Ah, so she’s not fully better.

  She pats my chest. “I’m starving. Let’s get some food.”

  And just like that, she hops off me and goes to her dresser where she grabs some clothes and heads to the bathroom. I stare at the ceiling, placing both my hands behind my head, trying to figure out how much I push her?

  Technically, she’s happy right now.

  She’s fine.

  So why bother trying to peel back a scab that she’s trying to heal?

  * * *

  MARCH

  “Indie, it’s so great to see you,” Mom says, pulling Indie into a hug.

  “It’s great to see you, too.”

  Mama puts out her hand for a shake and says, “I really appreciated your chanting. It was colorful.”

  Indie snorts next to me. “I may have gotten carried away.”

  “You were good up until the point where you told Indiana to eat shit after I struck out the side,” I say.

  “Personally, I thought it was deserving,” Mama says, as we all walk into the restaurant.

  I pitched one hell of a game today. Coach said I was consistently hitting ninety-five, and it showed. The batters were having a hard-ass time keeping up with me. Ended up with a shutout and another win under my belt. After the game, Disik pulled me to the side and said if I stay consistent with my spin rate and speed, there’s no doubt I’ll be in the top of the draft class and on my way to Double-A in the summer.

  Hell, it’s crazy to think that in a few short months, I could be training with an actual professional team. I know it’s going to be tough, the pay is going to be shit in the minors, but it’s all going to be worth it in the long run, because I’ll be living a dream.

  We’re seated by the host, who gives me a fist bump before handing me a menu. “Heard you pitched one hell of a game,” the guy says. “Can’t wait to see where you’re drafted to by the end of the season.”

  “Thanks, man,” I say. And yeah, I’m puffing my chest out as I answer him because of the gaggle of important women surrounding me. “I really appreciate that.”

  He walks away, and both my moms look at me with a knowing smile.

  “What?” I say, setting my menu down.

  Indie pokes my side and says, “Ooo, someone’s famous.”

  “Shut up.” I laugh, but it doesn’t stop them.

  “We should get your fanboy back, have you sign a few things for him,” Mom says.

  “Can you stop? He was being nice.”

  “You know he’s going to tell all his buddies about seeing you in here, eating a giant burger, taking that meat down like a man,” Mama teases.

  I look between the three ladies as they all laugh. “Are you guys done? Care to be mature about this?”

  “Not really,” Indie says. “This is more fun.”

  “She’s right,” Mom adds. “Plus, we bought you, so we can tease you however you want.”

  “What did I say about saying you bought me?” I say with a smile.

  “We did,” Mama says, jabbing her finger to the table. “The lawyers didn’t pay for themselves.”

  Indie laughs next to me. The sound’s so goddamn throaty and perfect. “Oh that’s great.”

  “Did all three of you decide to gang up on me during the game?”

  “Oh no,” Indie says, petting my head. “Are your sensitive man feelings getting hurt?”

  “Yes,” I say, a huff to my voice. “Yes, they are, and I’d appreciate it if you all would stroke my ego and make me feel important.”

  “Ah, we’ll leave the stroking to Indie,” Mom says on a smirk.

  “Jesus.” I cup my forehead with my hand. “I can tell this was a bad idea.”

  Indie picks up her menu and says, “No, I think this was a great idea. Dinner with the moms; doesn’t get much better than this. By the way, how’s the porn site, Michelle? You were having a hard time with getting the moaning sound to work when there was a purchase over winter break. Finally crack the code?”

  Lighting up, Mama says, “Oh yes. And we added an extra-long moan for purchases over one hundred dollars. The incentive of longer moans was very well received by the owner.”

  “We’re in public,” I say through clenched teeth. “A public where people know me.”

  “Oh, look at him,” Mom says, pointing at my face. “He’s getting red.”

  All three pairs of eyes land on me so I lift my menu, blocking their view. Indie pulls it down and studies me.

  “And his cheeks are getting blotchy.”

  “That means extra angry,” Mom says. “Blotchy could lead to an outburst. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “I’d be down for an outburst. We haven’t been put in our place by Lincoln in a while. We’re due.” Mama smiles delightfully.

  “Overdue,” Mom adds.

  “I’ve never seen an outburst,” Indie joins in. “How could we push him to that moment?”

  “Keep doing what you’re doing,” I say, staring at the menu. “I’ll get there really fast.”

  Everyone chuckles and under the table, Indie’s hand clamps down on my thigh where she gives it a reassuring squeeze. I look at her and she gives me a soft smile, one that confirms she’s just teasing me.

  It’s a tender smile that smooths down my anxiety and makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.

  “Oh jeez, look at those two?” Mom says, clutching her heart. “You are too cute together. I still can’t believe you’re happily having all the bedtime relations because of my meddling.”

  “How much do you tell your moms?” Indie asks.

  “Apparently too much.” Eyes wide, trying to express my feelings through my facial expressions, I say, “How about we don’t talk about what’s going on between me and Indie and maybe focus on something else—”

  “I came up with a party tab for the porn site,” Mama says, breaking the moment. “It, uh, gives you the opportunity to join an online orgy. The idea earned us a giant bonus.” She nods, then returns to looking at her menu. “Pretty neat if you ask me.”

