“Mama,” I say in a stern voice.

  She gives me an apologetic smile and then returns to loading the fridge.

  I turn to Hartley. “I didn’t have heart eyes. It was a weird evening, that’s all. Different.”

  “You actually went out on a date with a girl?”

  “More like I was bamboozled into a date.” I look sternly in Mom’s direction.

  Hartley holds his hands out and says, “Hold on, I’m getting confused. What the hell happened?”

  Before my mom can chime in, I say, “Nothing. My mom tricked me into going to dinner with her, pawned me off to her hairdresser’s daughter, feigned a headache, and left me to take the girl home. Nothing happened. End of story.”

  “Oh, that’s cold.” Hartley laughs. “The old switcheroo. I just gained a whole lot more respect for you, Mrs. Castle, if that’s even possible.”

  “For the love of God, don’t encourage her.” I bite into my apple, trying to get the image of Indie out of my head. I’ve been doing pretty well, ignoring thoughts of her, but every time my mom brings the date up again, it takes a while to forget that night and how it was . . . unexpected.

  By no means was it enchanting.

  Or magical, like the cosmic forces brought us together.

  It was just different. It’s the best way I can think to describe it.

  “You’re not even going to tell Hartley who it is?” Mom asks, her smile practically tickling me from five feet away—that’s how wide it is.

  “No, because it doesn’t matter. We have no plans to see each other again.”

  “Oh wait, would I know her?” Hartley asks, looking far too excited.

  “No, dude.” I shake my head.

  “Indie Mayhem, she plays—”

  “Soccer,” Hartley finishes for Mom. “Dude, you went out on a date with Mayhem? Damn, man. If I were you, I’d find out how I could see her again.”

  Her last name is Mayhem? Sounds about right. That’s what the date felt like at times . . . mayhem.

  “You know her?”

  “Ah.” Hartley nods and then leans toward Mom. “You see, Mrs. Castle, our boy here is kind of a snob when it comes to knowing other people on campus. Since he’s in the elite circle of the baseball team, he doesn’t need to get to know the rest of the student athletes. Those of us in the trenches, you know, the rest of the athletes, all know each other.”

  “I’m not a snob,” I say, even though I feel like that’s a lie. Hartley pins me with a look. “Okay, not a snob on purpose. I’m nice to people. But we train extra hours, and we don’t have a lot of time to hang out with other athletes.” Hartley gives me another look. “Parties don’t count.”

  Mama’s head pops up from the fridge, where she’s squaring everything off perfectly so the labels are facing the right way. “At these parties, you’re drinking . . .”

  “Orange juice,” I answer, and Hartley gives me another pointed look about lying.

  “What?” I shrug. “There’s orange juice in the jungle juice.”

  Backing off, Hartley says, “You know I love you, man, but you’re not particularly in tune with the other teams, and that’s fine. I know you’re not being a dick, but if you were more aware, you’d know Indie Mayhem is untouchable. Many have tried to date her. All have failed.”

  “Have you tried?”

  Hartley shakes his head. “Nah, rejection would break my already suffering heart,” he says sarcastically, while clutching his chest.

  “Would it bother you if he tried dating her?” Mom asks.

  “No,” I answer quickly. “I told you, she doesn’t matter to me. You might have thought there was a love connection, but there wasn’t. It wouldn’t matter anyway, because I’m not about to date someone when the draft is coming up in spring. This could be my last year here.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Hartley says. “It bruises my heart knowing I only get one more year washing our underwear together.”

  “You wash your underwear together?” Mama asks, finally shutting the fridge and moving to the pantry.

  “And we take turns folding.”

  “Things you don’t have to admit to my moms,” I say with an eye roll.

  Mom comes up to me and pats my chest. “You might think there’s no future with you and Indie, but my mom gut tells me differently. I saw the spark between you. I think your story is just beginning.”

  She winks and takes off toward the front door, most likely to grab another box of groceries that we picked up at Costco.

