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Neither one of us said a word as they walked out of the gym. The door shut behind them, and I looked around to see who the hell else was left here. No one. We were alone. Alone for the first time in a year, and I knew when our eyes locked, she was pissed and hurt and confused as to what the hell was up.

I had stupidly told her she needed to experience shit.

But I wasn’t sure I would be strong enough to see her go on a date with that punk hitting asshole.

“Baseball boy,” she mumbled, her spray bottle and towel in hand as she rounded the counter. “She’s original. You two?”

“Hell, no,” I immediately answered. “As far as nicknames, I like bat boy more. That’s a nickname for a champ,” I said, reminding her of just how close we had been. Callie shook her head, her eyes set in front of her, but there was a whisper of a smile I was more than familiar with. I could work with that.

“You really going on a date with Trevor Grant?” She shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t seem like you wanted to go.”

“How would you know?”

“Callie, you hate the diner. You say it’s a gross, greasy spoon.”

“And? Maybe I’ve learned to enjoy it recently. You wouldn’t know since⁠—“

“You’ve been avoiding me?” I cut her off and nodded. “True, but I know how much you love that Italian place over by the lake.”

“And?”

“And there’s no way you would turn down a free dinner there.”

“Are you calling me fat?” She stopped walking, and the millisecond those words processed, my arm snapped out and pulled her into me.

“You know that’s not what I meant or what I was saying,” I growled. “Don’t twist my words, ladybug.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said half-heartedly.

A beat of silence fell between us before I realized what I’d just done. Pulling her into my arms, wrapping her tight and flush against my body. There was no playing down the thick, hard length pressed against her belly. But I held her closer. Tighter. She looked up at me with wide hazel eyes. Surprise seeped out, and she stared at me all glassy eyed.

“Callie,” I started to say, about to apologize.

I had been hard around her every damn day of our almost eight-year friendship, but she’d never felt the undeniable way she affected me. There was no denying the current situation behind my pants.

“You’re hard,” she whispered. The fucker behind my pants jerked almost like it had to acknowledge just how right she was.

“Callie—“

“Was it… umm…” She licked her lips, and pink tinged her cheeks. “Was it the sorority girl? Her offering a, umm…” That pink tinge brightened. “A threesome?”

“What?” My heart thundered in my chest. Why the hell was my ladybug talking about me having threesomes? Oh, that’s right. She has no idea I got off to her dirty panties, clueless about just how fucking obsessed I am with her!

“I heard her,” she shared. “If you wanted her and her friend, they’re going to be at the frat party. I mean, is that what you’re into now?”

“What the hell, Callie?”

“It’s okay if you are. Umm, college is where we’re supposed to explore sexually. And it’s probably some kind of rule for athletes like you to have threesomes, right?”

“No,” I growled, pissed as hell she would even think that. My palms pressed tighter against the small of her back, and I heard it. A soft little jagged breath.

“No? So, it was just her?” Her hazel eyes swirled with browns and greens and speckles of gold. Jesus, why wouldn’t she let this go?

My time had fucking run out.