“Hey Linc,” Kinsley says, bouncing into the bar looking quite happy for someone who was stood up.

I watch as Linc’s eyes widen when he takes her in and then gives her a hug. From over her shoulder he mouths, “fuck-hot” and I roll my eyes. It’s the only reaction I can come up with since I completely agree with him. Kinsley is on a whole other level tonight with her spunky hair and fire-engine red lipstick.

“Hey Kinsley, you look fine tonight.”

She takes a seat next to me but not before placing a kiss on my cheek and sipping from the drink I bought her. “If only you were my date,” she says to Linc. “You would have showed up.”

“Yeah, I fucking would have,” Linc says, looking down at Kinsley’s chest and then back up. From under the bar, I kick his shin, which he discreetly hides by turning away, bottom lip pulled under his teeth, a soft groan escaping him.

“Do you think he saw me and walked away? Like maybe I didn’t live up to the image Joan painted for him? I’m not all that into my looks like some girls, but I wouldn’t say I was looking terrible tonight.”

“Definitely not looking terrible,” I mutter before taking another sip of my drink, letting the bottle hang on my lips for a few seconds longer.

“Ugh, then Dudley really is a dud. That’s so disappointing. I was really looking forward to going out on a date.”

“No need to be upset,” Linc says. “You have two rich, successful, and incredibly sexy men sitting right next to you. Well, at least I’m incredibly sexy. You can date us tonight.”

What the hell is he saying?

He nods to the small arcade in the back of the bar that no one ever uses. “There are some games back there. We can order some nachos—”

“She’s vegan,” I cut in.

“Uh, then we can order some . . . carrots?” He chuckles and continues, “Play some games, get to know each other on a deeper level.”

“That sounds like fun,” Kinsley says, the ever optimistic. “It would get my mind off being stood up.”

“Perfect.” Linc stands from his stool and calls to the bartender. “Sam, can we get some carrots and celery sent to the back?” He nods. Linc then leads Kinsley by the arm to the back of the bar while calling over his shoulder to me. “Come on, Maddie.”

I have a feeling asking Linc out tonight was a big mistake.

Linc sets us up at the air hockey table and says, “We can play tournament style.” He holds up his finger and digs his phone out of his pocket, where he looks like he’s reading a text. Wincing he says, “Shit, I forgot I had to sign some shit for my assistant to mail out tomorrow morning. I’m going to have to bounce.”

How.

Fucking.

Convenient.

He leans over to Kinsley, gives her a hug, and says, “Sorry to leave you in your time of need, but I trust Maddox can take good care of you.”

Arms crossed, Kinsley eyes me up and down, as if we haven’t known each other since we were five. “I think he’ll do. Have a good night, Linc.”

“You too.” He throws up the peace sign to me, accompanied by a knowing smirk, and then takes off.

Yup, inviting him was a mistake.

“Are you ready to get your butt whooped?” Kinsley asks, picking up a paddle and moving side to side, as if everything between us is completely normal. She’s utterly oblivious to the weird feelings that are sprouting inside me. Unaware of the pain I’m feeling, being this close to her and unable to touch her. Noticing my unease, she pauses and stands tall. “Are you okay? You seem a little weird.”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” I shake my head and swallow down the uneasiness building inside me. “Jet-lagged.”

“It was the same time zone.”

“Yeah, uh you know what I mean. Planes and shit.”

Her lips purse to the side as she studies me. “Are you sure that’s it?”

“Yup.” I pick up the other paddle and stand at my side.

But she doesn’t move to start the air. She continues to study me, and I beg and plead to whoever wants to listen that she can’t see through the thin veil I have over my disconcerting feelings. I want her, but I can’t have her. I can’t ruin . . . us.

“I’m sorry if I crashed your hangout. We can go back to the apartment if you want. Or I can go, give you some time alone.”

