I go to the sink where I rinse out the Tupperware container from the lunch I took with me to campus. Since I didn’t have classes today, I spent the entire day between practicing and weights studying in the library. When I have long days on campus, I always make sure to take food with me.

  “So, when you’re done with your days, you’re sleeping in bed naked, by yourself?”

  Don’t ask where the question came from or why I asked it, but there it is, out in the open, collecting all the awkward points that it can.

  She makes her way around the island and lifts herself onto the counter next to the sink. “Are you asking if I’m banging anyone, Lincoln?”

  Christ, she’s direct. Although, I don’t know why I’m surprised, as she’s been nothing but direct with me since I met her.

  Laughing awkwardly, I say, “Honestly, I have no idea where that question came from.”

  “I do.” She crosses one long, toned leg over the other. “You tried to deny it, but I know your infatuation. It’s getting stronger, isn’t it?”

  My eyes practically roll out of their sockets. “Please. I think we both know why you’re here. It’s all under the guise of meeting Rusty’s brother but truthfully, you want to catch another glimpse of me, in my natural habitat, where I kick my feet up and relax.”

  “Ah, yes, you got me,” she says sarcastically. “I had Rusty drive me over here just so I could see you walk around your house in sweaty ankle socks.”

  I glance down at my feet and then back up at her. “How do you know they’re sweaty?”

  “If they’re not sweaty, then you clearly didn’t do five rounds of burpees and weighted box jumps.”

  “Observant.” I point at her and pull out a prepared meal I have delivered to the house. Three meals a week makes dinners easy for me, especially during the season. “But I’m glad you can admit your need to see me; it will behoove you to make such admissions.”

  “It will behoove me?”

  “Yeah, makes life easier when you can admit to your feelings rather than bottling them all up inside.”

  “Like you are.”

  “I’m not bottling up anything.” I put my meal in the microwave and start it. I turn toward her and brace myself against the counter. I catch her eyes briefly take in the way my shirt pulls across my pecs, before her eyes shoot back up to mine. “Like what you see?”

  Not faltering, she plainly says, “Your nipples are hard.”

  I glance at them. “It’s because they’re remembering the way you touched them when we shared an evening out with milkshakes.”

  “Well, I hope they know that was a one-and-done thing.”

  I wink. “Never say never.”

  The microwave beeps and I pull my meal out and plop it onto a plate before grabbing a fork. I set my plate on the island, lean down on one forearm, and start moving the food around, allowing the steam to billow up.

  “That smells disgusting,” she says.

  “Wow, that’s rude.” I laugh.

  She shrugs. “It does. What is it?”

  “Uh, some uber healthy Brussels sprouts dish with steak.”

  She pinches the collar of her shirt and pulls it over her nose. “You can really smell the Brussels sprouts.”

  I fork one, bring it to my lips and blow on it, then pop it in my mouth only to spit it back onto my plate and quickly reach for my water. “Oh, fuck that’s hot.”

  Indie laughs loud enough that it reverberates against the oak kitchen cabinets. “That was so revolting. If I had even the slightest crush on you—which I don’t—that would have extinguished the flame quickly.”

  “Wait.” I look around and lean in toward her. “Are you telling me spitting food back out onto your plate isn’t sexy?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Such a shame.” I blow on another Brussels sprout, this time taking a little longer, and then I chew on it. I hold my plate out to her and say, “Want a bite?”

  She holds her hand up and cringes. “I’m good, really.”

  “Your loss.” I smile and continue to dig in. When silence falls between us, I wrack my brain for anything to say, but all I can think about is how she’s sitting in my kitchen, waiting to meet another guy. And for some reason, that feels weird. “So, Deacon, huh?” I say, feeling like a moron even mentioning it.

  “Am I detecting a hint of jealousy?”

  “No, just trying to make conversation.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin and stand tall. “If you’re thinking identical twin to Rusty, getting a burly guy, you’re going to be sorely mistaken. He’s more ripped.”

  “Oh no, really?” Indie places her hand on her heart. “What a travesty. I don’t know if I can go through with this. A ripped guy who plays football, what did I get myself into?”

  I cut a piece of meat and say, “I can see your sarcasm is on point today.”

  “I dusted it off last night in case I ran into you today. Thankfully, I did. I wouldn’t want to go to all that trouble for nothing.”

  “You’re such a smartass.”

  She smiles brightly. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Just at that moment, Rusty walks back into the kitchen and says, “Sorry. Deacon called me while I was on the phone with Chrissy. Coach is making him stay longer at study hall since he’s a transfer. He won’t be back for a while.”

  “What a shame. No awkward encounter forced by a brother,” Indie says, making me snort into my food.

  Rusty lets out a hearty laugh. “Free dinner, Indie. Keep thinking free dinner.”

  She pats the big guy’s belly and says, “Not ruled by food, buddy. You should know that. Anyway, I should get back to my house. We have testing on Saturday. I need to get as much sleep as possible beforehand so I’m refreshed and ready.”

  “Okay, give me a few and I’ll take you. I just have to call Chrissy back really quick.”

  “I can take her,” I say, wiping my mouth and tossing my napkin in the garbage.

