Lincoln: It’s the special at Frankie Donuts right now.
Indie: STOP IT. Are you serious? Have you had one?
Lincoln: Yep.
Indie: And . . .
Lincoln: I wept like a goddamn baby after I finished.
Indie: I could not be more jealous right now.
Lincoln: So . . . uh, that picture you posted on your Instagram . . .
Indie: What about it, Castle?
Lincoln: It was *clears throat* nice. That bikini suits you.
Indie: Might have posted it with you in mind.
Lincoln: REALLY?
Indie: No, but glad you liked it. *winks*
Lincoln: Cruel woman.
Lincoln: Did you happen to catch my new Under Armour ad campaign?
Indie: Boasting? Really, Castle?
Lincoln: NO. Just checking in. I was shirtless in them.
Indie: I know.
Lincoln: Thoughts?
Indie: You’re hot.
Lincoln: Damn, you’re just going to come out and say it?
Indie: Facts are facts. You’re hot, Castle.
Lincoln: You’re making me blush.
Indie: Don’t let it get to your head.
Lincoln: Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Sexiest girl I’ve ever known says I’m hot? Yeah, that’s going straight to my head . . . both of them.
Indie: You’re impossible.
Lincoln: *Shrugs* Now, tell me you’re coming back to Chicago soon. I want to see you.
Indie: Two weeks.
Lincoln: Meet up with me?
Indie: Do I have a choice in the matter?
Lincoln: Always, Mayhem.
Indie: You know I want to see you.
Lincoln: Good.
Lincoln: Still on for tonight?
Indie: Yup. Can’t wait.
Lincoln: So excited to see you.
Indie: Same, Castle. Same.
I tap the top of the table, my nerves taking over as I wait for Indie to show up. Now that I’m back in Chicago and she’s home for the holidays, it will make meeting up easy. I’ve texted her now and again since my naked party, feeling like our connection, which had faded away, has started to resurrect itself.
And that made the end of the year that much better, especially since we won the World Series this year. Hell, I can still feel the euphoria from that win, and sprinting from the bullpen to celebrate. It felt like fucking magic. The crowd erupting, the lights, the cold October air shocking our warm, excited breath as we cheered. Puts a guy on cloud nine. It’s also made me start wondering if I could have more with Indie. She’s still playing soccer in Texas, but she doesn’t travel as much as I do. And . . . maybe, now that we’re older, we could make it work. I’m not the twenty-year-old college kid, fixated on making it to the majors, with no option for a distraction. And I sense that Indie’s softened since her mom married Joe and has been so happy. Maybe. Maybe not.
What I do know is that I can’t wait to taste her again. Pleasure her. Make her scream. Be inside her. For hours.
The door to the restaurant opens, and I spot her.
Hell.
A wave of longing hits me.
She’s wearing a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, brown ankle boots, and a green sweater that makes her tits look amazing. We’re meeting in Grand Rapids. There are more restaurant choices, and because I secured a hotel room for the next couple of nights, wanting some privacy from my moms for obvious reasons.
She looks around and when I stand, she sees me, and a large smile crosses her face. She comes up to me, and I capture her into a hug. Her sweet perfume infuses my nose as I commit the feel of her in my arms to memory.
Perfect. This is absolutely perfect.
She pulls away and touches my cheek. “Oh my God, I’m so glad to see you.”
“You too,” I say, giving her one more hug before pulling out her chair. “How are you, Mayhem?” I ask once situated in my seat.
“I’m great. Congrats again on the big World Series win.” She smiles, shaking her head. “I would like to say I can’t believe it but that would be a bold-faced lie. I knew you were bound for greatness.”
“Thank you. My proudest moment, besides hitting ninety-five of course.”
“Of course.” She chuckles. “Never forget the pursuit for ninety-five.”
“Never.” I sip my water and set the glass down. “I’m at ninety-eight now.”
“Cocky.” She chuckles, and I swear my heart nearly beats out of my chest. Being here with her, seeing her again—seeing her familiar facial expressions, experiencing her teasing—takes me back to one of the best years of my life, which was spent with her by my side.
“Have you seen your mom yet?” I ask.
“We haven’t made it there yet. You were our first stop.”
“We?” I ask, laughing, just as I notice a dark figure come up behind Indie. I glance up to see a man with tan skin, slicked-back, peppered hair, and a charming smile.
In horror, I watch as he leans forward and presses a kiss to Indie’s cheek. With an Italian accent, he says, “Car is parked.” He then looks at me and holds out his hand. “This must be the famous Lincoln Castle. Such a pleasure.”
I take the man’s hand as Indie says, “Yes. Anthony, this is Lincoln.” I release his hand. “Lincoln, this is Anthony . . . my fiancé.”
“Dude, are you going to talk, or just sit on my couch and drink?”
“This is Anthony . . . my fiancé.”
Sighing, I set my beer down and say, “She’s engaged.”
“Who? Indie?”
“Yeah.”
“Seriously?”
I nod and drape my hands over my eyes, still reliving the painful dinner from two nights ago, the dinner that I paid for, the dinner where I pretended everything was totally cool and I was so excited to meet Indie’s fiancé . . . even though I felt like I was slowly dying the most horrendous and torturous death inside.
“Engaged. I still can’t believe it. She doesn’t even believe in fucking marriage. She told me that, many fucking times, so what’s she doing engaged to some Italian loafer, sweater vest?”
“Did he wear a sweater vest?” Maddox asks, confused.
“No, he was fucking sharp-looking in a button-up shirt and dress pants. Intimidating as fuck. I felt like a boy next to him, which I probably was because the dude had gray in his hair.”
“Some men gray early,” Maddox says. I give him a look and he holds his hands up. “Sorry, so she’s engaged to an old fart of a sweater vest.”
“Yeah.” I grip my hair. “Fuck, man. I had this whole weekend planned for us. Romantic-type bullshit. I hoped that after all the communication we’ve swapped lately, that maybe—”
“She wanted to be fuck buddies again?”
I shrug. “Wishful thinking?”
“Uh yeah, you moron. You really think the girl is going to hold out for fuck buddies?”
“She doesn’t believe in marriage,” I shout. “She’s never believed in relationships, either. Christ, trying to get her to commit to being friends was a task in itself, but she can commit to a guy I’ve never even heard about? And what the hell is that? We’re talking, and she doesn’t think to mention that she’s in a relationship? A little heads-up would have been nice rather than shocking the shit out of me.”