“Your own boobs don’t count.”

“They weren’t my own boobs.” She sits up. “I grabbed Margarita’s boobs. Hers were huge, mine were small, and we wanted to compare. She wished she had mine because she was always having to wear two sports bras, and I wished I had hers because I didn’t even own a sports bra.”

“Do you own a bra at all?”

She slyly smiles. “Maybe a few, for special occasions. Why, want to borrow one?”

“I mean, I do have bigger boobs than you.”

Whap.

Her hand connects with my chest playfully and I laugh out loud as she shuffles away from me, but not before I can grab her by the hand, roll her to her back and pin her down on the mattress. I straddle her hips and stare down at her.

“I swear to God, Maddox, if you tickle me, I will kick you in the balls.”

I pin her hands above her head.

“How are you going to do that when I’m sitting on your legs? Unless you developed muscles in the last five minutes I’m unaware of, it’s unlikely you’ll be able to kick me in the balls.”

“I have muscles.” She scowls, and it’s fucking adorable. “And I might not kick you now, but when you’re least expecting it, I will connect my foot with your dingle so hard, it will knock your man berries right off its branch.” He chuckles softly.

“I think I’ll take the chance.” With one hand I hold her arms down and bring the other hand to her side. She shifts beneath me, attempting to twist away.

“Don’t,” she yells. “I will pee the bed. I will pee right here, right now. All the pee. Puddles and puddles of pee. So much pee you’ll think Niagara Falls just came flooding through your room.”

I pause. “Niagara Falls of urine?”

“So much urine. You have no idea the kind of splash I can make with my bladder.”

“It’s disturbing when you say shit like that.”

“I will keep saying disturb—” I drag my fingers down her side and she squeals. “Maddox, don’t. I really will pee. I had a glass of water before bed, and I haven’t gone to the bathroom yet. I will tinkle so hard.”

“Tinkle?” I drag my fingers up.

“Yes,” she yelps. “Now for the love of God, get off me.”

Chuckling, I move off her only for her to reach out, snag a small pillow and wail it at my crotch.

Ooof.

I bend over, hands to my dick.

“Kin, what the fuck?”

She hops off the bed and runs to the bathroom. From the cracked door, she says, “Don’t mess with me, Maddox.” And then she groans while she pees. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“You sound like a guy taking a leak in there.”

“Girls can groan when peeing if they want. Don’t make that a man thing.”

Smiling to myself, I say, “My apologies. Equal opportunities, girls can groan and pee too.”

She finishes up, washes her hands, and then stands at the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, staring me down as I sit on the edge of my bed, not in the mood to pack for my trip today. One more away trip and then we get time off. One more game for me to pitch and then time off.

Six days and then time off . . . with Kinsley.

“Sorry I’m going to have to leave right when you get here.”

“I’ll manage. I’ll just swipe through Tinder, bring some guys home to your bed, let them keep me company.”

“No strangers in the apartment,” I say while pointing at her.

“Oh, just you wait . . . Dad. I’m going to have the biggest party when you’re gone and auction off your undies. Mama is going to make the dough so she can get her own place.”

I head to my closet and start chuckling underwear at her. “Have at it, Kinny.”

“Ahhh, get those man panties away from me.” She runs away and calls down the hallway, groaning, “This is too much movement for me in the morning.”

I laugh and pull out my bag where I begin to pack it for what feels like the millionth time this month.

Kinsley: Did you try the protein bar yet?

Maddox: I did.

Kinsley: . . . and . . .

Maddox: Tasted like a plant-based protein bar.

Kinsley: Really good, right?

Maddox: It was okay.

Kinsley: Just okay? Don’t even mess with me. You know it was good. Mint chocolate? Saving the earth while getting your gains in? Can’t think of a better way to fuel your soul . . . and body.

Maddox: It was okay, Kin.

Kinsley: Which means . . . you’re going to eat them from now on?

Maddox: I’ll think about it.

Kinsley: Oh God, really? Don’t make me cry at work.

Maddox: Settle down. I said I would THINK about it.

