I pick up the leather-bound book and flip it open. The first picture I see is of me, but it’s only half of my face, as the other half morphs into a field of flowers. I keep flipping, spotting picture after picture of my face, but never my body. Every picture is gorgeous though, intricate with his pen scratches, and very accurate, as if he was drawing from a picture. When I look up to speak to him, he’s holding his current sketchbook up and it’s a picture of me in a phone screen.

“I draw you all the fucking time. From memory, I draw you. It soothes me, makes me feel like you’re near, protecting my heart, easing the tension that’s constantly building up in me.” He lowers the book and says, “I love you, Kinny, and I want all of you, every last inch of you.”

I swallow hard, this conversation so heavy that it’s made my throat dry.

“Tell me you feel the same. Tell me when I get back to Chicago, you’re going to welcome me home not just with your arms, but with your mouth, with those lips that are perfectly plump, that are permanently turned up at the corners. The mouth that I’ve fantasized about ever since you moved in.”

I smooth my hand over Herman’s head and nod. “I will.”

“Look at me when you answer. I need to know you mean it and that you’re not just appeasing my need over the phone.”

My eyes flash to him. “When you get home, you will get my mouth. I can’t promise about the rest, but you can at least claim my mouth.”

“Good enough for now.”

Chapter Fifteen

MADDOX

“Want to grab a beer?” Linc asks as we head into the lobby of the hotel.

“No.” I breeze across the tiled floors and head straight to the elevator. We lost today, horribly. It was fucking embarrassing and sitting in the bullpen, watching it all happen, reminded me how we used to play two years ago, running around like we had no idea how to play the game. We could afford the loss, but I never like to think about it like that, especially since I’m pitching tomorrow. Defense better get their shit together before I take the mound, or I’m going to have a few choice words for them.

“Are you sure? You look tense.”

“I am.” I stab at the elevator button, just wanting to be in my room, on my phone. “We sucked today.”

“Yeah, glad I wasn’t pitching. Feel bad for Thompson actually.” Linc pauses and asks, “Worried it’s going to carry over to tomorrow?”

“Of course. When your defense has a game like that, wouldn’t you be worried?”

“Yeah, but it’s no reason to skip out on a beer.”

“It is when all I want to do is FaceTime with Kinsley.” The elevator finally parts and I hop in, Linc follows closely.

“So that kiss. It’s developing into something?”

“If I have anything to do with it, it will.”

“Did you talk to her last night?”

I nod and tap my foot, so fucking impatient. “Yeah, and she feels the same goddamn way but there’s hesitation on her end. She doesn’t want to lose me. It’s typical Kinsley. I knew she was going to react that way. She’s cautious and hell, I am too, I don’t want anything to fuck this up, but I also know if I try to keep ignoring how I feel about her, I’m never going to be able to focus on anything else. I’m giving in and it feels good, just wish I wasn’t on an away trip.”

Linc laughs. “Yeah, poor timing, man.”

The elevator doors part and we both exit, spotting a few cleat chasers in the hallway. How they know what floor we’re all on, I have no idea. And how they get up here is another anomaly. But I don’t indulge, never have, because they’re trappers— girls only in it for the wrong reason.

I can’t say that much for my other teammates.

“Maddox, do you want some company tonight?” one of them asks as I slip by her.

“Nah, I’m good with my hand.”

Linc snorts next to me as we continue to walk down the hall. “Shit, man. That was brutal.”

“What the fuck ever, like I care.” Plus, it’s true. I’d have a hell of a better time with images of Kinsley in my head and my hand stroking my cock. Just the thought of it has me turned on, wondering if I should beat one out before I call her.

The thought is fleeting as I realize I need to see her, hear her. I don’t think I’ll have a full breath until she answers the phone.

I reach my door, pull my keycard from my back pocket, and then say, “See you tomorrow.”

“Have a good night with your hand.” Linc laughs.

“You too,” I spit back, and he laughs even harder, knowing it’s the truth.

I make quick work of getting ready for bed, peeling my clothes off, brushing my teeth, and taking a piss before I fling my body onto the hotel mattress and call Kinsley.