  Indie chuckles again next to me as I mutter under my breath.

  Why . . . why do my lesbian moms have to be porn website developers?

  And why is there absolutely no filter even when we’re in public?

  Just . . . why?

  * * *

  MAY

  Six teal cups are held high in the air as Hartley says, “To another fucking amazing year. To the heartache, the bruises, the sweat, and the relationships we found along the way.”

  All the boys clink their cups and then we take back the shot of whatever Hutton concocted.

  Burning liquid slides down my throat and we all start coughing at the same time, besides Hutton, who’s smiling like a jackass.

  Rusty wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and asks, “What the hell was in that?”

  “Vodka and hot sauce. Got to get those loins moving, boys. Big things are ahead of us.”

  “We don’t need any loins, moving,” I say, looking at the clock on the oven. “We don’t need to be vying for the bathroom while we throw our last party of the year.”

  “Nah, you’ll be good.” He waves his hand at us just as the door opens and Indie pops through it with a bottle of Sprite for the jungle juice. Asher forgot to pick some up at the store for us. He’s had a lot on his mind lately.

  “Hey boys,” Indie says while handing the Sprite to Hutton. Rusty picks her up and spins her around, only to toss her over to Deacon who does the same. “Why don’t you greet me like this?” Indie asks me as Deacon sets her down on the ground.

  “Because I fail at life.”

  She chuckles and taps my crotch. “Not all aspects.”

  “Oh damn, look at that, giving our boy some confidence in his bedroom skills. Well done,” Rusty says.

  “He has to know there’s more to life than just baseball if that doesn’t work out.” She winks. “He could be a gigolo.”

  “I’d hire him for a lap dance,” Hutton says walking back into the living room. “Always wanted to know what it would be like to have that ass grind on me.”

  “You’re fucked up,” I say, taking Indie in by the shoulders. I press a kiss to the side of her head and whisper, “Want to go out back?”

  She nods.

  People will be arriving soon and even though I know it’s our end-of-the-year party and probably the last time I’ll see everyone—besides my guys—I want time with Indie.

  The last few months have been . . . simple.

  My routine has stayed the same: Sunday nights, we hang and bang like crazy when the team isn’t on an away trip; Mondays, I spend the morning training with Indie; with some intermittent hang outs throughout the week. I practice, train, attend a few classes, and then on the weekends, we play games. The team is undefeated going into playoffs, and the draft is only a few weeks away. Feels like everything is perfect.

  Because we’ve learned lessons from previous teams, we don’t have a firepit in our backyard. Fire and drunks don’t really make a great combination. But we do have lawn chairs formed into a circle with a cooler in the middle full of beers and some of those hard seltzers that the girls who come to the parties seem to like.

  My girl in particular.

  I lead her to the circle, open the cooler, and hand her a blackberry-flavored hard seltzer and grab a beer for me. I take a seat in a wide lawn chair and pull Indie onto my lap. At this point, she knows better than to try to sit anywhere else.

  “Did you get these drinks just for me?” she asks, popping open her can.

  “You know I got you covered,” I say, rubbing my hand over her thigh.

  She takes a sip and then laughs. “Oh Lincoln, you have sex eyes.”

  “What? No, I don’t.”

  “Uh, yeah, you do. Big-time sex eyes.” She motions to my eyes.

  Shrugging, I say, “Is it a shame I want my girl?”

  “Your girl, huh?” she asks, taking another sip of her drink, and this time it’s a longer pull.

  “You know what I mean.” I pop open my beer and take a drink as well.

  Even though things have been incredibly easy these past few months, I keep wondering in the back of my head about what’s going to happen after I’m called down to train by whatever team picks me up. Do I shake hands with Indie and thank her for a great year? Do I ask to see her whenever I’m in town? Do I just end all communication?

  Ending all communication seems like a terrible idea, but I honestly have no idea where her head is at, and I’m too damn scared to ask.

  I’m so out of my element. I’m confused. It feels like she’s my girlfriend, but we’ve never put labels out there other than fuck buddies. And we don’t see each other every day like other boyfriends and girlfriends do, nor do I take her on dates. When I do see her, we’re usually naked within minutes. Afterwards, we hang out, play games, just have fun, but we never dive into anything too deep. The last deep conversation we had was before Christmas break, when she broke down in her bed and I held her all night. Ever since, it’s like she’s put up an emotional wall around herself and hasn’t even given me a chance to peek in.

  And I’ve been fine with that. But for some reason, since hanging out with the boys earlier, sharing shit about our years together—and this being our last party together—I want to peek over that wall, feel her out.

  Thankfully, she leads into the conversation perfectly. “Are you excited about the draft coming up? I saw an article online talking about how you’re a top-twenty prospect. Top-twenty, Linc. That’s incredible.”

  “Thanks, babe,” I say, squeezing her thigh. “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. Hitting ninety-five this season boosted me to the next level. Coach Disik said it’s opened a lot more doors, and I really have you to thank for it.”

  “You would have hit it on your own,” she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Just would have taken you longer.”

