“I never said I gave good advice.” He steals the remote from me and says, “Cake Wars is on, dude. What’s wrong with you?”

  How could I be so daft?

  Chapter Fifteen

  INDIE

  I put my car in park and hop out. Knowing I’m running a minute late, I jog down to the side entrance of the stadium where Lincoln’s leaning against the wall, phone in front of him. When he spots me, a gorgeous smile falls across his lips.

  “Hey, Mayhem. You’re late.”

  “A minute. I was wearing spandex that kept falling down and didn’t feel like mooning you, so I changed.”

  “I would have been okay with the mooning.”

  “Of course you would have,” I say pushing at him, only for his arms to capture me against his chest.

  I thought about this moment all weekend: the next time I saw him, what he would do. Would he go back to the friendship zone, would he kiss me on the side of the head, or would he kiss me on the lips?

  Now that I’m in his arms, staring up at him, my mind flashes to the swing on his back porch, his lips on mine, the way he felt so strong and confident beneath me, as if he’s the foundation I’m building a new and exciting life on.

  The kiss was sweet at first as flashes of light sparked behind my eyes. I was enamored with how slow he took it, but then, when his fingers dug into me, the desperation flowing through his fingertips . . . I was more than enamored. I was addicted.

  I like his moms a lot—felt jealous that Lincoln has such amazing parents—but when they caught us, essentially pulling Lincoln’s lips away from mine, I wanted to die a slow, tragic death.

  And then all weekend, all I could think about was having his lips on me again.

  “What?” I ask, resting my chin on his chest.

  “Did you miss me this weekend?”

  “Not even a little,” I answer, lying through my teeth. “I was glad to have the reprieve actually. You know, since you tried to suck my soul out of me with that kiss.”

  His head falls back as he laughs. “You were the one who started to dry-hump me.”

  “Pah-lease. I was just trying to get comfortable.”

  “Oh, okay, keep saying that to yourself,” he says, tilting my chin up and placing the softest, lightest kiss on my lips. When he pulls away, his smile is just as wide as mine. “Time to work out, Mayhem.”

  “Hope you’re ready,” I say, pulling away. He snatches my hand in his and walks me through the stadium to the weight room where we set up. I add a few different drills, turn on the music, strip down to my sports bra and spandex, and clap my hands. “Warm up, Castle.”

  His eyes travel down my body and then back up; his tongue wets his lips.

  Why do I feel like we broke a seal with that kiss and things just got a lot more interesting?

  * * *

  “Why are you always staring?” I ask from across the showers.

  “Not staring, just making sure you wash everything. That’s being a good friend.”

  “I’m aware of how to wash my body.”

  He shakes his head. “No, you’re doing it all wrong. Let me come over there and show you.”

  I point at him, soap falling in foamy suds down to the tiles. “You stay right where you are, Castle. Don’t you even think about coming over here.”

  “Your loss. Be stinky. Not my problem.”

  “You’re fun to be around today,” I say sarcastically as I rinse my hair, preparing for conditioner. I come prepared now. I still use their body soap, but I bring my own shampoo and conditioner so my hair doesn’t take ages to comb out after.

  “Thanks, babe.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “Too bad.” He chuckles, and the delicious sound vibrates off the tiles. “I took it as one.” His shower flips off and I see him grab for his towel. “Sure you don’t need any help? I have two spare hands now.” He’s drying his body, and it has to be one of the most erotic things I’ve ever seen, especially when his hair is spiked in all different directions after drying it.

  “Not happening, Castle. Now go change. You owe me breakfast.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I’m getting you to ninety-five.” I rinse the conditioner out now and hear him mumble something under his breath before he walks away.

  I finish up in the shower, dry off, and head to one of the bathroom stalls where I change into a clean pair of underwear and matching black bra. I flip my head upside down, put the towel around my hair and clinch it in a turban.

  Not caring that Lincoln sees me in my bra and underwear, I gather my things and head into the locker room.

  And. Run. Straight. Into. Coach. Disik.

