“Aren’t you excited?” I ask as he saddles me up next to my bed.

  “I am, but we also have games to play, so get it together.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I sit up and take a deep breath. “I can handle it from here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “I’m not blackout drunk, I know what that feels like. I’m just silly drunk, and if you’re not going to be silly with me, then what’s the point? You’re dismissed.”

  “Okay,” he says hesitantly. I kick at his feet and he laughs, scooting away. “I’m coming by in the morning with breakfast.”

  “Panny-pan-pancakes please.”

  “Yeah, silly drunk, all right,” Maddox mumbles as he walks away.

  I hear the door to my apartment shut and I strip down right there at the base of my bed. When my phone falls out of my jeans, I pick it up and stare at the screen.

  Who wants to be called?

  I sit on my bed completely naked and consider calling my moms just to give them a heart attack, but it’s not New Year’s so they probably don’t want to celebrate penises I think, looking at my dick.

  Who likes my dick?

  Who likes . . .

  I smile to myself, scroll through my contacts, and press the FaceTime button.

  It rings a few times and then she answers.

  “Hello?”

  “Naked party,” I say out loud, shaking the phone. I stand up, point the phone at my crotch and then dance. “Naked party.”

  “Oh my God, Lincoln. Is that your dick?”

  I move the phone to my face and say, “Who else’s dick would it be? And you should know, you’ve had your mouth on it enough.” I give her a big grin and her sleepy eyes roll.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Not just drunk—”

  “Silly drunk,” she says, sitting up in her bed. Her covers are cut right above her breasts exposing her bare shoulders.

  “Indie, are you naked?”

  “What do you think, Lincoln?” She presses her palm to her forehead.

  “I think you need to drop the comforter and join the party.”

  “I haven’t talked to you in months. Do you really think I’m going to join your naked party?”

  “I don’t think you are, I know you are. Come on, drop the blankets. Let’s see if those boobs are sagging yet.”

  “Oh my God, what is wrong with you?”

  “Tequila. Tequila’s what’s wrong with me.” I set the phone on the bed, propping it against the headboard, and then step away so she can get the full view. “Look, I got my balls waxed.”

  She laughs louder and then shakes her head, mumbling, “I’m not getting naked for you. But congratulations on getting your balls waxed. Are they smooth?”

  “Very. I bet you would like rubbing your cheeks against them if you were here.”

  “Why are you like this?”

  “Probably because my moms designed porn sites for a living. A boy doesn’t recover from that.”

  “Fair.” She laughs and then yawns. “As much fun as this is, I need to get to bed, and I think you should too.”

  “But I miss you,” I say. The filter’s gone.

  “I miss you too, Lincoln. You’re back in Chicago, right? Maybe we can meet up when I get back.”

  I step closer to the phone so it’s just my torso and up. “Promise? You’ll really meet up with me?”

  “Promise. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I flop on the bed, taking the phone with me. “I miss you so much, Indie. I can’t wait to see you.”

  She smiles softly. “Can’t wait to see you either.”

  * * *

  “Dude, you brought pancakes . . .” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and letting Maddox into my place.

  “Don’t get too excited. They’re protein-packed pancakes, no syrup, just peanut butter for topping.”

  “Still, you love me.”

  “Are you still drunk?”

  I bring my hand to my mouth and huff on it before taking a sniff. Mint and tequila. “I think so.”

  “Figured.”

  Maddox brings the takeout boxes to the dining area and looks around. “I forgot you don’t have furniture.”

  “Floors are clean,” I say, flopping onto the ground.

  Maddox rolls his eyes and joins me, but leans against a wall. “Did you make any drunk phone calls?”

  “Aw, you remembered that I do that.”

  “Hard to forget when I used to be the recipient.”

  Maddox hands me a box and I pop open the top. The smell of pancakes and protein powder wafts toward me. I’ll take it. “Yeah, I called Indie. Pretty sure I shook my dick in front of her.”