  “Well, it means a lot to me, you working with me on everything.”

  “What are friends for?” She winks and my stomach drops.

  Friends.

  Okay, I don’t know why I was expecting more. Maybe because it feels like so much more than just friends.

  Plastering on a smile, I say, “Yeah, you’ve been one hell of a friend.”

  “I don’t know if we should thank our moms or our professor who teamed us up.”

  Chuckling, I say, “I still can’t believe we got a B in that class.”

  “Don’t even talk to me about it. I’m still bitter. He had an agenda and it was to make us feel less than perfect.”

  “The nerve.”

  She tangles her fingers through the short strands on the back of my head, leaning against me. “I’m sad we didn’t have another class together. We didn’t plan that well.”

  “For the best. I was too distracting for you.”

  “Please.” She rolls her eyes as her fingers work magic on my scalp.

  “I saw the doodles in your notebook, the many attempts to draw me naked. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Aww, you thought those were naked pictures of you? That’s cute. They were of Rusty.”

  I nearly choke on my beer laughing.

  She pats my back. “Did you picture it in your head?”

  “I did, and I did not like it.” I take another sip of beer and say, “Did he tell you that he’s proposing to Chrissy? This summer?”

  “He did.” She sips her drink. “Good for them.”

  “Wow, hold back your excitement,” I tease.

  “You know how I feel about marriage, Linc.”

  Yeah . . . I do. She could write a skeptic’s guide to marriage now. Especially given her parents’ divorce was done three months after they filed for divorce. Three months. That’s good old Michigan for you. After twenty-two years of marriage? Three months. Property and debt division finalized amicably. A neat, fucking package. And Indie’s fucking mom had the audacity to send her a text with a smiley emoji announcing just that. Needless to say, Indie got wasted that night. I heard her tears in the shower the next morning, but she didn’t let me see those. Nope. Those tears are well and truly hidden behind her wall, never to be comforted. Much like her heart.

  “Anyway, are you sure you want me to come to the draft-watching party? I don’t want to step on a family gathering.”

  “Hey, you’re family,” I say. “Of course we want you there.”

  “Okay.” A small sigh escapes, and I want to break down that sigh and figure out the meaning behind it. “I still can’t believe they’re having the championships at Brentwood this year.”

  They’re usually held in Omaha, Nebraska, but a terrible storm hit the city this year, leaving the field unusable. Brentwood was nominated to hold the tournament, the college stadium hosting most of the games with some being optioned out to fields in the area. It isn’t ideal, but it will get the job done, which means we can have a gathering at Indie’s during the tournament.

  “It’s crazy, but also kind of cool, being able to play in our stadium again.”

  “I can feel that. I’m dreading the fall when I have to say farewell to my field.”

  “Yeah, I wish I could be there for that,” I say, already knowing my life will be so different this coming fall.

  “But you’ll be on to bigger and better things.” It sounds like a throwaway comment, and that makes me worry. Worry about our future and what’s to come.

  “So when you’re a big-time soccer player, think you’ll still talk to me?” I ask, feeling her out.

  “Not going pro,” she says, downing a big gulp of her drink.

  “Wait, what?” I ask, pulling her drink down. “What do you mean you’re not going pro? When did you decide that?”

  “A few months ago,” she says casually.

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t think I needed to tell you everything, Lincoln. Anyway, it’s no big deal, just focusing on other things.”

  “Indie, soccer is your life. This has been your dream forever. Why are you giving up on it—” I pause, remembering something. “Is this about your mom?”

  “No,” she says looking away. I don’t believe her. “It’s just not smart. The pay is shit and what happens when my career is over? It’s not like I’ll have millions to fall back on like you.”

  “Hey, when has it ever been about the money? It’s always about the game for you.”

  “There’s no use talking about it, Lincoln. I’ve made my decision.”

  “Well . . . I think it’s a shitty decision,” I say, unable to hold my tongue.

  “Wow, tell me what you really think.” She laughs sarcastically and tries to get off my lap, but I hold her in place.

  “You want to know what I really think? I think you’re hiding behind someone you’re not. You’re hurting because of your parents’ choices and instead of facing that hurt, you’re turning into someone nowhere near the Indie I know.”

  “I don’t think this is the time to have this conversation, Lincoln. It’s your last party. Let’s not fight.” She leans in and presses a kiss to my lips. It’s sweet, and it stirs feelings inside me, feelings I shouldn’t be having. Gripping my cheek, she looks me in the eye. “Can you drop it, please? Let’s enjoy these last few weeks, okay?”

  Remember when my heart sank? Well, it just flopped onto the floor, and I’m pretty sure Indie carelessly kicked it across the lawn with that last statement. I want to ask her what she means but I can sense the tension building between us, and the last thing I want is to ruin tonight. So, I drop it and nod.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Thank you.” She tilts my head back and swipes her tongue over my lips. “Open,” she demands, and because I’m desperate for anything from this girl, I open my mouth and get lost in her for the rest of the night, reveling in her sweetness the only way I know how.

  Fuck, I’m going to miss her.

  * * *

  JUNE