The Change Up Read online

  I wet my lips, steadying the surge of confidence that spiked through me. “I’m not going back.”

  “Again.”

  Firmer, I say, “I’m not going back.”

  “Good.” He releases his hand and takes a sip of his drink before stealing another one of my fries and popping it in his mouth with a smile. “Glad that’s settled.”

  Chapter Eight

  MADDOX

  “What are you working on?” Kinsley’s sleepy voice trails from my bedroom door. It’s five in the morning. What the hell is she doing up so early?

  I set my pen down. “Why are you up? I didn’t think your body knew how to stand at this hour.”

  He rubs her eye with her palm while yawning. “Clyde woke me up.”

  “How?” I ask, remembering the duct tape rips she made last night before we crashed. There were eight rips. Eight. If you need eight long strands of duct tape to sleep, it means you need a new bed.

  “Spring snapped me in the head. Kind of rude if you ask me.” She nods at my bed. “Can I come snuggle?”

  I flip the sheets down, inviting her in.

  Back in high school, we never slept in the same bed, but in the mornings, before the sun would rise and Kinsley was miraculously awake, she'd climb down on the floor with me and watch me draw. She would take the pen on occasion and make lines of her own. Always adding, never ruining what I was creating. She’s the only person I’ve ever let do that.

  Not even Jamie.

  Kinsley slips under the covers and I hold my arm out so she can rest against my shoulder. My nightstand light is on, which casts just enough glow so I can see what I’m sketching.

  A cow.

  “Are you drawing Bessy?” Kinsley asks.

  “I guess so.” I never know what I’m drawing until my pen starts moving. “I drew the old tree between our houses yesterday. I think you being here is drawing up memories for me.”

  “No pun intended, right?” she asks with a nudge.

  “Right.”

  She takes the pen from me and says, “You missed a knot.”

  “No, I didn’t. I just didn’t want to draw it.”

  She glances up at me. “Maddox, that’s the most important knot of all time. You can’t leave out the vagina knot.”

  “I sure as hell can.”

  She shakes her head against my shoulder. “That knot brought us many laughs. You can’t leave it out.” On the right corner of the tree, near the grass, she draws a knot, making a crease and rounding the sides.

  Christ. I start chuckling. “I always say you never ruin my drawings, but this one, babe, you ruined.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she says with humor in her voice. “I enhanced it to be its proper self. Our tree isn’t our tree unless the vagina knot is there, and how dare you even consider leaving it out.”

  “I’m a monster.”

  “You are.” She sighs and hands me back my pen. We both sit there, staring at the tree, and for a second, I think she fell asleep. “Remember when I saw you grab Jamie’s boob for the first time while making out against the tree?”

  I chuckle, even though the pain of Jamie’s name surges anger through me. “Yeah, you didn’t make it awkward at all by clapping.”

  “Someone had to cheer you on. That was your first boob grab. Pretty late in the game as a sophomore in high school. Hell, I grabbed a boob before you and I don’t even like girls like that.”

  “Your own boobs don’t count.”

  “They weren’t my own boobs.” She sits up. “I grabbed Margarita’s boobs. Hers were huge, mine were small, and we wanted to compare. She wished she had mine because she was always having to wear two sports bras, and I wished I had hers because I didn’t even own a sports bra.”

  “Do you own a bra at all?”

  She slyly smiles. “Maybe a few, for special occasions. Why, want to borrow one?”

  “I mean, I do have bigger boobs than you.”

  Whap.

  Her hand connects with my chest playfully and I laugh out loud as she shuffles away from me, but not before I can grab her by the hand, roll her to her back and pin her down on the mattress. I straddle her hips and stare down at her.

  “I swear to God, Maddox, if you tickle me, I will kick you in the balls.”

  I pin her hands above her head.

  “How are you going to do that when I’m sitting on your legs? Unless you developed muscles in the last five minutes I’m unaware of, it’s unlikely you’ll be able to kick me in the balls.”