  “Indie?” Maddox’s brow raises. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” I shrug.

  “Care to elaborate on that decision?”

  I pierce the pancakes with my fork and take a large bite. “Miss her, that’s all. Plus, I know she likes my penis, and I had to show my waxed balls to someone.”

  “Obviously. Can’t let that go unnoticed.” Maddox chuckles. “So how was it?”

  “Good. She laughed.” I shrug. “Kind of made me nostalgic.”

  “I could see that. You going to follow up?”

  I take another bite. “Yeah, I think I am. We’re both in different places now. She’s coming back to Chicago after her season. It would be cool to meet up with her. Maybe see where her head’s at.”

  “Oh shit, like . . . start things up again?”

  I shrug. “So, when are we training?”

  “Today. Which means, eat up, you’re going to need it to keep up with me.”

  I laugh. “Please, you’re going to be the one struggling to keep up with me. Fine-oiled machine over here, man.”

  He smirks. “We’ll see about that.

  * * *

  Lincoln: Remember the time Rusty walked in on us?

  Indie: OMG, why did you bring that up?

  Lincoln: He just texted me, and that’s what he opened with. Figured it was a good opening text and wanted to try it out on you.

  Indie: I’m still mortified.

  Lincoln: Because you were deep-throating my cock?

  Indie: Uh . . . yeah.

  Lincoln: I mean, I wasn’t mad about it.

  Indie: Because you’ve always been a pervert.

  Lincoln: Rusty’s high-pitched scream is branded in my head.

  Indie: I wish it was my ringtone.

  * * *

  Lincoln: Hat trick today? Damn, Mayhem.

  Indie: You looking me up, Castle?

  Lincoln: Just need to make sure you’re not making an embarrassment of our friendship.

  Indie: Speaking of embarrassment, heard you had a 50 Cent pitch off the mound the other day.

  Lincoln: Wow, I congratulate you and you bring that up? For your information, my ankle twisted. And I’m fine, thanks for asking.

  Indie: I watched it on replay for at least ten minutes, crying laughing.

  * * *

  Lincoln: I’m craving banana bread.

  Indie: Is this going to lead you to saying how I fucked up the banana bread I tried to make for you?

  Lincoln: Isn’t it fun to reminisce?

  Indie: Sure is. Remember the time a pea snorted out of your nose because you laughed too hard . . . and then you ate it off the counter?

  Lincoln: I did not fucking eat it and you know that.

  Indie: It just happened to disappear so quickly?

  Lincoln: In the trashcan!

  Indie: Sure . . .

  * * *

  Lincoln: Thoughts on a cronut?

  Indie: Are you speaking of a croissant-donut combination?

  Lincoln: Precisely.

  Indie: I had one at this small place in Austin, and it was as if angels were floating around in my mouth.

  Lincoln: It’s the special at Frankie Donuts right now.

  Indie: STOP IT. Are you serious? Have you had one?

  Lincoln: Yep.

  Indie: And . . .

  Lincoln: I wept like a goddamn baby after I finished.

  Indie: I could not be more jealous right now.

  * * *

  Lincoln: So . . . uh, that picture you posted on your Instagram . . .

  Indie: What about it, Castle?

  Lincoln: It was *clears throat* nice. That bikini suits you.

  Indie: Might have posted it with you in mind.

  Lincoln: REALLY?

  Indie: No, but glad you liked it. *winks*

  Lincoln: Cruel woman.

  * * *

  Lincoln: Did you happen to catch my new Under Armour ad campaign?

  Indie: Boasting? Really, Castle?

  Lincoln: NO. Just checking in. I was shirtless in them.

  Indie: I know.

  Lincoln: Thoughts?

  Indie: You’re hot.

  Lincoln: Damn, you’re just going to come out and say it?

  Indie: Facts are facts. You’re hot, Castle.

  Lincoln: You’re making me blush.

  Indie: Don’t let it get to your head.

