Of course, when I came to the apartment to check it out, it was furnished with a black iron queen-sized bed, beautiful white and light pink bedding, a white wood bistro set with a round table, and two small grey wingback chairs with accompanying white coffee table. Not to mention the giant flat-screen mounted on the wall, the kitchen utensils, and fresh flowers.

  It was such a sweet and kind gesture, but since the place is so small, I needed Carson and Jason to help me take stuff back to my parents’ house.

  But I’m not going to complain, because this is the perfect place to retreat to after a long day.

  Because Cory is Cory—the most giving man I know—he put together a trust fund for me for after I graduated. It’s more than I should have in a bank account, but I plan on doing great things with it—investing in my brothers’ business.

  “I’m going to head out,” Jason says, thumbing toward the door. “Thanks for the subs, Milly.”

  “No, thank you.” I go to give him a hug but he holds out his hands.

  “Sweaty, really fucking sweaty.”

  I back up slowly. “Ah, yes, I don’t think we’re that close yet.”

  He winks. “Not yet.”

  Carson pushes his friend in the shoulder, shoving him closer to the door. “Get out of here.”

  On a shout-whisper, Jason says, “He’s jealous of us.” With a genuine smile, he gives me a quick wave and then takes off. After spending some time with him, Jason is most definitely my second favorite Brentwood baseball player. I’m going to miss him when he leaves to do great things.

  Door shut, closing us off from the world, Carson looks around the apartment, giving it a quick scan. “I can’t believe you convinced Cory to go with the studio. You know he was texting me, asking me to convince you to at least choose the one-, if not two-bedroom.”

  I roll my eyes—the bromance developing between Carson and Cory is getting a little ridiculous. They’re trying to gang up on me. At least Carson was smart enough not to get in the middle of the argument.

  “What would I do with two bedrooms?”

  “As Cory said, to let me have a place to sleep when I’m visiting. He wasn’t subtle about us sleeping together.”

  “Please,” I scoff. “He has no place to make that decision for me. Not only is it my body, my decision, but he’s had his fair share of sleepovers even in high school. My parents were completely clueless.”

  “Still, the studio? I’m going to have to pretend I sleep on a dog bed in the corner you purchased for me.”

  “Or you can stop trying to appease my brother and tell him you’re giving me the good dick.”

  Carson buckles over and starts coughing from laughing. Hand to chest, he coughs it out and laughs. “Jesus Christ, Milly.”

  “What? Guys can say it but girls can’t? Please, the things I’ve heard over the years will make you blush.”

  “I believe it, but I wasn’t expecting that, also . . . you think I give you the good dick?”

  I look over my shoulder at his bright smile and flirtatiously say, “You know you do.”

  With lust in his eyes and determination in his steps, he makes his way over to me but I stop him with my hand to his chest before he can do anything. “Get that look out of your eyes. You’re sweaty and I need to unpack.”

  “Aww, sweat has never stopped you before. Remember Friday night, after the batting cages . . . in the locker room?”

  I slap my hand over his mouth but his smile peeks past my fingers. A knowing smile. A smile full of so much meaning that I don’t even know what to do with it.

  Yes . . . Carson invited me back to the Brentwood baseball locker room and I followed him, not because of the stupid legend, but because I was curious what it looked like inside.

  I really was.

  The facilities at Brentwood match any major league team, and I wanted to see if the locker room lived up to the hype.

  My intentions were simple: we’d just finished in the cages, I was going to let him shower, and then we were going to go out to eat, his treat. I was going to hang out on the plush leather couches, catch up on some SportsCenter, and then leave. But Carson started stripping in front of me and it was impossible to stay away, to not need the masculine and beautiful man in front of me.

  I let him take my hand and guide me back to the showers where we did it.

  Yup, I’m one of the locker room girls.

  If I wasn’t so startled from the meaning behind the entire night, I would feel excited, but I now know Carson takes the legend seriously, that taking me into the locker room, to fulfilling one of the biggest superstitions around campus, means something to him and that was . . . eye-opening.

  I know Carson likes me, he’s said it more than enough times, but to actually think I’m the girl he plans on spending the rest of his life with, that’s something I wasn’t exactly expecting.

  It’s a few days later and I’m still reeling from the idea.

  The sex in the locker room is also oddly hanging between us like a giant pink elephant, because we both know the seriousness of what happened but neither of us have talked about it. Also, just putting it out there, not sure if it was because we could have been caught, or if there really is some magical power within the locker room, but being fucked against the tiles of the locker room shower was by far the most provocative and mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had.

  I’m surprised someone didn’t bust through the doors from my feral cries.

  I blush just thinking about it.

  Carson said it was really fucking hot, and I thought it was incredibly embarrassing.

  I remove my hand and turn back around, starting to unpack a box labeled Tupperware. No apartment is complete without Tupperware.

  I don’t get far before Carson comes up behind me, his sweaty chest touching my bare shoulders that peek out past my tank top. His strong arms circle my midsection, and he kisses the side of my neck.

  “Are we ever going to talk about what happened Friday night?”

