Her fingers play with the back of my neck when she asks, “Did you have sex with anyone while we were apart?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “Didn’t even think about it honestly. Why . . . did you?”
She shakes her head. “No, didn’t think about it either.” Fuck, that’s a relief.
I go to kiss her but she stops me. “But I don’t want that to be the expectation moving forward, Lincoln.”
“Uh . . . what?” I ask as my dick presses against the warmth between her legs.
“I mean, if you want to have sex with someone, feel free. I’m not going to be mad about it. We’re going in different directions, and I don’t want you to think you need to be loyal to me.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying not to get pissed because honestly, there’s no reason to be pissed. We never made a promise to each other after we said goodbye. We never said we’d be exclusive after we parted. But still, as she says that, after everything we did tonight, it rubs me the wrong away.
I push off the bed and sit up, feeling anger boiling in the pit of my stomach.
“Lincoln, don’t be mad.”
“I’m not. I mean, Jesus, Indie, you surprised me.”
“I know, I’m sorry, but I didn’t want you holding out. These last few months have been amazing, but we’re not going to have the same access during the coming year. We’re going to be in different states, starting new lives. Who knows when we’ll see each other again? I don’t want you thinking you owe me anything, because you don’t.”
“We’re going to see each other, Indie.”
She looks away and then says, “I mean, don’t you think maybe we should just . . . cut things off?”
“What?” I push my hand through my hair, trying to comprehend this conversation. “We talked about this, Indie. You’re my best friend. I still need you to talk to me.”
“I know. But I don’t want there to be expectations. You know? You don’t owe it to me to be celibate. Have fun, Lincoln.”
“I’m not celibate on purpose,” I say. “I just didn’t want to fuck anyone just to fuck.”
“Okay,” she says, looking down.
“Christ, Indie, you’re making this too complicated.”
“No, I’m not,” she shoots back. “I’m trying to uncomplicate things. I’m trying to make sure you know that if you fuck someone else, that’s cool.”
“Great. Thanks for letting me know, Indie.” I push off the bed and grab my pants from the floor.
“Lincoln, don’t be mad.”
“How can I not be mad? You’re ruining our last fucking night together.”
“I’m not trying to, Lincoln. I’m trying to be honest here. I really don’t know when we’ll see each other again. We said from the beginning, this was friends with benefits because we’re going opposite directions. I don’t see how you can be mad about me saying you can fuck whoever you want.” Clearly, she’s not invested in us like I am. Clearly, she wants other guys. Fuck.
“Timing, Indie. Maybe wait until my dick is dry from your pussy before you start talking about fucking other guys.”
“Lincoln. I don’t want to fuck other guys, I’m just . . . saying it’s okay to do what you want to do.”
“Do you really think I’m that desperate to get my dick wet?”
I put my pants on, quickly shrug my shirt over my head, then pick up my shoes. Indie wraps herself in a blanket and says, “Don’t do this. Don’t leave like this, please.”
I finish tying my shoes and grab my phone off her desk. Don’t leave like this. What? Pissed off? Like I cannot be here another minute while I still have her taste and scent on my lips? And she wants to free me up to fuck other girls. Just great.
“I’ve got to go. Early flight.”
“Lincoln,” she calls out on a sob, and when I turn to see tears streaming down her face, I block it off and grip her doorknob. “I’ll talk to you later, Indie.”
“Please,” she cries out. “Please don’t leave, Lincoln.”
I trot down her stairs and walk out the front door, the sound of her desperate voice playing on replay in my head, but I’m too angry to pause.
The entire drive back to the boys’ house, I try to dissect why I’m so angry, why I shot off like a rocket from her suggestion.
She wasn’t wrong.
Everything she said was completely accurate, and yet, it stung like a motherfucker and put me in a mental headspace I don’t want to be in. One that is not settling easily.
One that I know I’ll regret later on down the road.
Chapter Twenty-Two
LINCOLN
ONE YEAR AFTER INDIE’S SENIOR YEAR
“Think this is your year?” one of the rookies on the Triple-A team asks as he swings his arms back and forth.
“Not sure,” I say, stretching my right leg with a band.
“I think I have a good chance.”
Pfft. Okay, buddy.
The average time a player spends in the minors is three years. I’m starting year three right now, so if anyone has a chance at getting the call, it will be me.
But the way I pitched last year, I’ll be lucky to even get looked at. Honestly, at this point, I know my time with the Rebels is going to be short. Guaranteed, by the trade deadline this year, I’ll be used as a pawn to make a move. I can feel it in my bones.
I spent my entire off-season working out at home and training with my pitching coach from high school. I went back to the basics, focused on my mental fitness, and made sure to block out all distractions, which meant when the holidays rolled around, I didn’t contact Indie to see her.
Even though she sent me a few texts.
I spent the entire last season trying to get my head on straight. After I left her place, I texted her the next morning, apologizing, asking her to forgive me for walking out like that. She met me at the airport, gave me a kiss goodbye, and then we went our own ways. Things haven’t been the same since. I maybe talk to her once a month. I checked up on her when her season started, wanting to make sure she had a good first game, but other than that, I follow her more on social media than actually talking to her.
And the whole fuck-someone-else debacle? Yeah, I’ve taken a few girls home, and it’s felt wrong every goddamn time.
It’s never truly satisfied me and there was always something missing, so I haven’t had sex since September.
I’m fucking blue balls-ing it so hard. I’m tense. And I just want to fucking see her. Although, I do not want to know if she’s fucked other guys.
It’s been a goddamn year, and I haven’t seen her. No FaceTime, no visits. Just phone calls and texts.
And it’s driven me to a breaking point.
“All right, boys, that’s it for the day,” our coach says. “Get some sleep and don’t get yourself into any trouble.”
I finish stretching and then hand off the band to one of the trainers. I take a quick shower, give the guys a few fist bumps, and then head to my hotel room that I thankfully have to myself this year.