I look over my shoulder as I stand in front of the fridge. “What about him?”

  He takes some of the drinks from me as the corner of his lips tilt in a knowing smile. “Please, I saw the way your eyes lit up when he walked into the living room.”

  “There was no lighting up. If you saw anything, it was probably indigestion.”

  Lincoln lets out a full-on belly laugh, the sound almost too loud for the small kitchen. “Okay, Indie.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Sure,” he draws out sarcastically.

  My lips purse as I stare up at Lincoln. “You’re annoying me.”

  “How is that different to any other time we’ve hung out?”

  “Not sure.”

  I try to move past him, but he stops me, blocking my path. “Are you interested?” he asks, and for a second, I see insecurity wash though his gaze, but it’s fleeting. That teasing glint comes back before I have a chance to digest the other look in his eyes.

  “Am I interested in a guy I just met for the first time for five seconds?”

  “Yeah,” he says, his chin lifting.

  “Uhh . . . no. I told you, I’m not interested in starting anything with anyone.”

  “Okay,” he says, and I watch as his chest deflates.

  Weird.

  He’s being really freaking weird right now.

  “Okay . . . so, can I take these drinks to everyone?”

  “Sure, yeah.” He steps to the side and as I pass him, my shoulder grazes his and I feel a moment of total weakness, softening my legs, making me want to lean into Lincoln’s body for support. That is so not like me. Must be from the tests today. And the sugar high from donuts. No other reason.

  He must see me pause because he quickly asks, “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I take a deep breath. “Just tired.”

  “Want me to ask everyone to leave?”

  I shake my head. “No, I just need to sit down.”

  Lincoln takes the other drinks from me and nudges me to sit on the couch. Everyone moves around me, Lincoln hands out the drinks, people grab their pizza, and Lincoln gives me a slice on a paper towel. As he’s about to sit down, Deacon takes the seat next to me and rocks the cushion with his weight.

  It’s then I catch the dejected look on Lincoln’s face, which causes my stomach to tie itself into the most impressive nautical knot out there.

  “On the way over here, Rusty was telling me about your physical test,” Deacon says. “If our coach made us do that, I don’t think I’d survive. I’m impressed, girls.”

  He’s sweet. Really sweet, just like Rusty, and even though he’s really attractive, my eyes keep drifting to Lincoln, who’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here.

  * * *

  “You know, I’m going to head back home with Lincoln,” Rusty says, not being subtle at all. He tosses Deacon the keys to his truck. “Before you come home, pick up some milk. Two gallons.”

  “No problem,” Deacon says, snatching the keys in the air with ease.

  Lincoln stands at the doorway, his keys in his hands, head bent forward, avoiding all eye contact with us.

  Rusty pulls me into a hug and says, “Thanks for letting us crash your house.”

  “Thank you for the pizza,” I say, as Scarlett comes up beside me and pulls Rusty into a hug as well.

  “Yeah, thanks for the pizza, big guy.” She waves toward Lincoln. “Thanks for the donuts.”

  “You’re welcome,” Lincoln says from far away.

  Tonight felt awkward. Probably not for everyone else, but for me, it was uncomfortably awkward.

  After we all grabbed our pizza, we talked about the different physical tests each team must pass in order to play, and the women’s soccer team has the most challenging one by far, even harder than the men’s soccer team. Deacon was attentive, listened well, and added thoughtful commentary.

  He’s incredibly easy to talk to, but that doesn’t surprise me. He’s more reserved than Rusty. Or is that just because I’ve known Rusty for two years and we’re practically brother and sister at this point.

  When Lincoln announced he was leaving, I wasn’t surprised, because he’d been quiet for most of dinner. He listened, catching my gaze every once in a while. His demeanor was different, as if the minute Rusty and Deacon walked into our house, someone sucked all the smartass out of him. I’m realizing that oddly, the smartass is what I like the most about Lincoln. He speaks his mind and challenges me.

  But he was a different person and it made me . . . sad.