  “I have muscles.” She scowls, and it’s fucking adorable. “And I might not kick you now, but when you’re least expecting it, I will connect my foot with your dingle so hard, it will knock your man berries right off its branch.” He chuckles softly.

  “I think I’ll take the chance.” With one hand I hold her arms down and bring the other hand to her side. She shifts beneath me, attempting to twist away.

  “Don’t,” she yells. “I will pee the bed. I will pee right here, right now. All the pee. Puddles and puddles of pee. So much pee you’ll think Niagara Falls just came flooding through your room.”

  I pause. “Niagara Falls of urine?”

  “So much urine. You have no idea the kind of splash I can make with my bladder.”

  “It’s disturbing when you say shit like that.”

  “I will keep saying disturb—” I drag my fingers down her side and she squeals. “Maddox, don’t. I really will pee. I had a glass of water before bed, and I haven’t gone to the bathroom yet. I will tinkle so hard.”

  “Tinkle?” I drag my fingers up.

  “Yes,” she yelps. “Now for the love of God, get off me.”

  Chuckling, I move off her only for her to reach out, snag a small pillow and wail it at my crotch.

  Ooof.

  I bend over, hands to my dick.

  “Kin, what the fuck?”

  She hops off the bed and runs to the bathroom. From the cracked door, she says, “Don’t mess with me, Maddox.” And then she groans while she pees. “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “You sound like a guy taking a leak in there.”

  “Girls can groan when peeing if they want. Don’t make that a man thing.”

  Smiling to myself, I say, “My apologies. Equal opportunities, girls can groan and pee too.”

  She finishes up, washes her hands, and then stands at the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, staring me down as I sit on the edge of my bed, not in the mood to pack for my trip today. One more away trip and then we get time off. One more game for me to pitch and then time off.

  Six days and then time off . . . with Kinsley.

  “Sorry I’m going to have to leave right when you get here.”

  “I’ll manage. I’ll just swipe through Tinder, bring some guys home to your bed, let them keep me company.”

  “No strangers in the apartment,” I say while pointing at her.

  “Oh, just you wait . . . Dad. I’m going to have the biggest party when you’re gone and auction off your undies. Mama is going to make the dough so she can get her own place.”

  I head to my closet and start chuckling underwear at her. “Have at it, Kinny.”

  “Ahhh, get those man panties away from me.” She runs away and calls down the hallway, groaning, “This is too much movement for me in the morning.”

  I laugh and pull out my bag where I begin to pack it for what feels like the millionth time this month.

  * * *

  Kinsley: Did you try the protein bar yet?

  Maddox: I did.

  Kinsley: . . . and . . .

  Maddox: Tasted like a plant-based protein bar.

  Kinsley: Really good, right?

  Maddox: It was okay.

  Kinsley: Just okay? Don’t even mess with me. You know it was good. Mint chocolate? Saving the earth while getting your gains in? Can’t think of a better way to fuel your soul . . . and body.

  Maddox: It was okay, Kin.

  Kinsley: Which means . . . you’re g
oing to eat them from now on?

  Maddox: I’ll think about it.

  Kinsley: Oh God, really? Don’t make me cry at work.

  Maddox: Settle down. I said I would THINK about it.

  “Look at you smiling at your phone like a teenager,” Cory says, taking a seat across from me at one of the tables on the plane. “Who’s the girl?”

  “No girl,” I say just as Lincoln and Jason take a seat as well.

  “Ha, okay,” Lincoln mutters while setting his phone on the table.

  “Wait, is there a girl?” Jason, the ever-romantic asks.

  “No,” I say just as Lincoln says, “Yes.”

  Smiling broadly Jason and Cory both stare me down. “There’s a girl,” Cory says, nudging me from under the table.

  “She’s fuck-hot, too,” Lincoln says. “And has one hell of a personality.”

  Can’t deny either one of those observations.

  “Who is she?” Jason asks, looking far too eager.

