“Put it in an IV and hook it up to me.” I sit up, my hair falls over my face as I look around, the bright sun shining in through Maddox’s floor-to-ceiling windows. “Where are your curtains?”

“Don’t have any. Don’t sleep in the living room.”

“Mother of God, it’s like waking up on the sun.”

Maddox sits on the coffee table across from me and hands me a cup of coffee before ruffling my hair to the side so it’s out of my eyes.

“There you are,” he says softly. When I look up at him, I catch him grinning.

“Why are you smiling? Are you taking pleasure in my hatred for the mornings?”

“No,” he says, his voice a little scratchy. “Just waiting for you to realize your ass is on the ground because Clyde has fallen apart again.”

“What?” I hold out my coffee and look around, realizing just that. I’m practically on the floor, being swallowed whole by Clyde. There are no blankets on my lower half, which would explain the cold feet. “Would you look at that.” I look around me again and then sip my coffee. “Looks like I need to double up on the duct tape.”

“Or, you can use the air mattress I got you.”

“When I have a perfectly good bed right here? No way. I’m good.” I wave him off, but don’t get up, instead just drink my coffee while my body is threaded through the middle of my cot.

“Then why aren’t you getting up?”

I take another long sip and then hold the cup between my two hands. Leveling with Maddox I say, “If you would really like to know, I don’t want you to watch me struggle to get up because frankly, I’m not even sure if my pants are still on my body. I’d like to remove my body from the jaws of Clyde with what little dignity I have left.”

“That’s fair.” He chuckles and stands from the table. Already dressed and showered, Maddox towers over me, his presence imposing in his black jeans and black shirt. He scratches the side of his jaw and asks, “Since you don’t have a car, want me to leave my car with you? I can take my motorcycle to the stadium.”

“You mean the gas guzzler?” She shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’ll walk and use public transport if need be. Lucky for me, the new job is only a few blocks away.”

“What’s a few blocks?”

“Fifteen. It’ll be a nice brisk walk in the mornings.”

“Good luck with that in the winter.” He walks over to the kitchen where he takes care of his mug. “Are you sure you don’t want to take my car around anywhere?”

“Positive,” I say from the ground, feeling like Tom Hanks in The Money Pit, stuck in the rug of his floor. “But I will say, it didn’t go unnoticed that you trust me with your baby.”

“Only because you drive like a grandma.” He puts his phone and wallet in his back pockets and snags his keys from the entryway console and then walks toward me. “I’m sorry I can’t take the day off and give you a tour of Chicago.”

“Don’t even think about it. You continue on with your life. I’m just a fly on the wall here.”

He studies me for a second and then bends at the waist. He places a gentle kiss on the top of my head and when he pulls away, he pushes my hair behind my ear. “If you need anything, text. Catch you later, Kinny.”

“Bye, Maddox.”

Chapter Five

MADDOX

What the hell is that smell?

I barely step off the elevator of my apartment building when I’m hit with a wave of . . . what is that even? Is that . . . body odor?

I look toward apartment 10B where an older couple live and worry they might be decomposing in there . . . then take a few steps closer to my apartment. That’s when I realize, it’s not the geriatrics down the hall, it’s my place.

Oh hell . . .

Fly on the wall?

I unlock the door to my apartment and open it only to be smacked in the nose with a wave of—

Holy.

Fuck.

I’m tempted to cover my nose, but I know it will only insult Kinsley. It doesn’t stop me from bolting straight to a window and opening it, because fuck, that smells bad.

“Oh you’re home,” Kinsley says from the kitchen. She’s wearing an apron with the phrase, “Powered by Avocado” embroidered in the middle, her naturally wavy hair is a mess, sticking out in every direction, and she has flour all over her face. What the hell has she been making?

And I hope to God she doesn’t ask me to eat it.

“Just in time too. I just took out the Brussel sprouts. The tempeh cakes are cooling and boy oh boy, did I make a chocolate cake that’s going to blow the tats right off your body.”

Tempeh? Brussel sprouts? Ehhh, I’ll pass. The cake though, that I don’t mind eating because even though Kinsley is a vegan, she’s mastered the art of plant-based baking so well that no one would know the difference. Tempeh cakes though? She’s told me all about how you can’t tell the difference between tempeh and crab. Hundred bucks says I can tell the difference.

Trying to spare her feelings, I pat my stomach and say, “Already had dinner with the guys at the stadium. We grabbed something in the cafeteria and went over tomorrow’s game plan.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re pitching.” She finishes plating two plates and brings them to the table. Uh, did she not hear me? “Do you think I could go to the game? I don’t need fancy seats, but it would be cool to see you pitch, even if it’s in the nosebleeds.”

My annoyance softens. She’s been a huge supporter of my career, even when we were younger. She stood in as a batter, fully padded with pillows secured by her dad’s belts and a motorcycle helmet on her head. Made sure I stuck with practicing, even when I was tired. She was my cheerleader, my personal fan all throughout minor leagues, and when I was called up to the majors to pitch, she was in the stands, watching me. She’s attended almost every monumental moment in my life, and I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without her support. In fact, Lincoln was almost right when he measured Jason and Cory’s game success against love, but he was also wrong. I don’t need love or a relationship with some other girl. I have Kinsley. She’s my person. I doubt he’d understand that, given he hasn’t got someone like her.

“I can get you box seats and passes to meet me outside of the locker room when we’re done.”

Her eyes pop up to mine in surprise. “Really? That won’t be too much trouble?”

“Not even a little.” I take a seat at the table, even though I want nothing to do with what’s on the plate, but not wanting to be rude either. If it were anyone else, I’d tell them to fuck off, I’m not eating their vegan shit. I couldn’t ever deny Kinsley the pleasure of torturing me.

She must see me eyeing the “crab cake” because she pokes me with her foot under the table. “Just try it. If you don’t like it, it’s okay. But at least try it, and if you’re going to eat any of my chocolate cake, you have to at least eat four Brussel sprouts. Veggies are important for a growing boy like yourself.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” I pick up my fork and make the mistake at glancing at the kitchen before stabbing one of the sprouts.

Mother of God, what the hell happened in there?

A lot of the guys on the team have a maid service come in and clean their apartments because they’re either lazy fucks or don’t have time to do it themselves, but not me. Like I said, my privacy is very important to me, so I do my own cleaning, and I take great pride in keeping my apartment pristine. I’m a bit of a neat freak, I like everything in its correct spot, I don’t like clutter, and I never go to bed without the apartment being spotless.

So to look over to the kitchen and see such a giant mess, it’s . . . fuck is it painful.

And we’re not just talking about a small mess. There’s flour on the floor, on the sleek black cabinets, on the . . . fridge? Was she just tossing it around like confetti? There are bowls piled up on top of bowls in the sink, multiple pans scattered over the counters and . . . is that bottle of olive oil tipped over?

Trying not to freak out about the sticky paste flour and olive oil could create, I calmly ask, “Is that olive oil bottle empty?”

“Huh?” Kinsley looks up from her plate, her mouthful of tempeh cake. Her eyes zero in and then she wipes her mouth with a cloth napkin. Where the hell did those come from? “Oh, maybe?”

Maybe?

MAYBE?

She stands from the table and walks over to the bottle where she chuckles and says, “It was. Dripped down the front of cupboards.” My ass hole literally clenches in horror. She pulls the drawer open. “Don’t worry, it didn’t get in the drawer. Nothing a little vinegar solution won’t fix.”

Breathe.

Breathe.

It will be okay.