Going back to the apartment doesn’t seem like a great idea right now, and I sure as hell don’t want her to leave. “I invited you.” I nod toward the start button. “Stop stalling your impending doom.”

Her eyes light up. “Excuse me, do you really think you’re going to beat me?”

“When have you ever beat me in anything?”

She thinks about it for a second. Not coming up with anything, she says, “There’s always time for that first win.”

“Just press start.”

And she does, sending air through the tiny holes of the table. She picks up the puck from her slot and swats the paddle at it, sending it careening down the middle. I bounce it off the side with ease, sending it directly into her goal. The clinking sound of the puck down the shoot very satisfying.

“One to zero, babe. You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that if you want to beat me.”

She pretends to roll up her non-existent sleeves and says, “That was just a warmup. Now I’m going to rock your world.”

Pretty sure she already has.

“Let me see it.”

I lower the pack of ice Sam gave us after Kinsley ran up to the bar in a panic asking for one.

She winces, taking in the lump under my eye. “Wow, it keeps getting bigger.”

I return the ice to my eye and lean back in the booth we’re sharing. She’s crowded against me, apology written all over her face.

She should look apologetic, after throwing her paddle clear across the table after I scored the winning goal. It was a bratty reaction that I’ve seen many times before in our younger years, surprised it resurfaced in our twenties—in the worst way possible—with an air hockey paddle to the face.

She claims I should have better reactions to things flying at my face. I claimed she should have better reactions to losing. Plus, in my defense, it’s dark, and I truly wasn’t expecting a temper tantrum from the other side of the table.

“If it makes you feel any better, I feel like I tore a tendon in my arm from chucking that at you. I gave it all my might.”

“Much better,” I say sarcastically.

“You know, maybe the Rebels should consider me as a closer given my speed and accuracy.”

“What accuracy? Were you aiming for my eye?”

“Well, no, but I really wasn’t aiming for anything and then bam, got you in the old eyeball. Imagine the strikes I could surprise people with.”

“Or the disaster that you’d be on the mound. You’d need someone to piss you off to be able to throw the ball the sixty feet to the plate.”

“Hey.” She puts one hand on her hip. “I can throw the ball. I’ve seen you do it enough to know it’s not that hard.”

“Not that hard?” I laugh and shake my head. “You’re insane.” Removing the ice pack, I set it on the table. “And you’re supposed to be this earth-loving, beautiful spirit, not a rager who gives their friends black eyes with air hockey paddles.”

“I like the earth and animals, never said anything about humans.” She smirks, then picks up the ice pack and puts it back on my eye, holding it for me.

Her leg presses against mine as she has somehow shuffled her small body in the booth so her back is against the table and her knees against the booth seat so she’s facing me. The thought of pulling her onto my lap so she’s more comfortable has crossed my mind, but thankfully I didn’t lose my common sense when she pegged me in the head.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, softly.

“What? No.” I laugh and place my hand on her thigh, reassuring her that it’s okay. “I think we need to talk about your anger management but I’m not mad at you, Kin. Not sure I could ever be mad at you. Irritated, yes, but mad—”

“Are you irritated with me?” Her eyes widen.

“Mildly.”

She drops the ice pack and gets even closer . . . if possible, her natural scent of lavender swirling around the both of us, wrapping us in a tight blanket.

“You’re irritated with me? Why?” It’s not an accusation or a demand to know; it’s more of a quizzical question, as if she doesn’t quite understand.

Wanting to be gentle with her, I say, “Just threw me for a loop, that’s all.”

“Was it the recycling I brought home?”

“That was a shock to say the least, to have all that on the balcony, but I also understand your heart.”

“Was it all the mugs? I know you have bowls, but I really like a handle. But if you want me to use a bowl or plate for my veggie crudité, I can.”

“It’s not the mugs. That’s kind of cute.”

“Cute?” Her brows shoot up. “Does that mean you’ll get more mugs?”

“No.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “Then you might be drinking your coffee out of a bowl.”