  “Just my friend from my childhood,” I say before Lincoln can step in. “Best friend actually. She got a job at a local animal rescue in Chicago.”

  “The girl staying with you?” Cory asks. “That’s who has you smiling?”

  “You should see her,” Lincoln says. “The perfect nipples.” He pinches his fingers together.

  I punch Lincoln dead in the arm, not even feeling sorry about it. “Don’t fucking say shit like that.”

  He rubs his arm and laughs. “What? She does. Small boobs, taut nipples, it’s hot.”

  I drag my hand down my face. Why does it feel like the last few days has been filled with Kinsley’s boobs? She talks about them, Lincoln talks about them, I think about them. Hell, I’m buying the girl a bra when I get home and she’s going to be required to wear it, because I should not be thinking about my best friend’s tits . . . or that she’s “fuck-hot.”

  “What’s the scoop, man?” Cory asks, seeing the obvious discomfort I’m feeling. “Do you like her?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “She’s my best friend. I would never go there, she means too much to me.”

  “Never?” Linc asks.

  “Never,” I answer, still looking down just as a text from Kinsley comes in.

  From the preview, I can read.

  Kinsley: Thank you for always being so open with me. I love you, Maddie.

  Hell.

  I flip my phone face down and lean back in my seat as I lift my ballcap off my head and push my hand through my hair.

  “Yeahhh,” Lincoln drawls out. “I don’t believe never.”

  * * *

  “Are you duct-taping Clyde right now?” I ask as I hear the telltale sound of duct tape being ripped through the phone. “I thought I told you to sleep in my bed.”

  “That would be weird. I’m not sleeping in your bed, Maddox. Plus, Clyde is fine.”

  “You woke up at five this morning because Clyde bitch-slapped you with one of his springs. Clyde is not fine.”

  “Don’t you dare be mean to him. I’m trying a new taping technique that I’m sure will work. Now stop badgering me about my sleeping arrangements and tell me about your photo shoot. Did they make you take your shirt off?”

  “Of course they did, they always do,” I say while I play with the strands of my hair as I look up at the ceiling. ESPN is doing an article about the best pitchers in baseball right now and they saw a free moment in my schedule and asked if they could take pictures while I was in Texas, after I landed. I said yes. They asked me to take my shirt off and toss a ball. I did. It’s done. Thank God. At least I didn’t have to stand there like an idiot, posing with a towel around my waist. Christ.

  “Is it weird? Stripping down for people. I think I’d feel weird if someone asked me to take my shirt off.”

  “Different for guys. I don’t really care.”

  “But everyone sees your nipples.”

  “Once again, different for guys.” And what the fuck does she care about showing nipples? Hers are trying to poke people in the eyes every damn day.

  “Did they oil you down? Give you some sheen?” she asks, sweet humor in her voice.

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Oh my God, really? I was just kidding, but did they really do that?”

  “Yeah.”

  Another rip of duct tape. “Did someone else do it or did you rub oil on yourself?”

  “Makeup lady did it.”

  Kinsley snorts. “Oh wow, you had someone rub oil on you today, that’s great. Did you invite her back to your hotel? Get in some extra oil time?”

  “No,” I answer plainly.

  “Missed opportunity, bro.” She makes another rip. “Which, now that I think about it, have you met up with any of your girls lately?”

  I work my jaw back and forth, wondering how I should answer this.

  “Uh . . . no.” Simple.

  But of course, it’s not a simple answer for Kinsley, because she always needs more details.

  “No? Why not? Don’t you have a routine? Oh no, am I stepping on your routine?”

  “It’s fine,” I answer, because really it is. Tess, Yasmin, and Katrina are nice and all, but I’m not about to take them to a hotel when Kinsley is waiting for me to come home. It would feel weird. I’d be thinking about her the whole time. But the weirdest thing? I haven’t . . . needed them. I still come off the field burning with adrenaline, but all I’ve wanted was to get to Kinsley. Even though, it’s not for sexual release. Fucking weird.