  Not pleased with the idea, Indie folds her arms and stares at me.

  “Are you sure, man?”

  “Yup. Got all my work done earlier during study hall. I’m not doing anything.”

  “Okay, yeah. I mean, if that’s okay with you, Indie.”

  Even though she doesn’t seem to like the idea, she goes for it.

  “That’s fine. Come on, Castle,” she says, walking toward the front door, but not before giving Rusty a quick hug. “Tell your brother I said hi. Maybe I’ll catch him around campus.”

  “He wants a rain check. Don’t discount him. I promise, he’s worth the wait.”

  Calling over her shoulder, she says, “And yet, I’m not looking to date anyone.” Rusty goes to respond, but she stops him before he can. “I know, I know. Free dinner. Bye, Rusty.”

  “See ya, Mayhem.”

  * * *

  Man, she smells good. Now that we’re in my Jeep, driving to her place, with no Brussels sprouts to drown out her scent, she’s all I can smell. All girly and shit, sweet and fucking good.

  I want to bury my head in her skin and soak it up.

  “Why do you look like you’re trying to hold in a fart?” she asks.

  Okay, maybe not bury my head in her skin.

  “You hold nothing back, do you?”

  “Call it like I see it. You look pained. Dude, just let it loose if it’s going to cause you that much discomfort.”

  “I don’t have to fart, but thanks for that.”

  “Huh, could have fooled me.”

  The GPS tells me to turn right, but I keep going straight.

  “Uh, you missed the turn.”

  “I know.”

  “Is this another one of those milkshake things? Because I have to tell you, I’m not eating anything bad for me right now.”

  “So, Frankie Donuts is a no-go?”

  “That’s a giant no, which is painful to say because I would do just about anything to eat one of their strawberry lemonade donuts right now.”

  “Strawberry lemonade? Are you insane? Pistachio all the way.”

  “What? Only seventy-year-old ladies with cat-themed canes eat the pistachio donuts.”

  “Have you even tried one?” I ask, then make a right onto the street that leads straight to the small parking spot overlooking Lake Michigan.

  “No.”

  “Then how the hell can you say they’re not good?”

  “I didn’t say they weren’t good. I just scoffed at a twenty-year old eating one.”

  I back into a parking spot and then put my Jeep into park. “Come on,” I say, nodding toward a bench that overlooks the lake.

  There’s hesitation in her eyes, as if she’s unsure if she should tell me to take her straight to her house. I hold my breath for a few beats before she sighs and opens her door.

  Getting her to come with me is like pulling teeth.

  We sit on the wooden bench, and I drape my arm over the back while she pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her shins.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  I tap the back of the bench, staring at the small waves that crash against the water’s edge. “Looked like you needed some fresh air—after the Brussels sprouts and all. I come here when I’m feeling overwhelmed or just need a second from everyone. Living with five guys can make you a little crazy at times.”

  “Did I look overwhelmed?”

  “You hide it well, but I sensed you were antsy to get out of the house.”

  She doesn’t answer, but stares out at the lake instead, resting her chin on her folded arms. After a few seconds of silence, she says, “Rusty was my rock my first semester of college. We both didn’t know what we were doing, but he practically held my hand through all the firsts of college, especially our first party. I drank way too much and if it wasn’t for his intervention, I don’t know what would have happened to me that night. I honestly can’t even think about it. I feel like I owe him so much, and when he asked me to meet his brother, I felt obligated.”

  “Even though you don’t want to date.”

  “Exactly,” she says.

  Surprised that she’s actually opening up given the sarcastic façade she likes to present, I say, “I’m sure if you said that to Rusty he’d be horrified. He does things out of the kindness of his heart. He would never want to push you to do something you really don’t want to do.”

  “I know. And I’m sure if I told him I truly wasn’t interested, he’d back off. I just don’t have it in me to say anything.”

  “Want me to tell him to back off?”

  “No,” she says, horrified. “God, please don’t do that. I think he’d be more insulted if I didn’t talk to him myself.”

  “You’re probably right.” Even though I hate to admit it, I say, “Deacon is a good guy. Who knows, you might hit it off.”

  “Maybe, but I really don’t need the distraction.”

  “I feel you on that. But maybe he won’t be a distraction,” I say, feeling like I’m actually talking about myself.

  I would never admit this to my mom, but I enjoy Indie’s company, even when she’s prickly. When I saw her in the kitchen, excitement bloomed in my stomach, and when I found out she was there to hang out with someone else, it didn’t settle well. That’s why I ate my stinky Brussels sprouts in front of her, and why I so quickly offered to take her home.

  I want to be around her. To hear her talk. To have her listen.

  It’s a different feeling, something I’m experiencing for the first time with a girl.

  I kind of like it.

  “Maybe you need someone to escape with,” I say.

  “Escape, huh?” She smiles at me. “Isn’t that we’re doing right now?”

  “I guess so.”

  She nudges me with her foot. “So, does that make you my escape buddy?”

  “Not sure you could handle me as your escape buddy, especially since you’re not partaking in milkshakes and Frankie Donuts.”

  “Just until after testing. And during the season I try to keep it clean too. As best as I can. I have my moments where I find myself standing in line at Frankie Donuts, trying to fill my stomach with the air alone.”

