“So, he’s okay with you guys having girls in the locker room?”
“I wouldn’t say that, but he’s used to it by now. You know . . . because of the legend.”
“How could I forget the legend?” I roll my eyes and go to my bag where my clothes are. “Does he believe in it?”
“Not sure.” Lincoln comes up next to me and starts getting dressed himself. “But if you want, we could test it out and tell him if it works.”
I pause, one leg in my pants, the other out when I look up at a grinning Lincoln. “You’re so lame.”
“Worth a try.” He chuckles. “Now what do you want for breakfast?”
“Egg scramble from Lakeview, half-an-everything bagel with butter, fruit salad, and a coffee.”
“Is that all?” he asks.
“Watch it. I might get a cinnamon bun. Hope your meal card is ready to be lit up.”
“You’re lucky I like you, Mayhem.”
I slip my shirt over my turban head and say, “Pretty sure you’re the lucky one, Castle.”
Indie: I have a confession that I really don’t want to confess.
Lincoln: You have me intrigued. Lay it on me.
Indie: Promise you won’t make fun of me?
Lincoln: No.
Indie: Aren’t you charming?
Lincoln: I try to be.
Indie: You know what, I think I’m good on the confession.
Lincoln: Oh no, you don’t. You have to tell me now.
Indie: I don’t have to do anything.
Lincoln: You’re so goddamn stubborn. It’s infuriating.
Indie: And yet you still hang out with me.
Lincoln: I’m addicted to the challenges you present. What can I say?
Indie: Are you talking about how I beat you at Mario Kart again this past weekend?
Lincoln: And other things.
Indie: Still nursing your wounds?
Lincoln: A little, I let Hartley lick them the other day. His tongue has magical healing powers.
Indie: Strangely enough, I can picture it, and I can’t tell if I’m more disturbed by the image it provokes, or if I’m disturbed that I have a vivid enough imagination to see it clearly in my head.
Lincoln: I think both are disturbing.
Indie: And here I was going to confess something to you. Never mind.
Lincoln: Stop stalling and just tell me.
Indie: Fine. Are you ready?
Lincoln: All ears.
Indie: *Deep breath* I’m sore from our workout yesterday.
Lincoln: You’re what?
Lincoln: *Wiggles finger in ear*
Lincoln: Did you just say you’re sore?
Indie: Yup, should have never said anything.
Lincoln: *Shouts from megaphone* Everyone, Indie Mayhem, the cockiest workout partner I’ve ever known has admitted to being sore. Split the heavens, because I think I might have just died a happy death.
Indie: You could not be more annoying.
Lincoln: I don’t know what you expected. You know I love to gloat about the almighty’s weaknesses.
Indie: Maybe I was looking for understanding, some fellowship from our workout. Maybe you were sore too and I was trying to help you feel better.
Lincoln: I’m good, babe, but your concern is sweet.
Indie: Once again, I’m annoyed.
“Are you annoyed now?” Lincoln asks, standing in front of my bedroom door, holding a bag from Frankie Donuts and another bag from the local pharmacy.
“Do you really think donuts are the way to my heart?”
“Yes,” he says on a laugh, walking into my room and shutting the door behind him.
“It’s a Tuesday, you know.”
“Well aware of the days of the week.” He sets his things down and hands me the bag.
“We don’t normally see each other on Tuesdays.”
“Well, I don’t think we’ll melt if we stray from routine. I think we’re okay.”
I pick out a strawberry lemonade donut. “You’re sassy today.”
Ignoring me, he motions to my body. “What’s sore?”
“Why?” I ask, suspiciously.
He digs into his bag and pulls out some massage oil. From the mere sight of the pink and white bottle, my body grows blissfully happy with excitement.
I swallow hard, the donut feeling like a brick as it travels down to my stomach. “Uh, hamstrings.”
“Okay, lie down. I’ll get to work.”
“Get to work . . . as in massage me?”
“Yup, thought that was a given. Go on.”
“Are you serious?”
“No, I’m joking.” He gives me a get real look. “Of course, I’m serious. Now lie down on your stomach before I change my mind.”
“Okay,” I say cautiously. “Should I take off my pants?”
“That would make things easier.”
“Such a smartass,” I mutter, pushing my pants down, revealing a green pair of boy shorts that barely cover my butt. “Don’t get frisky.”
“Pfft, I have better things to do than get frisky. I have muscles to massage with these large man hands of mine.”
I’m about to finish my donut and lie down when I pause, my hand halfway to my mouth. “Why did you say that?”
“Say what?”
My eyes narrow. “Large man hands. That specific term.”
He smirks and I already know before he answers. “Scarlett and I had a great conversation earlier today when I ran into her at the events center.”
“I’m going to murder her.” I pop the rest of my donut in my mouth and charge toward my door, but Lincoln stops me.
“No need to earn yourself jail time. She didn’t say much, other that you really like my hands and think they’re sexy.”
I finish chewing, swallow, and say, “Well, lucky for her, information can travel both ways. Just wait until I see Hutton next.”
“Ruthless.” He chuckles. “Now lie on your stomach.”
Muttering under my breath about Scarlett, I lie down and rest my hands under my head. “We should invite Hutton over for dinner, really shock the shit out of Scarlett.”
“Or you and I can order in and hang out on our own.”
“Or that,” I say just as I feel oil drip onto my legs. My body stiffens from the cold, but then quickly relaxes when I feel Lincoln’s hands flatten against my aching muscles and smoothly glide up and down. “Oh God, that feels good,” I moan, unable to help myself.
His hands pause and he shifts on the bed. “Uh, if you could not moan, that would be appreciated.”
Chuckling, I say, “Sorry. But it feels so good after my hammies have been so tight.”
“Well, I didn’t think this through very well, because I’m staring at your ass, massaging your legs, listening to you moan.”
I glance over my shoulder and see how bright Lincoln’s cheeks already are. “Getting turned on, Castle?”
“No,” he chokes out.
I just smile and lay my head back down. “I would say you don’t have to do this, but now I’m thinking this is better payment than breakfast after training.”
His hands slip up my legs, just below my butt and then go back down. He starts with what I believe to be closed fists, moving them up and down, and then switches to rotating his thumbs over my sensitive muscles, starting on the outer part of my legs, and moving inward and up.