  Lincoln: Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Sexiest girl I’ve ever known says I’m hot? Yeah, that’s going straight to my head . . . both of them.

  Indie: You’re impossible.

  Lincoln: *Shrugs* Now, tell me you’re coming back to Chicago soon. I want to see you.

  Indie: Two weeks.

  Lincoln: Meet up with me?

  Indie: Do I have a choice in the matter?

  Lincoln: Always, Mayhem.

  Indie: You know I want to see you.

  Lincoln: Good.

  * * *

  Lincoln: Still on for tonight?

  Indie: Yup. Can’t wait.

  Lincoln: So excited to see you.

  Indie: Same, Castle. Same.

  * * *

  I tap the top of the table, my nerves taking over as I wait for Indie to show up. Now that I’m back in Chicago and she’s home for the holidays, it will make meeting up easy. I’ve texted her now and again since my naked party, feeling like our connection, which had faded away, has started to resurrect itself.

  And that made the end of the year that much better, especially since we won the World Series this year. Hell, I can still feel the euphoria from that win, and sprinting from the bullpen to celebrate. It felt like fucking magic. The crowd erupting, the lights, the cold October air shocking our warm, excited breath as we cheered. Puts a guy on cloud nine. It’s also made me start wondering if I could have more with Indie. She’s still playing soccer in Texas, but she doesn’t travel as much as I do. And . . . maybe, now that we’re older, we could make it work. I’m not the twenty-year-old college kid, fixated on making it to the majors, with no option for a distraction. And I sense that Indie’s softened since her mom married Joe and has been so happy. Maybe. Maybe not.

  What I do know is that I can’t wait to taste her again. Pleasure her. Make her scream. Be inside her. For hours.

  The door to the restaurant opens, and I spot her.

  Hell.

  A wave of longing hits me.

  She’s wearing a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, brown ankle boots, and a green sweater that makes her tits look amazing. We’re meeting in Grand Rapids. There are more restaurant choices, and because I secured a hotel room for the next couple of nights, wanting some privacy from my moms for obvious reasons.

  She looks around and when I stand, she sees me, and a large smile crosses her face. She comes up to me, and I capture her into a hug. Her sweet perfume infuses my nose as I commit the feel of her in my arms to memory.

  Perfect. This is absolutely perfect.

  She pulls away and touches my cheek. “Oh my God, I’m so glad to see you.”

  “You too,” I say, giving her one more hug before pulling out her chair. “How are you, Mayhem?” I ask once situated in my seat.

  “I’m great. Congrats again on the big World Series win.” She smiles, shaking her head. “I would like to say I can’t believe it but that would be a bold-faced lie. I knew you were bound for greatness.”

  “Thank you. My proudest moment, besides hitting ninety-five of course.”

  “Of course.” She chuckles. “Never forget the pursuit for ninety-five.”

  “Never.” I sip my water and set the glass down. “I’m at ninety-eight now.”

  “Cocky.” She chuckles, and I swear my heart nearly beats out of my chest. Being here with her, seeing her again—seeing her familiar facial expressions, experiencing her teasing—takes me back to one of the best years of my life, which was spent with her by my side.

  “Have you seen your mom yet?” I ask.

  “We haven’t made it there yet. You were our first stop.”

  “We?” I ask, laughing, just as I notice a dark figure come up behind Indie. I glance up to see a man with tan skin, slicked-back, peppered hair, and a charming smile.

  In horror, I watch as he leans forward and presses a kiss to Indie’s cheek. With an Italian accent, he says, “Car is parked.” He then looks at me and holds out his hand. “This must be the famous Lincoln Castle. Such a pleasure.”

  I take the man’s hand as Indie says, “Yes. Anthony, this is Lincoln.” I release his hand. “Lincoln, this is Anthony . . . my fiancé.”

  * * *

  “Dude, are you going to talk, or just sit on my couch and drink?”

  “This is Anthony . . . my fiancé.”

  Sighing, I set my beer down and say, “She’s engaged.”