  Oh fuck!

  “Jesus Christ,” he says, slapping his hands over his face. “Castle!”

  My throat immediately closes up, and humiliation washes over me. Oh dear Christ, Lincoln’s coach saw me in my underwear.

  In black matching underwear.

  A thong! He saw me in a thong.

  Lincoln runs over and his face falls flat when he sees me standing in front of his coach holding my clothes to my chest, a horrified expression on my face.

  “Oh shit. Uh . . . sorry, Coach.”

  “Get her out of here.”

  “Yeah, sorry, Coach.” He’s stumbling over his words. “We weren’t doing anything, in case you were wondering. We didn’t have sex or anything.” Oh God, stop talking, Lincoln. “We showered together, but in separate stalls. I haven’t seen her naked. We kissed once, and my moms caught us, but that’s it. Nothing you need to worry about. No semen in the locker room. I know how you hate that.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Castle, and get her out of here before anyone else sees her.”

  Coach Disik steps aside and of course, Lincoln can’t manage to shut up. “She’s been helping me with my leg strength. It’s all business in the weight room. I might stare at her butt when she squats, but it’s all business.”

  “Lincoln,” I mumble.

  “I don’t care what you stare at. Just don’t let me see her again.”

  “Okay, sure, yeah. Just so you know, we’re here every Monday, so try to avoid this time.”

  Piping up, because I see a beady vein in Coach Disik’s forehead popping, I say, “I won’t be in here again, Coach. I’m sorry.”

  He waves his hand at me and peeks though his fingers for a second. “I thought that was you, Mayhem.” He clenches his teeth and turns away, lowering his hand but with his back to me. “If you can get this kid to ninety-five, I don’t care if you use the bathroom in my office.” He starts to walk away and then says, “Nice goal to win the conference by the way.” Then he takes off, leaving Lincoln and me alone. Once the door shuts, I melt to the floor and cover my mouth as a laugh escapes me.

  “Oh my God, I think I might have just died from humiliation. Coach Disik saw me in my bra and underwear.”

  “Pretty sure he’s more humiliated.” Lincoln pulls me to my feet and rests his hands on my hips. “Be happy it was Disik and not one of my teammates, because they’d never let us live it down. Disik, on the other hand, he’ll forget all about this and then randomly on a Tuesday ask how my trainings are going with you. Guarantee it.”

  “So, he’s okay with you guys having girls in the locker room?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, but he’s used to it by now. You know . . . because of the legend.”

  “How could I forget the legend?” I roll my eyes and go to my bag where my clothes are. “Does he believe in it?”

  “Not sure.” Lincoln comes up next to me and starts getting dressed himself. “But if you want, we could test it out and tell him if it works.”

  I pause, one leg in my pants, the other out when I look up at a grinning Lincoln. “You’re so lame.”

  “Worth a try.” He chuckles. “Now what do you want for breakfast?”

  “Egg scramble from Lakeview, half-an-everything bagel with butter, fruit salad, and a coffee.”

  “Is that all?” he asks.

  “Watch it. I might get a cinnamon bun. Hope your meal card is ready to be lit up.”

  “You’re lucky I like you, Mayhem.”

  I slip my shirt over my turban head and say, “Pretty sure you’re the lucky one, Castle.”

  * * *

  Indie: I have a confession that I really don’t want to confess.

  Lincoln: You have me intrigued. Lay it on me.

  Indie: Promise you won’t make fun of me?

  Lincoln: No.

  Indie: Aren’t you charming?

  Lincoln: I try to be.

  Indie: You know what, I think I’m good on the confession.

  Lincoln: Oh no, you don’t. You have to tell me now.

  Indie: I don’t have to do anything.

  Lincoln: You’re so goddamn stubborn. It’s infuriating.

  Indie: And yet you still hang out with me.

  Lincoln: I’m addicted to the challenges you present. What can I say?

  Indie: Are you talking about how I beat you at Mario Kart again this past weekend?

  Lincoln: And other things.