  Before I can stop myself, I push past Rusty and walk up to Lincoln. When he sees me approaching, he straightens his shoulders, and when I wrap my arms around his waist, giving him a hug, he encircles me within his arms. Hesitantly.

  It’s a brief hug, but it’s enough to make me realize that it was probably a mistake, especially when I feel his hand linger on my back as I pull away.

  “Thank you . . . for the donuts.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says quietly, tipping my chin up with his finger. “See you on Monday, Mayhem.”

  “Yeah, see you Monday.”

  Rusty gives me a brief wave and takes off with Lincoln.

  Once the door is shut, Scarlett stretches her arms above her head. “I’m going to take a bath. That shower did nothing for me. I’ll be upstairs with my vibrator and a good book, so please don’t disturb me.”

  Deacon nearly chokes on his own saliva.

  “She’s . . . uh, candid.”

  “You have no idea,” I say to Deacon, going back to the couch where I curl my legs under me and take a seat. But unlike when Lincoln was on the couch, I keep my distance.

  “You don’t care if I stay a little longer, do you?”

  “No, you’re good. I would just be watching something on Netflix while Scarlett masturbates in the tub.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard a girl announce that.”

  “Well, she’s a different kind of girl. Has zero boundaries. The amount of times we’ve seen each other naked because she’s clueless is far too high to be considered normal.”

  “You get that when living with other people. I just moved in with the boys, and I’ve already caught Rusty with his hand down his pants while talking to Chrissy on the phone.”

  “Oof.” I cringe. “And you can still see okay?”

  “I was temporarily blind, but after some deep-cleansing therapy, I was good as new.”

  “Thank God for that.” He turns toward me, just like Lincoln did, but instead of reaching out and pressing his fingers into my scalp, Deacon keeps his hands in his lap, behaving like an utter gentleman. “So, do you like it here so far?” I ask.

  “Yeah, love it.”

  “Where did you transfer from?”

  “A community college in Nebraska where we’re from. I didn’t have the grades in high school to come to Brentwood, whereas Rusty is just naturally smart. And as you know, it takes a lot of athletic talent and intelligence to be recruited by Brentwood. So, I went to a community college and worked my ass off to get my grades up. Rusty helped me train virtually, teaching me everything they did at practice so I could replicate it. I was a walk-on, had to try out, and then luckily, made the team.” He smiles. “Might have cried a little into my brother’s arms when I saw my name on the roster.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing. Congratulations. It must have felt good to see all that hard work pay off.”

  He nods. “It did. And I was grateful there was a spare room where I could live with my brother and not have to share a room with him, because that’s what we were planning on doing.”

  “Oh, that would have sucked because those conversations with Chrissy would have been increasingly awkward.”

  “Tell me about it.” He rubs the side of his jaw. “And when she comes to visit from Nebraska, yeah, that would be even more awkward.”

  “Is she going to make some trips again this year?”

  Deacon nods. “Yeah, she always does. To be honest, I miss her. We became really good friends while Rusty’s been in Chicago. He asked me to watch over her while he was gone, and now that we’re both here, he worries about her more. Keeps trying to convince her to move to Chicago.”

  “Why doesn’t she?”

  Deacon sighs and says, “She’s scared. She doesn’t want to move everything and then have something happen to their relationship.”

  “But Rusty is crazy about her. They’ve been dating for five years, right?”

  Deacon nods. “Yeah, but her parents are divorced so she’s extra cautious. Rusty realizes that and is patient, even though I’m pretty sure if I handed him a ring, he’d propose to her right now.”

  I clutch my hand to my heart. “Ugh, that’s so cute.”

  “Yeah, they’re pretty awesome together. She’s family at this point.” He smooths his hand over his thigh and asks, “Do you have any siblings?”

  “Nope. Just me and my parents, which makes their involvement in my life difficult at times.”

  “Oh damn, really?”

  I nod, smiling to myself. “That’s how I met Lincoln, through our meddling moms.” I relay the story, Deacon laughing through the entire thing with a couple “oh damn” outbursts. The whole time I’m telling the story, I realize what a great listener he is, just sitting there, interacting, asking questions. He’s pretty awesome. I can understand why Rusty wanted us to meet. Any girl would be lucky to meet Deacon.