  “Oh no, I am stepping on your routine. Ugh, does that mean you have to service yourself?”

  “Service my—” I pause. “Are you asking if I’m masturbating?”

  “Well, you are a healthy, young guy with a massive amount of adrenaline pumping through him, so I’m sure you have to expel it somehow, hence the brothel of women.”

  “Not a brothel.”

  “Either way . . . are you getting your needs met, Maddox?”

  “Things we shouldn’t talk about,” I say, picking up my sketchbook and uncapping my pen.

  “Because before you called, I was having fun with my little battery-operated friend.”

  My pen stills. Umm . . . what?

  She masturbated in my apartment? Where did she do it? Shower? On Clyde? On the couch? Was she completely naked?

  Is she naked right now?

  Completely unaware of how my mouth is dry and my throat thick, she continues, “Getting off is such a natural thing but I can understand how your hand isn’t doing the trick. I mean, that’s why I had Stan. Contact with another human makes a huge difference, because even though they might fumble around—poor Stan was always so nervous—it’s those little touches, you know? A scrape across your abdomen, a brush along your side, a smooth touch to your lower back. They all build up into something you can’t provide for yourself.”

  Fuck, I’m getting hard.

  I’m getting hard while talking to my best friend on the phone, and I want to blame it on her description of human contact and not the image that keeps popping up in my head—Kinsley with her head thrown back on my couch, a vibrator between her legs, her taut nipples on display as her hips move up and down.

  “Are you there?”

  I swallow hard, a lump of saliva barely cascading down my throat. “Yeah,” I squeak out. “I’m here.”

  “Oh good, thought I lost you. Anyway, you know what I’m talking about, right? A girl caressing your balls, pulling them into her mouth while she has a hold on your cock like it’s the only thing keeping her afloat? That’s way different than you just reaching down and fisting yourself. I mean, unless you’re pulling double duty with your hands, but even at that, if I try to picture it in my head, you’re all crouched over trying to waffle your balls around while jerking hard on your cock. Almost seems like you’re trying to do that rub your belly, pat your head trick, which in that case, oh boy, would it hurt if you get the motions wrong downstairs. One harsh yank on the nuggets would have you screaming out the Virg
in Mary’s name in vain, along with her son and her husband. You know, a good old Jesus, Mary, and Joseph squeal.”

  What the hell is happening right now? Why is she talking about this?

  “Have you ever chafed down there from too much pleasure? I always wondered if that was a real thing. Like actual chafing. I’ve never chafed, but then again I’m not yanking on anything either, just diddling around. All we ladies get are pruney fingers, you know?”

  “I think I have to go,” I say before she can say anything else.

  “You think you have to go or you have to go?”

  Of course she would catch that. “I have to go.”

  “Liar.” She laughs into the phone. “You’re bailing because I’m talking about masturbating. We’re old enough to admit we both do it, so why are you so uncomfortable right now?”

  Because we don’t talk about this shit.

  Because I keep picturing you doing it.

  Because for some reason, I can’t get you out of mind.

  Because Lincoln keeps reminding me how fuck-hot you are.

  “Uh . . . because you said pruney fingers,” I answer, skipping the rest of the truths.

  She laughs even harder. “I talked about yanking and slapping your privates, and pruny fingers is what got you? Honestly, Maddie, I don’t even know what to do with you.”

  “The feeling is mutual.” Except for some moronic reason, I’m starting to know what I want to do with Kin.

  And that scares the fuck out of me.

  Chapter Nine

  KINSLEY

  “Oh goodness, do you need help?” I ask, running up to an elderly lady who’s carrying loads of mail in her arms.

  She glances up, her red-rimmed eyes teary and sad. “I don’t want to be bothersome.”

  “Not at all,” I say, taking the mail from her. Standing outside the mailboxes to the apartment building, I ask, “How did all of this even fit in your mailbox?”

  “It was in one of the package boxes. We’ve been out of town.” She gives me a small wave and says, “I’m Joan.”