“Decorate his hairbrush with Vaseline?”

“That would be better for Luca Rossi. All that good hair, right? But I’m not going to prank Luca. He promised to get us all samples of the new bath bombs from the shampoo company he models for. Do you have a sweater I can borrow tonight? Maybe that burgundy one? With the low cut?”

“It’s dirty. Just like your thoughts about Max Cole…”

“Those are only semi-dirty and involve flinging mud pies, not getting naked.”

She laughs. “Thank you. If you’re playing with mud pies, I feel much less embarrassed about my autograph book.”

“Did you get all the guys to sign it? Because if not, don’t. The egos. Oh, the egos…”

“Darren signed it. He’s such a nice guy, though.”

“He is. Oh, he and Tanesha and the baby are coming tonight.” My clothes don’t all fit in my washer, and I’m having to pull some back out. If I don’t, it’ll clog and back up and I’ll have to wait a week for our resident appliance repair person to fit me into his schedule while mopping up gallons of water off my floor.

Why, yes, that is experience talking. I mentioned I hate laundry, right?

“Is Max coming?” Sloane’s looking through her closet. I can tell by the sound of hangers sliding on metal.

And I’m really glad she can’t see my face right now. It would totally give me away.

“I don’t know.” I grab my laundry detergent and measure a cup to pour in.

“Tillie Jean.”

“What?”

“I know that voice. That’s your I have a crush voice. I mean, I suspected as much after watching you try to annoy him for years on end, but that’s the same voice you used last year when you were flirting with Deacon Gunderson during softball season.”

“It is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Even if it was that voice, it’s irrelevant. You should’ve seen his face when he realized I was in the Ash costume for the video shoot today. It was like someone fed his last steak to Grady’s goat.” It was so not like that. It was like, Oh, it’s Tillie Jean! My eyes are going to light up for that split second before I remember she’s Cooper’s sister and therefore off-limits.

So I wish he’d glared at me like I fed his last steak to Grady’s goat.

“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Sloane says.

“Or maybe he almost kissed me during our snowball fight and now we’re in this weird place where maybe I don’t annoy him and maybe I can’t stop thinking about him smiling at me, which is basically the worst thing ever. Cooper would have a shit fit. He knows I can take care of myself, but it’s the rule. You don’t screw around with his teammates. Especially the teammates who have reputations, and especially when expectations are so high for next year, and especially when—just especially, okay?”

“Tillie Jean.”

“Don’t Tillie Jean me. This isn’t superstition. It’s emotional reality.”

“So you and Max hook up, it doesn’t go anywhere, maybe one of you is a little hurt, and then everyone gets over it. Cooper can shove it. He can’t protect you from getting hurt, you won’t die from a little heartbreak or relationship disappointment, and I would be more than happy to tell him so. Or maybe you and Max hook up, you both find something in each other that you didn’t even know you were looking for, and you’re the key to helping him pitch better than ever next year. There’s something to be said for being happy in your home life.”

“You do read Henri’s books.”

“Don’t oh, it’s just the romance novels talking me. Look at Grady. Look at Brooks Elliott. Look at Darren. You know what? Look at Robinson. He’s single, but he’s happy in his personal life, and he shines. Max Cole shines, but I get the feeling he’s missing something. If that something’s you, Tillie Jean—”

“Enough about Mr. Growly Bear next door. Are you busy in ten? Because—AAAAAaaaaaahhhh!”

Spike is in my house.

Spike the Echidna mascot is in my house, and he’s standing in my laundry room doorway, arms crossed, and mascots are not supposed to be in my house

I don’t stop to think past that, because demon mascot.

I just act, dropping my phone, grabbing my detergent jug, and flinging it at him. “Dammit, Cooper, you are DEAD!”

He ducks.

I charge.

And that’s mistake number two. The lid flew off my soap and there’s slick detergent coating the floor, which wouldn’t be a problem if I hadn’t pulled out all of my carpet last year and replaced it with tile in here.

Instead, I take two steps toward my soon-to-be-dead brother, slip, and go down.

My arms flail. My hand connects with the wall, and my ass tries to dent the floor.

“Shit,” Spike mutters, and everything inside me freezes.

That is not Cooper.

“Tillie Jean?” Sloane calls from somewhere inside the washing machine. “TJ? You there? Tillie Jean? I’m on my way, so whoever’s there with you better be ready for a fucking takedown, because we don’t do this shit in Shipwreck.”

Spike squats to the floor with me, not slipping at all in the carnage. He’s coated with laundry detergent too.

Fireballs management won’t be happy. There’s one more mascot costume they’ll have to replace.

“Fuck. Dammit. Are you okay?” Spike says.

My tailbone’s cranky and my arm is probably bruised, but it’s the shock of realizing Max Cole pranked me that has me staring at the giant echidna in stupefied silence.

And not just pranked me a little.

He got me good.

His giant mascot paw reaches for my foot. “Did you twist your ankle again?”

I jerk out of reach and scurry back into the laundry room. “I could’ve been naked!”

Yep.

That’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Followed immediately by what would he have done if I were naked?

He makes another noise. “You broke into my house, so I thought this was fair game.”

“And you couldn’t call out and announce your presence?”

“I would’ve if I thought you could hear me over yourself.”

“Did you just tell me I talk too much? Did you really just tell me I talk too much?” I’m arguing with a person inside a giant foam spiny anteater, and oh my god, I love it.

“You—you—you glitter bombed me and you replaced my shower curtain with a gigantic image of your ugly face.”

“And I’ve been nothing but nice to you since, and also, I respect the hell out of prank-backs, so why are we arguing? You don’t have to justify pranking me, but you do have to justify telling me I talk too much. There’s a line, Max. There’s a line.”

“I don’t know what the lines are.”

Oh, god.

He doesn’t.

And he sounds so horrified and frustrated and upset by it that I suddenly want to hug him. “Would you take that costume off and talk to me like a regular human being?”

“Maybe I’m naked.”

Hello, nipples on full alert, mouth going dry, and desperate yearning in my pussy. It’s been a while.