  “Could have been worse; you could have been matched up with someone like Barry Winston on the lacrosse team.”

  “Oh God, you’re right.” I cringe. “Barry likes to sniff his armpits for fun.”

  “Yeah,” Deacon drags out. “I met him for the first time this past week and I’ll tell you right now, he likes to have other people sniff his armpits for fun too.”

  “Disgusting.”

  “Plus, you’re lucky. Lincoln’s a really great guy . . . even if he didn’t know who you were.”

  “He is a good guy, surprisingly.” My mind drifts back to the way his fingers felt in my hair, his sexy smile, the way he smelled like fresh-cleaned man.

  “He doesn’t really venture outside of his circle. Not sure if you see it, but the baseball team deals with a lot of pressure, not only from their coach, but from the school and the fans. There’s been drama from players behind the scenes because of the legendary locker room.” I roll my eyes, thinking about the myth of the baseball locker room. According to the legend, if a baseball player takes you to the locker room to have sex, you’re meant to be together forever. I don’t buy it. “And then of course, the rapid rate of Brentwood players going pro. You find out who’s genuine and who’s not. The boys are closed off a lot of times, so the fact that he’s included you and Scarlett in his circle means something.”

  Huh . . .

  I never thought about it that way.

  I just assumed he was being nice. But if I think about it, I’ve never spoken with any baseball player for that matter. They’re a close-knit bunch, probably for the very reasons Deacon stated.

  “Hmm, I guess I won him over.”

  Deacon chuckles softly. “Pretty sure you didn’t have to put in much effort.” He glances at me and my heart trips. “Would it be cool if I took you out for dinner sometime?”

  I look away, unable to meet his eyes. I swore I wouldn’t date. It’s not what I need right now when I’m so hyper-focused on school and soccer, but . . . God, he’s so nice. But I know myself. I don’t want nice nor a man who seems like relationship material. And yet . . . I could do dinner. He doesn’t seem needy, and he’s good company. As long as he knows there will nothing more. That is not happening even if the guy is sweet and hot.

  On a deep breath, I nod. “Yeah, that could be fun.”

  “Really?” he asks, surprised, and it’s adorable.

  “Rusty did say I should get a free dinner out of you.”

  Deacon shakes his head. “Of course he did.”

  Chapter Seven

  INDIE

  I love Sundays. They’re our only day off during the week, and Scarlett and I both spend them isolated in our rooms, relaxing and doing absolutely nothing. Well, I have done laundry, read over my notes from Professor Adams’s lecture, and done our meal planning for the week. My version of nothing.

  So, when my phone vibrates with a text message, I consider not answering it as I lie naked in a coma-like state, staring at the ceiling, my muscles on fire from yesterday’s physical test.

  But when it vibrates again, I pick it up with a huff. Better not be my mom wanting to hassle me about dating.

  Lincoln: Whatever you talked to Deacon about after we left has him walking around with heart eyes over here.

  I roll to my side and type him back.

  Indie: He asked me out to dinner. I said yes.

  Lincoln: You did?

  I chew on my bottom lip and wish I could hear him ask that question. You can never tell someone’s inflection in text messages, and I want to know if that was a sad “you did?” or a sly “you did?”

  After Deacon left last night—we parted with a quick hug and a wave—I went to my room, thankful Scarlett was done in the bathroom, and got ready for bed. Lincoln was on my mind the entire time. I couldn’t forget the dejected look on his face during dinner. I haven’t known him very long, but I do know he wasn’t himself once the guys showed up. I almost wished I had taken him up to my room to talk privately, asked him if everything was okay, let him press his fingers into my scalp, massage it some more.

  Choosing my words carefully, I type him back.

  Indie: I did. I didn’t want to be rude. And he was cool.

  Lincoln: Deacon is awesome. A great guy.

  Indie: I got that last night. Just like Rusty.

  Lincoln: Yeah.