  Turning toward Mama, I say, “I think she’s starting to lose it.”

  She smiles softly at me and says, “That, or you’re in some strong denial. Only time will tell.”

  Chapter Four

  INDIE

  “I can’t feel my legs.” Scarlett hobbles next to me. “Those suicides yesterday broke me. Mentally and physically. I honestly think Coach Wilson is trying to murder us using our own bodies.”

  I’m never one to complain about training, because I know with more pain, I’m doing something to gain the upper hand over my competition.

  But . . . hell has descended upon the women’s soccer field this past week and oh my . . . Jesus, am I in pain.

  “I think I put on pants today, but I honestly can’t tell as my legs are numb,” I say.

  Scarlett, my best friend and partner in crime, the girl with the sickest bend in her kick I’ve ever seen, looks at my legs. “You’re good. You’re wearing leggings. Might feel like nothing, but you’re all covered up.”

  “Thank God.” We both laugh then stop at the coffee kiosk right outside of our lecture hall.

  “I’m so freaking excited you changed your major and we have some of the same classes now,” Scarlett says. “You can do all the studying for both of us.”

  “How does that work?”

  She shrugs. “You can teach me?”

  Scarlett has struggled with school her entire life. She barely made it through her freshman year. She came to me sobbing after finals, admitting to having dyslexia. She thought she could handle the workload of a Brentwood education, but because of her grades, she brought down the team average, which put her scholarship in jeopardy. The next day, we went into Coach Wilson’s office together, and I sat next to her while she explained everything to Coach.

  Last year, Scarlett was on an individualized learning plan and to her surprise, she earned B’s across the board.

  I tap her leg with my foot. “You know I got you. Anything you need, I’ll help you.”

  She smiles and shyly says, “That means a lot to me.”

  We step up to the coffee kiosk, pull out our meal-plan cards, and ask for two caramel macchiatos.

  “I’ll need to prepare you, there are a lot of athletes in our major.”

  “Why would I care about that?” I ask.

  Scarlett rolls her eyes. “You are so oblivious.”

  “Oblivious to what?”

  “Uh . . . how many guys want to get in your pants.”

  “Whatever.” Our coffees are set off to the side and we each grab one.

  “I’m serious. The famous Indie Mayhem is in a lot of guys’ wet dreams.”

  “Ew, gross. Don’t say things like that.”

  She laughs and links her arm through mine. “It’s true. Do you know how many guys have asked me for your number?”

  “One?” I deadpan.

  “Oh sweetie, I wish. Little do you know, I’ve been cock-blocking for you for the past two years. They hear I’m roommates and best friends with Indie Mayhem and they soon become buddy-buddy with me, hoping for an in.” How the hell I became this untouchable legend is beyond me. Scarlett’s not normally one to exaggerate, but this is crazy. I’ve slept with guys. I’ve never seen her bat anyone away.

  I shrug.

  “Thank you . . . I guess?”

  “You’re welcome. But now that you’re in the classes yourself, you can do all the batting away of penises. I’m retiring.”

  “Does your retirement come with a pension plan?”

  “Not that I know of.” She chuckles.

  “Then you were batting away penises for the wrong person.”

  “Clearly.” She opens the door to the lecture hall and guides me toward one of the smaller classrooms in the right wing. “Just a heads-up: this is where most of your classes will be.”

  “Cool.”

  She opens the door to our classroom, and it’s much smaller than most of the lecture hall classes I’ve taken. But it still has a small auditorium feel too it. I’m glad to be back, ready for my new school year to begin.

  When we walk in, a few heads turn, and then, “Indie Mayhem, no fucking way.”

  Barreling toward me is a two-hundred-twenty-pound linebacker, so I brace for impact. Scarlett grabs my coffee just in time.

  “Baby girl, when did you start taking these classes?” Rusty Goodall, my life skills partner from freshman year. It was our first class of our first semester in college, and we were paired up. He made that class so much fun and helped me close the gap between high school and college.