  “We had sex,” I say, “like every night since we had sex for the first time.” It’s true, we’ve been relentless, and I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’ll ever be able to stop myself from wanting this man.

  “You know it was way more than that, so don’t downplay it.”

  “Fine, it was the best sex of my life.”

  Sighing, he turns me in his arms so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. Uh-oh, serious conversation coming. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

  “Milly.”

  “Yes.” I smile brightly.

  Shaking his head, he lifts me up on the counter and then parts my legs so he can stand as close to me as possible, his hands on my lower back.

  “You know about the locker room. We’ve talked about it.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I look down.

  “You know what it means to me, to have invited you back there.”

  I nod.

  “So talk to me, and tell me what you’re feeling.”

  Given the impression this man conveys from a distance, I never would have pegged him as a touchy-feely, let’s talk about our emotions guy. And since I’ve spent my entire life around men, never really diving into feelings, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

  “Well, I’m not good at this. I can tell you that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Relationship talk.” I rub the tip of my index finger, giving myself something to fidget with. “You know I’ve never been in a relationship before so feelings and all that is hard for me to talk about.”

  “Let’s make it easy then. I like you, and you like me.”

  I nod. “Yup, we established that.”

  “And I’m serious about you, just like you’re serious about me . . . right?”

  “Yes, of course,” I say, looking him in the eyes now.

  “Good, and you know what it meant for me to invite you back to the locker room, right?”

  “Yeah, that you’re really serious about me.”

  “Exactly.” His hands slide under my shirt and bring the fabric up and over my head, exposing my pink sports bra. “I want you to know that I see a future with you, and that I’m serious about that future.”

  “I’m serious about that future too,” I say, wanting to ease his mind as well. Because I can see it. This man means so much to me, and I can truly see us together for the long haul.

  “Good.” He lifts my sports bra up and over my head, releasing my breasts from their confines. He doesn’t even give them a second to breathe before his mouth and hands are all over them. I lean back on my elbows, the cold surface of the counter arousing my body along with Carson’s kisses.

  “We’re in agreement?” he asks, looking up at me, the peak of my nipple rubbing against his lip. “We’re going to add to the tally of locker room successes?”

  The hope in his eyes, it’s almost too much to stare directly at, but I also can’t look away. I cup his cheek and bring him up to my mouth. Right before kissing him, I say, “I don’t want to be with anyone else . . . ever.”

  “Perfect. Then let’s break in this apartment the right way, by fucking on every last surface. Let’s start in the shower.”

  He lifts me up and over his shoulder and carries me to the large, glass-encased shower where he slowly heats up my body with water and then makes love to me. And I know it’s making love. It’s clear in his eyes, and it’s clear in my heart. My heart knows this man.

  * * *

  “What time do you have practice today?” I ask, pulling out the last waffle from the new waffle maker Cory bought me. I might have been a little irritated with all the new gadgets—because he spoils me way too much—but I’m not mad about this one. After we christened many surfaces with our naked bodies last night, we went to the grocery store and bought a lot of food to stock up the new place with, Kodiak Cakes Waffle Mix and dehydrated blueberries among the purchases.

  Voila, blueberry waffles.

  “It smells amazing in here,” Carson says, stepping into the room and rubbing a towel over his damp hair. He packed overnight clothes, so he’s in a new pair of athletic shorts and that’s it. I told him we had to clean ourselves separately to give my body a break. He reluctantly listened, but seeing him fresh from the shower, a light dew on his chest, his hair all cute and messy, I’m rethinking the break . . .

  I pull my gaze away and say, “Thanks. But when’s your practice?”

  “One, we have plenty of time if you want to rethink that whole our private parts are on a break thing.”

  I hate that he can read my face so well.

  “Vagina is still protesting, sorry.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He laughs, coming up behind me. He slips his hands under the large shirt I’m wearing and past the waistline of my panties so he’s gripping my hips, his thumbs just above my pubic bone. I suck in a harsh breath as my entire core melts from his simple touch. “Tell me, if I reached down between your legs right now and slid my finger against your clit, what would I feel?”

  “The Sahara Desert.”

  His laughter rumbles against my back. “Liar.” He nips at my neck and his thumbs stroke my sensitive skin.

  I am a liar, a giant liar because just from his touch I’m wet for him. It’s infuriating that he doesn’t even have to work for it.

  His lips continue to work up and down my neck as he pushes my panties down my hips until they slide to the ground.

  “Step out of them,” he whispers.

  “Carson . . . waffles.”

  “This won’t take long. Your hand is already shaking and your breath is coming in short spurts. You’re turned on, so let me ease that for you.” He lifts my shirt over my ass, exposing the morning air to it. He rubs one palm over each globe. “Spread them, Milly.”

  Even though I want to hold strong, there’s no point. My body is already humming and I need the release.

  I spread my legs, gripping the edge of the counter.

  “That’s my good girl.”

  From behind, I feel him slide below me until his head is between my legs.

  “Wh-what are you d-doing?”

  “Helping myself to breakfast.”