  Indie: Still nursing your wounds?

  Lincoln: A little, I let Hartley lick them the other day. His tongue has magical healing powers.

  Indie: Strangely enough, I can picture it, and I can’t tell if I’m more disturbed by the image it provokes, or if I’m disturbed that I have a vivid enough imagination to see it clearly in my head.

  Lincoln: I think both are disturbing.

  Indie: And here I was going to confess something to you. Never mind.

  Lincoln: Stop stalling and just tell me.

  Indie: Fine. Are you ready?

  Lincoln: All ears.

  Indie: *Deep breath* I’m sore from our workout yesterday.

  Lincoln: You’re what?

  Lincoln: *Wiggles finger in ear*

  Lincoln: Did you just say you’re sore?

  Indie: Yup, should have never said anything.

  Lincoln: *Shouts from megaphone* Everyone, Indie Mayhem, the cockiest workout partner I’ve ever known has admitted to being sore. Split the heavens, because I think I might have just died a happy death.

  Indie: You could not be more annoying.

  Lincoln: I don’t know what you expected. You know I love to gloat about the almighty’s weaknesses.

  Indie: Maybe I was looking for understanding, some fellowship from our workout. Maybe you were sore too and I was trying to help you feel better.

  Lincoln: I’m good, babe, but your concern is sweet.

  Indie: Once again, I’m annoyed.

  * * *

  “Are you annoyed now?” Lincoln asks, standing in front of my bedroom door, holding a bag from Frankie Donuts and another bag from the local pharmacy.

  “Do you really think donuts are the way to my heart?”

  “Yes,” he says on a laugh, walking into my room and shutting the door behind him.

  “It’s a Tuesday, you know.”

  “Well aware of the days of the week.” He sets his things down and hands me the bag.

  “We don’t normally see each other on Tuesdays.”

  “Well, I don’t think we’ll melt if we stray from routine. I think we’re okay.”

  I pick out a strawberry lemonade donut. “You’re sassy today.”

  Ignoring me, he motions to my body. “What’s sore?”

  “Why?” I ask, suspiciously.

  He digs into his bag and pulls out some massage oil. From the mere sight of the pink and white bottle, my body grows blissfully happy with excitement.

  I swallow hard, the donut feeling like a brick as it travels down to my stomach. “Uh, hamstrings.”

  “Okay, lie down. I’ll get to work.”

  “Get to work . . . as in massage me?”

  “Yup, thought that was a given. Go on.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “No, I’m joking.” He gives me a get real look. “Of course, I’m serious. Now lie down on your stomach before I change my mind.”

  “Okay,” I say cautiously. “Should I take off my pants?”

  “That would make things easier.”

  “Such a smartass,” I mutter, pushing my pants down, revealing a green pair of boy shorts that barely cover my butt. “Don’t get frisky.”

  “Pfft, I have better things to do than get frisky. I have muscles to massage with these large man hands of mine.”

  I’m about to finish my donut and lie down when I pause, my hand halfway to my mouth. “Why did you say that?”

  “Say what?”

  My eyes narrow. “Large man hands. That specific term.”

  He smirks and I already know before he answers. “Scarlett and I had a great conversation earlier today when I ran into her at the events center.”

  “I’m going to murder her.” I pop the rest of my donut in my mouth and charge toward my door, but Lincoln stops me.

  “No need to earn yourself jail time. She didn’t say much, other that you really like my hands and think they’re sexy.”

  I finish chewing, swallow, and say, “Well, lucky for her, information can travel both ways. Just wait until I see Hutton next.”

  “Ruthless.” He chuckles. “Now lie on your stomach.”

  Muttering under my breath about Scarlett, I lie down and rest my hands under my head. “We should invite Hutton over for dinner, really shock the shit out of Scarlett.”

  “Or you and I can order in and hang out on our own.”

  “Or that,” I say just as I feel oil drip onto my legs. My body stiffens from the cold, but then quickly relaxes when I feel Lincoln’s hands flatten against my aching muscles and smoothly glide up and down. “Oh God, that feels good,” I moan, unable to help myself.