  “Rusty.” I let him scoop me up into a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. I just switched this year.”

  “Hot damn. I’m going to need to see your schedule, because Papa is excited.” He sets me down and holds me out at shoulder distance. “Damn, you look good.”

  “So do you.” I squeeze his bicep. “Did you lose weight and gain a whole bunch of muscles?”

  He gives me a goofy grin and strokes his thick beard. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “Ah, that’s my boy, getting ready for the draft next year, huh?”

  “Got to make some money so I can buy my girl a ring.”

  “Are you still with Chrissy?”

  He nods and pulls out his phone to show me a picture of her. “Five years and going strong. She started an online weight loss consulting business. Girl is supporting me right now, but when I graduate, Papa will bring home the dough.”

  “I have no doubt.” I give him another hug. “I’m so happy to see you. It’s been too long.”

  “Far too long, because you probably don’t even know that my twin brother transferred here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.” He bops me on the nose and wiggles his brows. “I’ll have to introduce you two.”

  Scarlett snorts next to me. I ignore her.

  I’m about to answer when the professor walks into the lecture hall and puts his bag on the desk.

  “Ooh, time to be scholarly.” Rusty gives me a wink and returns to his seat up front.

  Never a front-row person, I sit in the back, just as Scarlett follows Rusty. Damn it.

  I waver between going with her and not drawing attention to myself on the first day, so I take a seat and set my bag down.

  “Hey there . . . Mayhem,” someone whispers next to me.

  I know that voice.

  Why do I know that voice?

  I turn to my side just in time to catch the heart-melting grin of Lincoln Castle . . . sitting right next to me.

  Crap.

  “Welcome to Student Teaching. I’m your teacher, Professor Adams, and the people around you will be your student teachers. Please say hello to the person sitting next to you, because they will be your partner through this entire course.”

  Double crap.

  * * *

  “Where are you going?” I ask Lincoln as he gets up from his seat and starts to leave.

  He looks around the classroom and then back down at me. “Uh, class is over. I’m leaving.”

  “Don’t you think we should exchange numbers?”

  “Oh damn, Castle. You’re scoring Mayhem’s number? Mind if I borrow it?” Jorge, a football player, says as he walks up to us, along with Rusty and Scarlett. “I’d love to take her out.”

  Lincoln’s brow creases as he slips his backpack on. “Already have it.” He nods at me. “See you around.”

  “How do you already have—” I don’t finish the rest of that sentence, knowing exactly where he got it from—the meddling moms.

  “Want to hit up the student union with us?” Rusty asks. “I convinced Scarlett to pay for my lunch.”

  Scarlett shrugs. “He was very convincing in his debate.”

  I glance back at Lincoln, who is still heading out of the classroom and strangely, panic sets in.

  I’m a good student. Always have been. It’s important to me, especially because when my soccer career is over, I plan on teaching kids myself. At least, that’s the idea for now. This class isn’t a joke to me and for some reason, I get the impression that it might be for Lincoln.

  “Uh, I’ll meet you there. Save me a seat.”

  Backpack slung over my shoulder, I quickly get up from my seat and chase after Lincoln. I don’t spot him until I walk outside the lecture hall and see him talking with Hartley Dashel and Asher Peppers, Lincoln’s teammate.

  Great.

  Just what I need, an audience. And not just an audience, but an audience consisting of the star quarterback of Brentwood and Lincoln’s best friend on his team.

  Sucking it up, I go to them and feel the blaze of Asher’s and Hartley’s eyes on me when I step into their small circle. I tap Lincoln’s shoulder and he looks at me, then he smiles and reaches around to pull me into his side.

  “Guys, do you know Indie?”

  Hartley gives Lincoln a strange, questioning look and says, “Yeah, dude.”