  “I gained a cool freshman fifteen because of Frankie Donuts.”

  “No, you didn’t.” She laughs, and it’s such a great sound. It has an unexpected rhythm to it, smooth and a little throaty. “How could you possibly gain fifteen pounds on Disik’s program? Aren’t freshmen basically running machines for the first year?”

  “Trust me, I ate a lot of donuts. Hartley had to have a conversation with me, because he felt the weight tack on from the donuts I took back to our dorm.”

  “You’re going to have to show me pictures, because I don’t believe it. And I can barely remember what I looked like as a freshman, let alone someone else.”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I sift through my Instagram pictures and find one of me, Hartley, and Asher at the baseball loft. I chuckle and hand her my phone.

  She sits up as her mouth practically hits the top of her knees. “Oh my God, I can practically see all the pistachio donuts under your shirt.”

  “Told you.”

  She hands me back my phone and I watch as her eyes travel over my body. “Well, you’ve worked them off, that’s for sure.”

  “Are you saying I have a nice body, Mayhem?”

  “I’m not going to lie and say you don’t. You’re shredded.” She shrugs, as if it’s an everyday comment.

  It’s not.

  Not from her.

  I gather she’s not one to throw compliments out into the universe like that.

  “If you want, I can take my shirt off while we have this conversation, so you can get the full effect of it all.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “Okay, then do you want to take your shirt off?”

  “Oh my God, Lincoln.” She laughs out loud. “You’re better than that.”

  I laugh along with her. “I’m really not, but thank you for thinking that I am.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Come on.” I tug on her ponytail, which keeps whispering over the back of my hand. “Even as a friend, I’m allowed to admit that you’re hot, and even though I’m putting myself in the friend zone, I can tease you about taking your shirt off.”

  “Pretty sure I stuck you in the friend zone, and you didn’t voluntarily put yourself there.”

  “Uh, no. I said let’s be friends.”

  “No, I don’t recall that.”

  “Oh fuck.” I shake my head smiling. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

  “I know,” she says, so cutely that it makes me want to kick her off this bench and right onto the sand. “But if we’re talking about rules for this friendship, then I guess we can say talking of taking shirts off is okay, as long as you don’t ask me to touch your nipple again, because, Linc, that was weird.”

  “Are you saying you’ve never touched a man nipple before?”

  She shakes her head. “Never said that. I’ve sucked on a man nipple.” Oh shit. That makes my good old loins stir a bit. “But I’ve never touched a friend’s nipple, and not by force.”

  “It wasn’t force. It was more annoyance.”

  “Either way, it was weird.”

  “But . . . you liked it.”

  She chuckles and turns completely toward me now, giving me her full attention. “It was a nice nub.”

  I fist-pump the air. “Fuck, I knew you liked it.” Gesturing to both nipples with two fingers and a whistle, I say, “Don’t even need to ask. They’re yours for the taking, Mayhem.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She looks down at her Apple Watch. “I should really get home.”

  “Got it.” I stand from the bench and think about offering my hand for Lord knows what reason, but she hops off the bench and walks toward my Jeep, so carefree and light in her step.

  There’s no awkwardness between us.

  No uncomfortable feelings.

  Just two college kids, fighting through the life of education and athletics, finding our way.

  And that I can appreciate.

  Chapter Six

  INDIE

  Lincoln: Good luck today.

  I smile at my phone as I walk into the women’s soccer team locker room. We by no means have the state-of-the-art locker room that the baseball team or even the football team possesses, but it has what we need: showers, lockers, and a whiteboard.

  I sit on the metal seat of my locker and type back to Lincoln.

  Indie: Thanks. Feeling good. And no, before you ask, I did not eat the breakfast you suggested the other night.

  Lincoln: What? That’s the magic breakfast. You can never go wrong with eggs and pickles.

  Indie: Pretty sure there are MANY ways you can go wrong with eggs and pickles.

  Lincoln: Suit yourself. But I’m telling you, eggs and pickles give you superhuman powers.

  Indie: Of projectile vomiting at record levels?

  Lincoln: Maybe . . . maybe. But consider it like a booster rocket.

  Indie: Do you find this text thread useful?

  Lincoln: Not particularly unless it got your mind off things. Did it? *Fingers crossed*

  Indie: Maybe a little.

  Lincoln: I’m such a good friend, it’s borderline disgusting how good I am.

  Indie: And modest too.

  Lincoln: Always. Okay, good luck, Mayhem. Sprint as if there’s a strawberry lemonade donut at the finish line.

  Indie: The only true motivator. And thank you.

  I set my phone down and look up to find Scarlett staring at me. We’re the only two in the locker room because we like to get here early and prepare.

  She motions her finger at me and says, “What was that all about?”

  “What was what about?” I ask, tearing my shirt over my head, leaving me in my black sports bra. Thankfully, even though we’re lower on the totem pole when it comes to sports, we do still have a lot of perks—like an equipment manager dedicated to our team who washes our uniforms and practice clothes and hangs them up in our lockers for the next day.

  “You were totally gone for a second. I said your name twice.”