From all the way across the store.

She throws one right back at him.

It’s everything.

Everything I’ve ever wanted.

That kind of love. That kind of trust. A relationship that’s born from talking, falling, caring.

Like my parents had.

But I bet they didn’t start as friends with benefits.

Relationships should start the right way, in a proper sequence and specific order. They shouldn’t begin with a request for a dick pic, then turn into an accidental kiss in a doorway, then morph into a virgin rule book for defining friends-with-benefits behavior.

Ugh. I did everything upside down and backward.

I should have known better.

“But you and David met through a friend when you were working in China. You went on dates all over Beijing. You romanced each other. He proposed to you before you moved back to California. That’s how it should be,” I point out.

Brooke shakes her head. “There is no rule for how good relationships start.”

“There should be,” I say in a dead voice.

“Do you truly believe that?”

“I do.” But I don’t really know what I believe. All I know is that I miss Crosby, and I have a mountain of work to climb tonight.

I join Brooke and her family for lunch, try to be decent company, then head for the office, where I blast my friend Stone’s latest single and get to work.

This is why I’m here after all.

Nothing more.

29

Crosby

Holden tosses up the ball at home plate, swings, and connects with it, sending it down the third baseline.

Jacob fields it perfectly for the hundredth time in a row.

I clap his shoulder. “Dude, keep that up. You’ve got this.”

The kid grins at me. “Can we go a few more times?”

I cup my hands over my mouth and shout to Holden at home plate, “Give us a few more screamers!”

My bud nods crisply and hits another ball down the third baseline.

Jacob fields it again neatly.

“You barely need me to tell you what to do,” I say, proud of this dude.

He shoots me a dubious stare. “Maybe you forget how many line drives I missed at the start of the season?”

“Are you saying my memory stinks?” I ask.

“Maybe a little,” he ribs me back.

We wrap up, and as we head off the field, the kid thanks us. “I’m glad you remembered enough that I could convince you to give me some extra practice.”

“We’ve got you addicted now, is that right?” I ask.

“I think so,” he says. “I can go again tomorrow.”

“That’s the way to do it, man,” I say, clapping his shoulder. “Practice like it’s all you ever want to do. Right, Holden?”

“That’s what it takes,” Holden adds sagely. “That’s what I did when I was your age. Practice, practice, practice. That’s what I still do.”

“That’s the key to success,” I say. “Gotta put in the hours before the season if you want to have a shot at the pennant at the end.”

That’s where I went wrong with Nadia—not putting in the hours. Not dating properly, not taking my time. And when I realized things were moving too fast, I should have slowed down.

But nope. It’s like I’ve learned nothing whatso-fucking-ever from my mistakes. I’m still diving headfirst off the relationship cliff. And what has that ever gotten me? Legal fees, stolen socks, the prospect of jail time in a foreign country.

And I can’t fix it, can’t go back and date her properly, because I’m leaving for Arizona in two days, and that’s that.

Holden and I walk Jacob home, then I call a Lyft from outside his house, zipping up my hoodie as we wait, and cursing the cold-as-balls weather. “I won’t miss San Francisco in February, that’s for sure. Give me the Arizona desert, I say.”

“Bet you’ll miss something about here,” Holden says dryly.

I lift a brow. “Yeah?”

He gives me a look as we pile into the car, heading back across the city. “Yeah,” he says, imitating me dead-on.

“Dude.”

“Why are you duding me? I’ve been waiting for a report. You and Eric’s sister. What’s the deal? Obviously you have it bad for her.”

“And obviously I made a pact to do nothing about it,” I say defensively.

Holden laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit about your deal.”

“C’mon. You kidnapped me a week ago. You Drakkar Noir jacket-boarded me.”

He lifts an imaginary violin, pretending to play it. “Poor Crosby.”

I flip him the bird. “Goose biscuit,” I mutter.

“Goose biscuit? What the fuck? You can’t even swear properly?”

“Evidently I can’t. And I paid for your tuxes. I’ll honor the deal. I know I blew it.”

“Whoa. I’m not saying this to get you to cash in.”

“Then why are you saying it?” I fire off, pissed at him, at myself, at the whole damn universe.

“Someone is testy.”

I drag a hand down my face, breathing out hard, trying to let go of all my frustrations bubbling up inside me. “Sorry, man. That’s on me.”

“No worries,” he says as the driver heads into Grant’s hood, swinging past a coffee shop I know.

“Can we stop here? I need a pick-me-up. They have organic black tea,” I say, a little embarrassed.

“No problem,” the driver says, pulling in front of Doctor Insomnia’s Coffee and Tea Emporium.

Once we’re out of the car, I level with Holden. “Look, there was something going on with Nadia. But now it’s nothing.”

He scoffs. “It didn’t look like nothing the other night.”

“What did it look like?”

He takes a beat, then locks eyes with me, like I’m the target. “Everything. It looked like everything.”

My chest seizes up. Were we that obvious? Maybe we were. Because it felt like everything with Nadia. “But that’s the problem. I need to slow the fuck down. I need to practice being single,” I say as I head into the shop, order a tea, thank the barista, then head back out with the steaming cup.

“But do you truly need to practice being single?” Holden asks as we walk up the street.

“Hello? Have you met me? You guys all lit into me the other night about my horrible taste,” I say, then take a scalding sip.

The tea burns my tongue.

“We’ve all made mistakes though. Maybe you just need to recognize when something isn’t a mistake.” Holden scratches his jaw as he turns philosophical.

I go pensive too, considering his words of wisdom. Trying to understand what is and isn’t a mistake.

“How do you know though?” I ask, wanting his advice now, no longer testy.

“Maybe when you can’t get her out of your system,” he says, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. “Because there’s always a woman like that, right? The one you can’t get out of your head? Maybe you had one night with her, one kiss, one conversation. Your what-if woman.”