  Asher nods at me. “Hey Indie.” The shy one of the group, Asher looks down at his feet and plays with a rock. It’s an anomaly that Asher is friends with two of the most outgoing guys on campus, but I guess it works.

  I push out of Lincoln’s hold and turn toward him. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my besties.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Hartley mumbles. “He’s in one of those moods.” Hartley places his hand on Asher’s chest as Lincoln and I stare each other down. “I think we should leave before the sparks flying between these two ignite. Catch you at home, Linc.”

  They take off, leaving me alone with Lincoln and his smarmy smile. “Can’t seem to get enough of me today?”

  “You’re disgustingly full of yourself,” I counter.

  “Hey.” He holds his hands up in defense. “Where’s all this hostility coming from? I didn’t do anything to you.”

  He’s right, he didn’t.

  I almost wish he had, because being angry with him is a lot easier than being nice.

  Looking off to the side, I say, “I’m just . . . irritated.”

  “Well, let’s talk about it.” He takes me by the hand and moves me through the passing students to a bench under a giant oak tree. We both take a seat and then he faces me. “Go ahead.” He motions with his hand and I don’t know why, but the gesture irritates me even more.

  “How can you be so . . . easygoing? Aren’t you annoyed?”

  “What’s there to be annoyed about?” He looks up at the blue, cloudless sky. “It’s a beautiful day, school just started, the air is filled with that familiar freshly cut grass smell. It’s a great day.”

  “I’m not annoyed about the day. About our situation.”

  “What about it?” He drapes his arm over the back of the bench.

  “You didn’t even know who I was, and now we’re partners in class.”

  “Seems like kismet, doesn’t it?” He winks and I groan. I try to stand, but he pushes me back down on the seat. “Dude, lighten up. It’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal to me,” I whisper-yell. “I have no idea how you conduct yourself in the classroom, but I take my education very seriously. I don’t want to be partnered with someone who’s not going to help and will just use me for a free ride.”

  His eyes narrow and his easygoing attitude vanishes. He sits up and sternly says, “I take my education very seriously too. I’ve been on the Dean’s List for the past two years, but you don’t hear about that, do you? You only hear about my partying and baseball life.” He looks me up and down. “Maybe don’t judge a book by its cover.”

  Oh crap.

  I bite my bottom lip and let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “Assumed wrong.”

  “I did.” I nod. “I’m sorry. You bolted out of the classroom without talking about the assignments. I freaked out.”

  He leans back on the bench again and says, “I told you I had your number.”

  “Yeah, but that could have meant anything.”

  “Well, let me put your mind at ease. I have your number, and I plan on texting you tonight to figure out what we should be doing for this week’s assignment. Let me get through weightlifting and practice and then we can discuss.” He lifts my chin up. “That work for you, Mayhem?”

  I nod, feeling incredibly stupid.

  He must sense it because he says, “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot somehow. You have a lot of anger toward me and I’m wondering why.”

  Because you’re incredibly hot.

  Because you’re also really nice, and the combination of both those things is making me think things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

  But I don’t say that. “I think I’m projecting my anger at my mom onto you. It was a rough summer. The whole setting me up one last time before I came back was incredibly irritating.” I take a deep breath and look him in the eyes. “I did have a good time though; in case you hadn’t gathered that.”

  He chuckles and reaches out to tug on my ponytail. “Despite what people might think, I’m not a dumb jock, and I can read people really well. I knew you had fun; you were just playing it cool.” He claps his hands together and leans forward. “How about this, we start over. I’m an ass for not knowing who you were, and you were ungrateful for the milkshake.” He flashes that smile. “Let’s make a wash of it and start over . . . as friends.”

  I mull it over. “Friends with Lincoln Castle? I don’t know. You seem a little high maintenance. The pathetic friend that needs his hand to be held.”

  “Hey, I’m not going to balk at the idea of you holding my hand.”

  I roll my eyes and stand. “If we’re friends, you can’t hit on me. I get enough of that from everyone else.”