  Before I can protest, his fingers are spreading me and he’s licking long strokes up my slit, and it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever felt. Something I’ve learned very quickly about Carson is he loves going down on me. No, he doesn’t just love it, he craves it. I swear his head has been between my legs more than any other part of his body. And every time he offers, there’s no stopping him, not that I want to because he’s so damn good at it, like he’s been practicing the act just as much as he practices his swing.

  His mechanics are perfect.

  His pressure is light and hard all simultaneously.

  His precision . . . accurate as hell.

  His strokes, the best flicks and sucks I’ve ever felt.

  “Yes,” I whisper when he brings my clit into his mouth. “Yes, Carson.”

  He glides his large, calloused hands up my thighs, the coarseness of his palms spurring on my arousal as he brings two fingers to my opening and inserts them the same time he sucks on me harder than ever.

  “Oh . . . fuuuck,” I drag out, my orgasm teetering, collecting, building, so ready to burst any moment that my legs start to shake, my grip on the counter goes numb, and everything seems to pool at the pit of my stomach.

  He senses my coiling tension, the precipice of desire hitting me and, in that moment, he matches his finger strokes with his tongue, hitting every pleasure point, so I can’t stop the loud scream that falls past my lips as I come.

  I ride his tongue, my hips flexing against him until I can’t take it anymore and I lower my head to the counter, completely spent.

  He climbs up from between my legs and leans over my body, his erection pressing against my back. Casually, as if he didn’t just deliver one hell of an orgasm, he says, “Should I heat up the waffles in the toaster? Might be nice to have them extra crisp.”

  Oh no, he doesn’t . . .

  I reach behind me and grip his straining cock through his shorts and he falls against my back, groaning.

  “Sit yourself up on the counter. I need your cock in my mouth. Now.”

  “Fuck, Mills,” he groans and obliges, shucking his shorts before hopping up. He leans back and offers himself to me. Gripping his thighs, I lean over and press my tongue against the tip. His eyes fall shut and he says, “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  And then I suck him until he yells my name . . . just like I screamed his.

  * * *

  “I’m really jealous of your TV. Fuck the baseball loft, I’ll be spending my nights over here, watching the games on the big screen.”

  “I’m sure there’s more than one reason you want to be over here, other than the TV,” I say, our legs intertwined together as we lie on my bed . . . naked.

  Are you really surprised? We’re rabid beasts at this point.

  “Yeah, the concierge service is killer.”

  I pinch his side, and he yelps before bringing me on top of his stomach. “You know you’re the only reason I really want to be here . . . that and Freddy downstairs. His English accent and attention to detail when we’re ordering something, it’s fucking awesome.”

  I roll my eyes and plant a kiss on his lips. Before resting against his chest, letting his hold on my back soothe me.

  There are boxes scattered everywhere, nothing has been put away, and the apartment is in disarray, but I have Carson here. I’ll have all the time in the world to organize, but my time with Carson is ticking down. With his last game coming up soon and then regionals and the draft, he’s going to be gone. Our access to each other is going to change drastically, so I need to soak up as much time with him as possible.

  His fingers lightly stroke my back, sending chills up and down my spine. “Tell me about the proposal. Is it ready yet?”

  I smile against his bare chest. “It is.”

  “Really?” He lifts my chin to look me in the eye. “Were you going to tell me? Show me?”

  “Do you want to see it?” I ask, not realizing it’s something he’d be interested in. It’s baseball, yeah, but it’s also business with metrics and graphs and boring stuff.

  “Fuck yes, I do. Mills, you worked hard on this, I want to know all about it.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, excited.

  “Yeah.” His hand falls to my ass and he gives it a slap. “Get your computer. I want to see it.”

  I shimmy off his body and grab my computer as he sets up the pillows so we have something to lean against. When I get back into bed, he loops his arm around me, and I set the computer on our laps. I open my proposal and show him. Renderings of the facility addition have been created, I added my investment to the proposal, and everything I envisioned for the space.

  Silently, Carson looks it over, pausing longer over the pictures. I watch as he nods in approval, his smile growing wider as he scrolls to the end, and then he claps obnoxiously. I stop his hands, but he’s too fast for me, and moves the computer only to pin me back on the mattress.

  He stares down at me, and I am thrilled by the pride I see in his eyes. “Your intelligence is a fucking turn-on.”

  “Does that mean you think it’s good?”

  “Coach,” he says, using the nickname I’ve come to love, “it’s fucking great. I’m actually pumped up and excited for you. If I had a facility like that growing up, I would have been over the moon. The sports medicine addition, the massage therapy, the skills center, and then all the batting cages and the addition of the clay in the back for infield drills. Damn, Mills. You’re going to build an empire.”

  “Stop, it’s not—”

  “You’re creating an empire,” he says, his voice growing incredibly serious. “You’ve used your incredible baseball smarts with the body-specifics knowledge gained from your kinesiology degree, and created something I’ve never seen before. A one-stop shop for all aspiring premier baseball players. And you couldn’t have chosen a better place for it. Chicago is a breeding ground for baseball with Brentwood at the heart of it and the two major league teams.”