glass door. I bury my head in my hands. “You caught them making out?”

  “Yup, right there, on the swing, scene of the crime.”

  “Tongue?” Mom asks.

  “Too dark to tell.” Raising her voice, she says, “Linc, was there tongue?”

  I glance at a mortified Indie and keep my eyes on her when I answer, “There was a small amount of tongue.”

  Her eyes widen and then she buries her head in my shoulder. I put my arm around her and hold her close.

  “Oh my God, there was tongue,” Mom says, announcing it loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

  “They were tonguing,” Mama says, while clapping her hands to a typical baseball chant. “They were tonguing.”

  “And this is why I can’t have people over,” I say to Indie as my moms cheer obnoxiously to the side.

  * * *

  Lincoln: Did you make it back to your place?

  Indie: Yup. Scarlett and I just went shopping. Her parents gave her a two-hundred-dollar gift card for Target, and we just spent it all on food and Nerf guns.

  Lincoln: Nerf guns, really?

  Indie: Her idea, not mine. We got a target and we’re sitting on the couch, seeing who has the better aim.

  Lincoln: Kind of jealous.

  Indie: If I didn’t promise Scarlett some best-friend time, I’d invite you over. But you know, vaginas only.

  Lincoln: I think for the first time in my life I wish I had a vagina.

  Indie: ^^Things I don’t want to know.

  Lincoln: LOL. Are we still on for tomorrow morning?

  Indie: Yeah, get ready, because I’m going to kick your ass for missing our last session.

  Lincoln: Wouldn’t expect anything else. Have fun with Scarlett. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, babe.

  Indie: Bye, Castle.

  I set my phone down and push both hands through my hair just as Hartley walks into the living room. He flops down on the couch next to me, a light smile on his face.

  Uh-oh. I know that smile. It’s the same smile I have on my face, the cornball smile only a girl can put on a guy’s face.

  “How was your Thanksgiving break?” I ask. “Eventful?”

  “It was fine.”

  “You’re a fucking liar,” I say, causing him to laugh. “Did something happen with Alice?”

  “Maybe, but we don’t need to talk about that. What I want to know is why you had a goofy grin on your face. Did you make up with Indie?”

  Not wanting to push Hartley, because he’s always been protective of his relationship with Alice, I say, “Yeah, we’re good.”

  “How good?” He lifts a brow in my direction.

  “We kissed.”

  “Oh shit. Really?” Hartley reaches out and rubs his palm over my nipples. “My dude, getting it done.”

  “Can you not?”

  He frowns. “When have you ever not wanted me to rub your nipples?”

  “All the time.” I push him away and laugh. “We kissed on the deck swing, my moms caught us—which in turn ended the night—and I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Ouch. Have you spoken with her?”

  “Yeah, we’re going to meet up tomorrow for leg day again.”

  “Okay, so how are you going to greet her? Are you going to pucker up?”

  I pick up the remote and flip through some channels mindlessly. “I haven’t really thought about it, actually. I don’t want to assume she’s going to want a kiss, but I also don’t want to disappoint her.”

  “Ah, the conundrum of a complicated relationship. Fun, isn’t it?” I get the feeling Hartley’s talking about himself as well.

  “Yeah. I think I need to have a conversation with her because I don’t know where this is going, and we have such different paths moving forward that I don’t want to hurt her . . . or have her hurt me.”

  “You do have a sensitive heart.” He pulls on his shorts, covering his legs more. “Maybe skip out on the kiss, give her a high five, and then say we need to talk.”

  “Oh, because that seems like a brilliant idea on how to make her second-guess everything that happened.”