It fits perfectly on the curve of her hips. So perfectly I don’t want to let go.

At all.

Not one bit.

And the wrecking ball of obvious slams into my gut.

I am insanely attracted to my best friend’s little sister.

But the corollary to that is that absolutely nothing is going to come of it.

I’m okay with that.

I’m okay with that.

I swear I’m okay with it.

7

Crosby

I’m heading to the reception when a voice booms from around the corner. “Number twenty-two. A word.”

That’s all I get before a jacket covers my head, arms wrap around my torso, and my world turns dark.

I’m jerked into what’s presumably a conference room in the hotel, but the lights stay off and the cover stays on, even after I’m led to a chair to sit in. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

The question comes out like a drill sergeant is speaking, but I know the voice. That’s Holden, who plays for the city’s other team. Known this guy for a couple years, and though he was only introduced to the rest of our crew since moving up here to San Francisco to join the rival team in the city – the so-called enemies – he’s fit right in. He’s an insane workout partner, since he’s so damn regimented. On the field, he takes no prisoners at the plate, and he tells it like it is to the press. To me too. “You’re playing with fire, twenty-two,” Holden rumbles.

Another voice cuts in, calm, affable. The steady rudder of the Cougars.

“Let’s give the man a chance to explain himself,” Grant puts in, the easygoing one among the pair. “There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all that flirting. Like maybe Crosby’s been enlisted to teach a course for friends who are in time-out but want to flirt. Right, Crosby? Isn’t that right?”

Grant is the Cougars’ catcher. The guy all the pitchers rely on behind the plate, the one who’s always looking on the bright side. Every glass is half full for Grant, even when he’s dripping with sarcasm. Like now.

“As a matter of fact, you do have some of it right. Friends being the operative word,” I say.

“You think we believe that? You’re a regular Colbert,” Holden says.

“It’s the truth,” I say with a casual shrug, leaning back in my chair like this is no big deal, my head covered with one of their jackets, subject to this Dude-quisition.

But I do need to convince them that they’ve got this upside down.

Because they do.

They’re reading Nadia and me all wrong. They think my harmless flirting with her is something to worry about.

When it’s not.

It’s going to keep being harmless. No matter how good she smells.

Those flashbacks during the ceremony? To how hot she looked for prom? That was merely the male brain processing a few sexy images it found in the drawers of memory.

I’ve sorted them out and tucked the pics back into Friendship Town after my brief pit stop in Fantasy Arena. And I want the guys to know. We rely on each other, look out for each other. I have their backs when they need me, and they have mine, so I say, “C’mon. I’m dead serious on this one. I didn’t slip. I’m making it to the start of the season with a clean record. I’ve been reporting in for the last two weeks to you guys, and I’m reporting in today.” I take a beat, then punctuate each word. “I’ve. Been. Good.”

“You better be,” Grant adds. “Because I don’t want to have to take myself out of commission just to keep you on the up-and-up.”

“There is no need for that kind of solidarity,” I say. “But I do appreciate your willingness to lock it up.”

“How hard would that be, Grant?” Holden challenges.

“Soooo hard. But I’d do it to support a teammate who’s tempted by trouble,” Grant adds.

I roll my eyes from under the fabric. There will be no trouble with Nadia. I’ve merely buddied up with a buddy. “Nadia is a longtime friend and only that.”

“So you know her name,” Holden says, like a detective in a hard-boiled novel.

I toss my hands up in the air, cracking up. “Yeah, fuck biscuit. You know her name too. We all do. She’s Eric’s sister. And nothing is going to happen.”

Grant hums. Holden growls.

“All right. Let’s give him the benny of the doubt,” Grant says, the first of the pair to relent, naturally.

“Fine, but I’m watching you,” Holden barks.

“We’re both watching out for our guy,” Grant says as they let go of the jacket, tugging it off my head. “That’s our job. But he’s passed the test.”

My eyes scan the room quickly, adjusting to the dark even in the middle of the day. Holden is the jacketless one. I swipe my hands over my arms as if I’m wiping off dirt or lint from him.

“Had a feeling that was yours,” I say, my nose crinkling in-over-the top disgust. “That jacket smelled like Drakkar Noir. You probably doused yourself in it 1980s-style and came here to scam on women.”

“Scam?” Holden asks, narrowing his eyes, then shaking a finger in my direction. “Do not even try to turn this around. I am allowed to scam. You are not. You made an unbreakable promise to Eric and Gabe, then they enlisted us to have your back,” Holden adds, gesturing between him and Grant.

Grant claps me on the shoulder, shooting a smile in my direction. “You can do this, buddy.” He drops his voice. “Just don’t make me regret supporting you.”

“You can clean out my locker and steal all my clothes if I cave.”

Grant taps his chin, his eyes going wide with delight, from the look of the twinkle in his baby blues. “That would be hella amusing, but I think we’d rather you admit on national TV that we’re both better than you at the best sport ever.”

“Yes. That. I want that, twenty-two,” Holden says, too gleeful for my taste. Especially since he’s on our rival team.

I wave the white flag. “Fine. You’ve got it. I’ll admit that on TV if I fall, but I won’t fall. I’ve got this. And the tuxes are on me, dickwads. As a thank you for your service.”

“Wow. You’re so generous. All I’ve ever wanted is a free tux,” Holden says, flinging a hand to his heart.

I flip him the bird as I hop up from the chair. “News flash. I’ve gone two weeks avoiding the sock thief and amateur photogs of my past. I’ve got this, just like I’ve got the hanging curveballs,” I say, since those are my favorite pitches to go long on.

Holden arches a doubtful brow. “Nadia is a hanging curveball?”

Grant scratches his jaw. “Not sure that’s right. Hanging curveballs are your temptation. You can’t resist them. You swing at them every time.”

“And I hit them,” I say. “I swing at hanging curveballs because I can motherfucking hit them over the fence and into the San Francisco Bay.” I pump a fist. “Booyah. Who hit a homer all the way over the bleacher seats and into the Bay last year?” That shit is hard to do, and I pulled it off.

Grant taps his chest. “Did you forget that I hit one out there too?”