The phone rings a few times and then FaceTime kicks in and Kinsley’s face comes into view. The weirdest thing happens in that moment. As I see her after a long day, relief replaces the tension. As if the two tons sitting on my chest is finally lifted and I can function fully for the first time today.

It’s late in Chicago and I’m grateful she even answered, so I don’t waste any time. “Hey babe.”

“Hi.” She yawns. “Sorry, I took a little nap with Herman, but forgot to set my alarm to wake myself up before you called.”

Guilt runs thick through my veins. It’s one in the morning there and I really shouldn’t be calling her, but I needed to see her. “Shit, I’m sorry, Kinsley. I can let you go so you can go back to sleep.” It’s an empty offer, and I really hope she doesn’t take me up on it.

“Thanks, yeah, I should get back to bed.”

Fuck.

“Okay, yeah . . . sure.” I push my hand through my hair. “Have a good sleep.”

She giggles and twists on the bed as she says, “I’m kidding, but the actual depressed look that crossed your features was really cute.”

“Jesus.” I laugh. “Don’t do that shit. I really wanted to talk to you.”

“I wanted to talk to you too, and it’s why I took a nap. But if I fall face first into dog poop tomorrow, that’s on you.”

“Fair. I’ll take the blame, but if you can avoid falling face first into dog shit, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll work on it.” She pauses and says, “So your team sucked tonight. I turned the game off once it was nine to zero.”

“Yeah, not a great day on the field. The locker room was completely silent and when that happens, you know everyone is thinking about how they can turn their game around for the next day.”

“So your manager doesn’t come into the locker room, screaming and yelling at you to pull your heads out of your asses? Like in the movies?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “No. We’re all grown men. We don’t need a collective pep talk. That only happens when we’re in the playoffs. But right now, Coach only pulls us in if he needs to speak with us individually to tell us to get our shit together.”

“Have you ever been pulled into his office?”

“A few times, but more about fighting than anything. I had one season where I was constantly battling it out. I was getting fined left and right. Coach basically told me to take a chill pill, get laid—” The words fall out of my lips before I can stop them.

Kinsley laughs and shakes her head. “You act like I don’t know you were a player before I moved in. I had your sex schedule memorized, Maddie.”

“Yeah.” I look away, and then realize I should make sure she understands I haven’t run with that schedule since she moved in. “You know I haven’t—”

“I know, Maddox,” she says softly. “I know.”

Holding up my hand, I say, “My only lover as of recently.”

She snorts and covers her mouth and right in this moment, it feels like we’re our old selves again. Like we didn’t have an awkward, tension-filled conversation last night that has changed everything in our relationship.

“At least your lover is large and I’m sure has a firm grip.”

“Very firm,” I answer on a smile.

“Is that how you like it?” Kinsley asks, not shy like last night. She’s more engaged—not pulling away—and I’m not surprised, because when she has time to process things, she feels more at ease. “Firm?”

“Every guy likes a firm hand job.”

She shakes her head. “Not every guy.”

I raise a brow. “Is there a story behind that comment?”

“Joseph Mangal, junior year. He wanted me to me practically whisper my hand up and down his cock, which wasn’t very large at all. Not that I was a connoisseur on penis back then, or now for that matter, but I knew he was small, which made things hard because it felt like . . .” She thinks about it for a second and then chuckles to herself. “You know that Friends episode where Ross buys a sports car and all he wants to do is drive it, but it’s stuck between two cars? He tries to pull out and he keeps going back and forth quickly, reversing and going forward, but barely making any progress because there’s not enough room? Well, that’s what it felt like with Joseph: up, down, up, down, getting stopped before I even got started.”

A howl of a laugh comes out of me as she demonstrates the short movement.

“So then I thought, oh, I’ll just rub the head and twist it like I was undoing a bottle cap. Boy, did he like that and he actually grew a little bigger, but when I went to stroke him again, he stopped me and whispered, ‘Do it like your fingers are feathers.’ So then”—she shrugs—“I twiddled his dick, played it like a piano.”