Being naked on a baseball field at a high school? Sure.

Flashing the whole town what I’m packing while I’m having coffee with Cooper’s little sister?

Make your own luck, and don’t sign your own death warrant.

Max Cole’s rules of life right there.

“No, Nana,” Tillie Jean replies with a smile. “I would never talk to Cooper’s teammate about his naked body. That’s against the rules.”

“Psh. Cooper can eat my lucky socks. If you can score with a hottie, score with a hottie. You only live once. I wish I’d scored with that curling player when I was seventeen. Who knew I’d never see him again? Not that I’d trade your grandfather for anything, but all of us could use a few more good memories, right?” She turns a frown on me. “You’re not the type who thinks you’re too good for my granddaughter, are you?”

“No, ma’am. Quite the opposite.”

Mrs. Rock leans on the table, peers into Tillie Jean’s empty coffee cup, then makes a face. “So. What was it? Coconut oil? Or some kind of magic photographer grease?”

I’m saved from answering by the sound of a coffee machine screaming to life to foam TJ’s milk.

She cringes and covers her ears.

I shove a plate of bread toward her. No one blinked when she walked in here with Grady’s sourdough under her arm, and she’s munching on it still.

Mrs. Rock stares at me expectantly all through the whirring and frothing. I point to my cup and lift my brows at her, a silent get you something to drink?, but when the noise stops, she lifts her brows. “So? What kind of oil was that?”

“It was sweat, Nana. Pure, testosterone-fueled sweat,” Tillie Jean replies for me.

“And how do you know, missy?”

“I licked him while I was drunk yesterday.”

Fuck me, this boner hurts.

Also, no she didn’t.

I’d remember that.

Mrs. Rock frowns. “He didn’t taste like coconut?”

“No, he tasted like it’s none of our business what he does when he’s naked.”

“I heard he’s doing an in-depth interview about the pressure of being a professional athlete.”

I jerk in my seat again, but then Tillie Jean’s talking.

Again. “I heard he signed a contract to be a backup dancer in the next Magic Mike movie.”

Nana’s eyes narrow. “I heard he’s posing for Playgirl.”

Tillie Jean leans closer to her grandmother. “I heard he’s opening a male strip club.”

“I heard he’s doing a naked cowboy movie.”

My dick has whiplash. Tillie Jean makes up something ridiculous about me being naked, and my hard-on surges. Her grandmother tops her, and my balls shrink into my body.

And this might be the most fun I’ve had since the after-party when we made it to the play-offs.

“I heard he’s starting a commune and only naked people can join,” I interject.

“Ooh, can I join?” Mrs. Rock bolts to her feet and rips off her sweater. The barista drops her tray, and Tillie Jean’s two lattes crash to the ground, the mugs landing with a shattering smack.

Just as Cooper walks in the door.

“Aaah,” he groans, turning around and walking back out.

TJ leaps to her feet, shoving the tablecloth at her grandmother and making everything fall off our table in the process too. “Nana. Oh my god. I love your bra, but put your sweater back on.”

“What? My nips aren’t showing.”

Good news?

The boner situation is taken care of, so I can get up and help clean up the coffee on the floor.

Bad news?

Pretty sure all of Shipwreck will hear about this before eleven-thirty.

The door cracks open. “Are you seducing my grandmother?” Cooper demands without looking inside. “And is she dressed now?”

“She’s hot,” I call back. “Fight me.”

“Gah.” He makes a face like he got sweet tea when he wanted tequila, turns, and stomps out again.

“At least you’ll inherit all my money when she leaves your grandfather for me and then kills me with sex,” I yell after him.

He flips me off through the window.

And I grin.

Fuck, this feels good.

“Max Cole, are you fighting for me?” Tillie Jean whispers as she squats—wincing—to also help pick up the broken pieces of aqua-colored coffee mug.

I meet her eyes.

Well, her sunglasses.

Pretty sure I’m getting the general area for her eyes right. “Work hard. Play hard. Take a chance.”

She looks back at the door. Cooper’s not there anymore, but I have zero doubt he’ll be back.

Can’t blame him.

I’m playing with fire here. If I fuck up—even if this is temporary fun and Tillie Jean and I both know it—next year could be ugly.

Or, clearing the air, taking a chance, and working on being a better me—on the inside, not just the outside—might be exactly what the team needs.

“You’re a grown-up. I’m a grown-up. We know the score,” I add when the barista slips out of hearing range again, Nana following on her heels, looking for a muffin.

Tillie Jean doesn’t answer.

It’s not a no.

It’s not a yes either.

“Ball’s in your court, Trouble Jean.” I rise and stroll to the counter. “Got a mop?” I ask the barista.

“You don’t have to—”

“If my options are cleaning the floor while you make Tillie Jean another coffee, or making her wait for her caffeine, I’ll clean the floor.”

Yep.

That’ll get back to Cooper too.

Ball’s not just in Tillie Jean’s court. It’s in his too.

Let’s see what they both do with it.

26

Tillie Jean

For all that I love my brother, he’s annoying the crap out of me today.

We’ve been at Mom and Dad’s place for two hours, had a late lunch, played sixteen rounds of Go, Ash, Go, and now he’s demanding a seventeenth round because I’m up six games to his five. Annika and Dad split the other five rounds while Mom and Grady sat on the sidelines debating which of us would get violent first over that stupid Firequacker card.

I hope Cooper dreams in quack, since he’s the one who keeps making the rest of us quack through various rounds.

But Meaty?

I’m starting to really like him. All because his cards always upend the game in the most interesting ways.

“I’m done,” I repeat to Cooper. “Mom can sit in, but my head hurts and I’m going home.”

“You’re going to hang out with Max.”

“One, I have no idea where Max even is, and two, so what if we hang out? Do you know what your problem is? You talk big about team and family, but you also want everyone to follow your rules without considering what’s good for anyone else. Grady gets to be friends with your teammates. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Max isn’t the settling down type.”

“Maybe I’m not the settling down type. Maybe I want to travel to thirty cities every year and sleep with a different guy in every one.”