Taking a deep breath, I say, “I uh, can help you clean it up after we finish eating.”

She waves her hand at me. “I made the mess, I’ll clean it. Plus, I saw those nasty chemicals you use on your counters and took it upon myself to make some natural cleaning products that won’t clog the air in the apartment with quaternary ammonium compounds. I safely disposed of the chemicals, cleaned then recycled the bottles, which, did you know you don’t have a recycling bin in your apartment? How on earth do you recycle things? Or compost?” She chuckles as if I’m just a silly guy. “I made a recycling center out on the balcony. You had plenty of room and the overhang will protect our bins. I’ll go over them later so you know how to recycle properly.”

I have yet to bite into one sprout. I hold my fork still, staring at her. Compost? Don’t those things smell? And recycling bins? Shouldn’t there just be one? How many do we need?

“You okay?” she asks, completely oblivious.

Here’s the thing: Kinsley has the most beautiful heart out of anyone I know. She has the best of intentions with her actions and yeah, she might err on the side of completely and utterly granola, but her reasoning is solid for everything she does.

Saving the earth and animals is what gives her life, what breathes air into her lungs, and even though there might be difference of opinion between us with certain things, I’m not about to get angry about her trying to make things “better” in my apartment.

So instead of getting angry, I take another deep breath, relax my compulsive self, and say, “Yeah, just . . . wow, you got a lot done today.”

“After I did my assessment of your apartment, it felt like clockwork after that.”

“Assessment?” I ask, popping a Brussel sprout in my mouth, ready to chew quickly and swallow. Despite the rancid smell, they taste really good. How does that work?

“Yeah, went through all your drawers—”

“Uh, excuse me?”

She chuckles and says, “Don’t worry, Maddie, I didn’t sniff your underwear or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That’s NOT what I’m worried about.

“What exactly did you look through?”

“I didn’t snoop. I just checked out the kind of products you’re using so I could figure out what I needed to get for the apartment. Why so nervous? Are you hiding something?”

“No,” I answer, clearing my throat. “Just . . . curious.”

She smiles at me while chewing and when she swallows, she says, “You know, they make eco-friendly condoms, ultra-thin for everyone’s pleasure.”

I nearly snort my sprout out of my nose.

Kinsley laughs and pats my back. “Easy there, Maddie.”

I wipe my nose and take a few sips of water before. “Did you look in my medicine cabinet?”

“Of course. I wanted to make sure you weren’t on any prescriptions drugs you weren’t telling me about. To my surprise, I was met with a rather large collection of condoms. And the size labeled on the box.” She shakes her head in surprise. “Congratulations. Your big-boobed brunettes are lucky ladies.”

“Kin—”

“I know, I know, maybe I went a little far. I get it. I did look up the eco-friendly condoms online though to see if I should get you some to test out, but they were one size fits all, which honestly, makes me a little nervous, given what size I now know you wear. How can a condom be one size fits all? So I held off on the purchase until I could test your feelings on the subject.” She props her chin on the palm of her hand and asks, “What are your feelings?”

“On the condoms?”

“Yeah.” She blinks, her large, dark lashes fluttering shut for a second.

“Um.” I scratch the back of my neck. “How about you leave my condoms alone?”

“I thought you’d say that. And I get it, penis things are very sensitive to a guy. But I will put this out there . . .” She pauses for dramatic effect. “If you did feel confident in your penis fitting in the eco-friendly one size fits all condoms, imagine the world-changing sex you could have.” She wiggles her eyebrows and fuck . . .

She makes me laugh, hard.

I press my fingers to my brow as I stare down at my plate. “You realize how insane you are, right?”

“Oh yeah, bordering lunacy, I get it.” She playfully pokes me with her fork in the forearm. “But admit it, you could never get rid of me.”

I look her in the eyes, watching how they light up with humor, how the green around her pupils is darker than the outer ring. In a more serious tone, I say, “Never, babe. I could never get rid of you.”

“Great game,” Cory says, offering me a fist bump before he heads out the door of the locker room.

“Thanks, man.”

Before Cory had Natalie, he was never the first to leave. He’d hang around, head bent in the locker room, studying his hands, never really saying anything. But now that he has a girl waiting for him outside these walls, he’s in and out of the shower and ready to get back to her arms.

“It was a pretty awesome game,” Lincoln says next to me, whipping his towel off so his bare ass is right next to my face.

“Jesus Christ, man.” I turn away and he laughs, not giving one single fuck about being naked and inches from my head. “Can you not do that shit? My cheek almost touched your . . . cheek.”

“That would bring a new meaning to the term moon-landing.”

“Moon-landing?” I ask, instantly regretting the question.

“Oh dude, come on, don’t you remember that rookie? Oh fuck, what was his name?” Linc, rubs his temples, thankfully wearing a pair of boxer briefs now. “Darren, that’s it. Darren. He was a utility player. He bent the same time I did and our bare asses kissed each other. I swear, I’ve never seen someone bolt upright as fast as he did. Guarantee ass pucker and ball shriveling on his end as he profusely apologized. He was covering his junk and backing away when I just held out my fist looking for a bump. When he confusingly bumped my fist, I congratulated him on his first moon-landing. He was traded a few weeks later. Pretty sure I freaked him the fuck out.”

“I don’t recall any of that.”

“Probably because you were sketching in your damn notebook.” He nods toward the black leather-bound notebook I keep in my locker. “I swear when you’re buried in that thing, nothing else around you matters.”

I put on my socks and say, “I don’t want to forget anything.”

Lincoln doesn’t go into detail. He knows what I’m talking about. He played with me through the minors and understands my routine.

After every game I pitch, the first thing I do when I get back to my locker is take out my notebook, uncap my fountain pen, and I draw.

It almost sounds weird to say, but when pitching, it’s as if I retreat to a different world. I started to notice when I was in high school, the tunnel vision, the blackness that surrounded me, the vivid images that would pop in my head, leading me to forget about everything else around me besides the glove at the other end of sixty feet and six inches. It’s what helps me focus, what helps me block out the negative talk, and the three-sixty voices of the raucous crowd.

When I have my notebook in my lap, I draw everything. Everything I saw, everything that crossed my mind. I write down the stats for the game, and then I go back through my notes to decipher what helped me pitch one hell of a game, or what distracted me to the point of not being on my best game.

Today, it was a pair of green eyes that kept flashing through my head, over and over again. Followed by a compost bin, which made me laugh on the mound.

Kinsley was with me today, not just watching in the stadium, but with me in my mind. I’m not surprised. Some of my best games have images of her drawn in my notebook. My two-hitter today came from what was propelling me to my best.

Lincoln finishes getting dressed and says, “What are you going to do now?”

I spray some cologne on and say, “Kinsley’s here. Thought maybe she would want to go out or something.”

“Kinsley is here?” Lincoln asks. “Like moved in already?”

I nod. “She got here two nights ago.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No wonder you’re in such a good mood.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, pocketing my phone.

“That girl always puts an extra pep in your step. She’s like the Maddox whisperer. You’re always in a good mood when she’s around or after you talk to her.”

I shrug, not thinking much about it. “She’s my best friend. It’s like coming home when I talk to her.”

Linc applies some deodorant and says, “Is she waiting for you outside the locker room?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I have to meet this girl.”

I pause and look at him. “Why?”

“Because, she’s important to you, which means she’s important to me.” He winks and for some reason, I get the feeling there’s more to this meeting. “From the look you’re giving me I can tell you’re worried. Afraid I might hit on her?”

“Yeah.”

He lets out a hearty laugh and pats my shoulder. “Ah, come on, I’m better than that.”