  I stare at my phone, wondering how I respond to that when the dots appear, indicating he’s texting again.

  Lincoln: What are you doing right now?

  Indie: Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince my muscles to stop aching.

  Lincoln: Lying in bed? If I recall correctly, that would make you naked, right?

  Indie: Of course you remember that.

  Lincoln: My memory is a steel trap, so don’t say something unless you want me to remember it.

  Indie: Good to know and yes, if you must know, I am naked.

  Lincoln: So am I, which means we’re naked together. This friendship just leveled up.

  Indie: What’s your excuse for being naked?

  Lincoln: *shrugs* playing with my ding-dong.

  A loud laugh bursts out of me, and I quickly cover my mouth.

  Indie: LOL. Why do I envision you just tapping the tip of your dick for the fun of it?

  Lincoln: Because you’re right. After I did some jumping jacks in front of a floor-length mirror to watch the old cock bounce up and down, I took it to the sheets to see if I could get aroused just from flicking my dick.

  Indie: And the verdict?

  Lincoln: Turns out any kind of stimulation works.

  Indie: It’s because guys are horndogs.

  Lincoln: ^^Facts. So, you’re sore?

  Indie: Very. And before you get any smart ideas, no, you can’t come over and massage me.

  Lincoln: Ew, I would never. Gross. The thought of touching your naked body makes me dry heave. So much puke. All the puke. I would rather scrape a rusty fork over my scrotum than be forced to touch your naked boddess.

  Indie: How flattering.

  Lincoln: I just . . . oh fuck, I just threw up in my mouth thinking about it.

  Indie: You done?

  Lincoln: Sorry, just ran to the bathroom. False alarm. I’m good now.

  Indie: Glad to know where you stand.

  Lincoln: Got to keep it real, Mayhem. But if you’re not doing anything and you’re sore, I have an idea.

  Indie: Does it involve me having to put clothes on?

  Lincoln: I mean . . . you don’t have to. That’s your right, but I think nudity is frowned upon in public.

  Indie: Ughhhh, you want to do something in public?

  Lincoln: It will be worth it, and you know just as well as I do the worst thing you can do for your body right now is lie around doing nothing. You need to stretch out your limbs and get them moving.

  Indie: I’m not going for a run.

  Lincoln: Neither am I. Meet me outside your place in ten minutes.

  Indie: This better be worth it, Castle.

  Lincoln: It will be, I promise.

  * * *

  It takes me five minutes to roll out of bed, so when I open my front door to see Lincoln sitting in his Jeep, the canvas cap taken off, I’m not surprised. I’m grateful there are only three steps as I hobble down.

  Keeping it casual, I slipped on a pair of leggings and a deep purple tank top. I didn’t bother with any makeup, only a little sunscreen for my already burnt cheeks, and I put my hair up in a messy bun rather than a ponytail.

  Lincoln leans over the center console and opens the door for me, holding his hand out and helping me in. Normally, I would have scoffed at the help, but good God, my legs hurt so bad.

  “You look like you’re in pain.”

  I buckle up and let out a long sigh. “I am.”

  He reaches into the cup holder and says, “This is for you. I put in some of my electrolyte tablets that help me the day after a rough workout. It’s strawberry lemonade flavor. Thought that was a safe bet.”

  “That’s thoughtful.” It’s nice too. He’s nice. But different nice to Deacon.

  He winks and starts his Jeep. “What are friends for?”

  When he takes off and pulls onto the road, I ask, “So, any hints where we’re going?”

  “Nowhere super special, but thought some fresh air and a walk would help you.”

  The breeze filters past me, the open-top Jeep increasing the circulation and the excitement racing through my veins. I didn’t realize how much I needed fresh air until now.

  We drive in peace, letting the rock music on the radio fill the silence between us as I stare out the windshield, sipping on my drink. I glance down occasionally to Lincoln’s hand gripping the gear shift, taking in how he expertly shifts. It’s mesmerizing to see his masculine hand hold the gear shift tightly, his forearm rippling when he moves. It almost feels erotic, and I avert my eyes before my mind starts getting carried away.