  “Who? Indie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nod and drape my hands over my eyes, still reliving the painful dinner from two nights ago, the dinner that I paid for, the dinner where I pretended everything was totally cool and I was so excited to meet Indie’s fiancé . . . even though I felt like I was slowly dying the most horrendous and torturous death inside.

  “Engaged. I still can’t believe it. She doesn’t even believe in fucking marriage. She told me that, many fucking times, so what’s she doing engaged to some Italian loafer, sweater vest?”

  “Did he wear a sweater vest?” Maddox asks, confused.

  “No, he was fucking sharp-looking in a button-up shirt and dress pants. Intimidating as fuck. I felt like a boy next to him, which I probably was because the dude had gray in his hair.”

  “Some men gray early,” Maddox says. I give him a look and he holds his hands up. “Sorry, so she’s engaged to an old fart of a sweater vest.”

  “Yeah.” I grip my hair. “Fuck, man. I had this whole weekend planned for us. Romantic-type bullshit. I hoped that after all the communication we’ve swapped lately, that maybe—”

  “She wanted to be fuck buddies again?”

  I shrug. “Wishful thinking?”

  “Uh yeah, you moron. You really think the girl is going to hold out for fuck buddies?”

  “She doesn’t believe in marriage,” I shout. “She’s never believed in relationships, either. Christ, trying to get her to commit to being friends was a task in itself, but she can commit to a guy I’ve never even heard about? And what the hell is that? We’re talking, and she doesn’t think to mention that she’s in a relationship? A little heads-up would have been nice rather than shocking the shit out of me.”

  “Maybe she was nervous to tell you?”

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “It’s my apartment, you asshole.”

  I roll my eyes. “Semantics.” I lean forward and press my forearms into my thighs and clasp my hands together. “Dude, I don’t know what to do.”

  “What is there to do? I mean, you’ve only said you were fuck buddies, unless, you know . . . you love her.”

  I shake my head, not quite sure if I believe it or not. “Nah, nothing like that. But, it doesn’t feel right.”

  “Well, I guess you’re going to have to get used to it, because unless you love her, you really don’t have any other options other than to try to find a new fuck buddy.”

  “God, you’re useless.”

  “Really feels good when you say things like that.” He chuckles and then hands me back my beer. “Drink up, man. I’ll allow you to get wasted and sleep here tonight.”

  “Now that’s the kind of friend I need.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  INDIE

  FIVE YEARS AFTER INDIE’S SENIOR YEAR

  “Thanks for helping me move,” I say to my mom, who sets a box down on the secondhand table I just bought.

  “Of course, we’re just so glad you’re close to us again.” She comes up to me and gives me a hug, as Joe and Priscilla bring in the last of the boxes.

  “This is a nice place,” Joe says, hands on his hips, his dad bod looking nice these days. It took a while for me to get used to having Joe around, and Priscilla for that matter, but they took it slowly with me. Joe is a pretty understanding and perceptive guy who knew I wasn’t happy when he first moved into my mom’s house, so he didn’t push himself on me. Nor did he force me to have a relationship with Priscilla. That developed over time. The way Joe handled things when my dad passed away gained him a lot of respect in my book. Especially when my mom was grieving over the loss of her first husband. Joe was there for her and nurtured her through mourning her loss.

  He was there for me too, and even though I don’t want to admit it—because I was against it at first—Priscilla is pretty cool and we get along. It doesn’t hurt that she’s started playing soccer . . . and is pretty good at it.

  What especially helped, though, was when my mom realized how much she’d hurt me. How I’d felt so replaceable. Abandoned. I took a chance and spoke honestly with her after Dad died. She simply hadn’t seen how Dad’s and her relationship issues affected me so miserably. I didn’t get the chance to reconcile with Dad, and I was determined not to repeat that mistake with Mom. She’s a different woman with Joe—brighter. She apologized. It was heartfelt, there were tears, and then there was alcohol. And a shocking hangover for both of us the next day.