“Look at you smiling at your phone like a teenager,” Cory says, taking a seat across from me at one of the tables on the plane. “Who’s the girl?”

“No girl,” I say just as Lincoln and Jason take a seat as well.

“Ha, okay,” Lincoln mutters while setting his phone on the table.

“Wait, is there a girl?” Jason, the ever-romantic asks.

“No,” I say just as Lincoln says, “Yes.”

Smiling broadly Jason and Cory both stare me down. “There’s a girl,” Cory says, nudging me from under the table.

“She’s fuck-hot, too,” Lincoln says. “And has one hell of a personality.”

Can’t deny either one of those observations.

“Who is she?” Jason asks, looking far too eager.

“Just my friend from my childhood,” I say before Lincoln can step in. “Best friend actually. She got a job at a local animal rescue in Chicago.”

“The girl staying with you?” Cory asks. “That’s who has you smiling?”

“You should see her,” Lincoln says. “The perfect nipples.” He pinches his fingers together.

I punch Lincoln dead in the arm, not even feeling sorry about it. “Don’t fucking say shit like that.”

He rubs his arm and laughs. “What? She does. Small boobs, taut nipples, it’s hot.”

I drag my hand down my face. Why does it feel like the last few days has been filled with Kinsley’s boobs? She talks about them, Lincoln talks about them, I think about them. Hell, I’m buying the girl a bra when I get home and she’s going to be required to wear it, because I should not be thinking about my best friend’s tits . . . or that she’s “fuck-hot.”

“What’s the scoop, man?” Cory asks, seeing the obvious discomfort I’m feeling. “Do you like her?”

“No.” I shake my head. “She’s my best friend. I would never go there, she means too much to me.”

“Never?” Linc asks.

“Never,” I answer, still looking down just as a text from Kinsley comes in.

From the preview, I can read.

Kinsley: Thank you for always being so open with me. I love you, Maddie.

Hell.

I flip my phone face down and lean back in my seat as I lift my ballcap off my head and push my hand through my hair.

“Yeahhh,” Lincoln drawls out. “I don’t believe never.”

“Are you duct-taping Clyde right now?” I ask as I hear the telltale sound of duct tape being ripped through the phone. “I thought I told you to sleep in my bed.”

“That would be weird. I’m not sleeping in your bed, Maddox. Plus, Clyde is fine.”

“You woke up at five this morning because Clyde bitch-slapped you with one of his springs. Clyde is not fine.”

“Don’t you dare be mean to him. I’m trying a new taping technique that I’m sure will work. Now stop badgering me about my sleeping arrangements and tell me about your photo shoot. Did they make you take your shirt off?”

“Of course they did, they always do,” I say while I play with the strands of my hair as I look up at the ceiling. ESPN is doing an article about the best pitchers in baseball right now and they saw a free moment in my schedule and asked if they could take pictures while I was in Texas, after I landed. I said yes. They asked me to take my shirt off and toss a ball. I did. It’s done. Thank God. At least I didn’t have to stand there like an idiot, posing with a towel around my waist. Christ.

“Is it weird? Stripping down for people. I think I’d feel weird if someone asked me to take my shirt off.”

“Different for guys. I don’t really care.”

“But everyone sees your nipples.”

“Once again, different for guys.” And what the fuck does she care about showing nipples? Hers are trying to poke people in the eyes every damn day.

“Did they oil you down? Give you some sheen?” she asks, sweet humor in her voice.

“Maybe a little.”

“Oh my God, really? I was just kidding, but did they really do that?”

“Yeah.”

Another rip of duct tape. “Did someone else do it or did you rub oil on yourself?”

“Makeup lady did it.”

Kinsley snorts. “Oh wow, you had someone rub oil on you today, that’s great. Did you invite her back to your hotel? Get in some extra oil time?”

“No,” I answer plainly.

“Missed opportunity, bro.” She makes another rip. “Which, now that I think about it, have you met up with any of your girls lately?”

I work my jaw back and forth, wondering how I should answer this.

“Uh . . . no.” Simple.

But of course, it’s not a simple answer for Kinsley, because she always needs more details.