  His hands pause and he shifts on the bed. “Uh, if you could not moan, that would be appreciated.”

  Chuckling, I say, “Sorry. But it feels so good after my hammies have been so tight.”

  “Well, I didn’t think this through very well, because I’m staring at your ass, massaging your legs, listening to you moan.”

  I glance over my shoulder and see how bright Lincoln’s cheeks already are. “Getting turned on, Castle?”

  “No,” he chokes out.

  I just smile and lay my head back down. “I would say you don’t have to do this, but now I’m thinking this is better payment than breakfast after training.”

  His hands slip up my legs, just below my butt and then go back down. He starts with what I believe to be closed fists, moving them up and down, and then switches to rotating his thumbs over my sensitive muscles, starting on the outer part of my legs, and moving inward and up.

  His thumbs travel slowly, methodically, and soon I’m lost in the feel of his sexy hands caressing me, kneading me.

  They reach the crease of my ass where my legs connect and he digs a little deeper.

  “Oh,” I say on a long moan, my ass moving against his fingers.

  He doesn’t say anything, just coughs, and then moves back down my legs.

  My skin heats up, the back of my neck growing sweaty as he digs his fingers up my inner thighs. And when he travels along the base of my ass to just below my hip, my entire body breaks out in a sweat. A wave of arousal pulses between my legs.

  God, I’m turned on, so turned on that I’m hot in my sweatshirt.

  “Hold on,” I say, feeling breathless. I remove my sweatshirt, leaving me in my sports bra and boy shorts, the cold air tingling against my scorching skin.

  “Do you want me to do your back too?”

  I want you to do me.

  “Legs are fine. I was just getting hot.”

  “Okay.”

  Reaching for my phone, I say, “Mind if I play music?”

  “That’s cool,” he answers. So I press my favorite playlist and the first song to come on is “Fallin’” by Jessica Mauboy. It’s the perfect tempo, the perfect mood for what’s happening.

  There’s only one light on in my room, my desk lamp, so it’s not very bright, and my mattress and comforter combination has me losing myself in comfort as well as the feel of his hands, creating a relaxing mood.

  “Have I ever told you what a great ass you have?” Lincoln says, his voice sultry, gliding over me like a cool fan, chilling my heated skin.

  “No,” I say, feeling sleepy.

  “Well, it’s a great ass.”

  His fingers travel to right below my cheeks, cutting into the sensitive spot—kneading, and pressing—and my arousal kicks up another notch. My clit starts to throb. And just when I don’t think I can take it anymore, his hands travel back down again.

  I groan and grip the comforter below me tightly. His fingers travel to the backs of my knees, kneading softly and then my inner thigh where he smooths his thumbs over them at a snail’s pace. Unconsciously, my butt lifts off the mattress as the pressure between my legs builds to a heavy pulse. I spread my legs wider, and his fingers go higher this time, so high that I swear they almost touch my underwear.

  “Oh God,” I groan, moving my head to the side and taking a deep breath. My nipples harden as he travels back down. I’m seconds away from begging him to touch me, to move his hands up higher, to relieve the pressure.

  “Jesus, Mayhem,” he whispers, moving his hands back up again until they’re at the highest point of my inner thighs. I move my ass so his hands connect with my covered pussy and I moan, doing it again. “Indie,” he says breathlessly.

  “Touch me. Please. Touch me.”

  “Babe, this wasn’t my intention.”

  “I don’t care,” I say, moving my ass again.

  “Hell . . .” His hands pause, and I wait on bated breath, hoping and praying he crosses this next line with me. It almost feels like he’s not going to.

  And then I feel the lightest touch along my ass. He moves down, lower, and lower.

  “Motherfucker, Indie,” he says as his fingers connect with my pussy. “You’re soaked.”

  “Please stroke me.” I reach down to the waistband of my underwear and lower them over my ass. “Remove these.”