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LUKE

M y morning workout routine has never been this challenging. I brace myself against the pull-up bar, fighting for control. Thora’s honeyed voice pours through my earbuds, destroying every ounce of discipline I’ve built over years of training.

“ I run my fingers down his chest, need thrumming through my whole body, ” she narrates, her tone dropping into pure sex. I force myself to concentrate on my form, on the burn in my muscles, but her words wrap around me like a physical touch.

I’d only meant to sample one chapter, just to see what kind of books she works on. Six chapters later, I’m still listening, completely drawn into the story. Now her voice follows me through every exercise, making simple movements feel impossible.

“ Dropping to my knees, I look up at him, begging with my eyes ,” she whispers in my ear, inhabiting her character completely. “ A moan escapes my lips as he pushes his cock into my mouth. ”

My arms give out. I drop from the pull-up bar, landing hard enough to feel it in my knees. I know I should stop listening. Listening to Aiden’s sister talk like this, even when she’s reading someone else’s words, surely crosses a line. But I can’t bring myself to hit pause.

I adjust my shorts and head to the dumbbell rack, trying and failing to focus on anything except Thora’s voice in my ears. I’m halfway through a set with some punishingly heavy weights when Carla from the media team approaches, tablet clutched to her chest.

“Sorry to interrupt your workout, Luke.” She gives me an apologetic smile. “We need to film that segment for our socials.”

I pull out my earbuds, hoping my face isn’t as red as it feels. “Right now?”

“It will only take a few minutes, and we’ve got everyone else ready to go.”

Perfect. Just what I need—cameras when I can barely string two thoughts together. But it’s part of the job, so I grab my water bottle and follow her to the main gym area.

“There he is.” Martinez breaks out in a grin as I walk over. “The face that broke the internet.”

“Yeah, how many marriage proposals are in your inbox now?” Jones adds. “Let me guess. A thousand?”

I force a laugh, playing along with their ribbing even as my jaw tightens. I haven’t touched social media since those photos went viral. The whole thing has been so ridiculous, so fucking uncomfortable. “Not my fault the camera loves me.”

Carla directs us into position while her assistant adjusts lighting stands. I go through the motions, reading my lines from the tablet and reacting to my teammates’ scripted banter. But Thora’s voice lingers in my head, making it hard to focus on anything except counting down the seconds until we finish.

We nail the group segment in three takes. But then Carla steps forward with that apologetic smile I’m learning to dread. “Luke, could we get a few quick solo shots?”

“Work those angles, pretty boy,” Jones calls out as he and Martinez step aside. “Give the fans what they want.”

I ignore the guys and respond to Carla with a casual, “Sure, no problem.” Carla repositions me while her assistant adjusts the lighting. I force my expression into something camera-ready and try to ignore how much I hate this.

The second Carla calls cut, relief floods through me. I grab my towel and head back toward the free weights, ready to lose myself in a real workout. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Send help , Aiden’s text reads. Too much daytime TV. Brain cells dying by the second.

That bad? I type back.

It gets worse. T keeps insisting on cooking me healthy food. I don’t know what half this stuff is.

Someone looking out for you. How terrible.

Dude. She made chickpea cookies. COOKIES AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HEALTHY. Come over tonight? Maybe she’ll make some normal food if you’re here.

The thought of seeing Thora again has my stomach doing slow flips. Sure, man. I’m free.

That evening, I arrive at Aiden’s thinking I’m prepared to see Thora again. I’m wrong. When she opens the door, drying her hands on a kitchen towel, every thought in my head disappears. She’s even more beautiful than I remembered, and her hips fill out her sweatpants in a way that threatens to undo me.

“Oh! Hi.” A light blush colors her cheeks as she greets me. “Aiden said you might come by.” She steps back to let me in, careful to maintain space between us. “I’m glad you’re here. My brother is being impossible.”

“I’m being reasonable,” Aiden protests from the living room. “No one needs that many vegetables.”

I follow Thora into the apartment, trying not to stare at her gorgeously wide hips as she moves toward the kitchen. “Can I help with anything?”

“No, I’ve got it under control.” She waves me off with a small smile. “Go keep my brother company before he dies of boredom.”

I find Aiden sprawled on the sectional, his injured leg propped up on pillows. “How’s the knee?”

“Hurts like hell.” He grimaces as he shifts position. “Doc says I need to stay off it completely for another week.”

“That’s rough, man.” I settle into the armchair, remembering how much I hated being benched after my shoulder injury last season. “But better to do it right than rush it.”

He flips through channels until he finds a game replay. We fall into our usual rhythm of commentary and shit-talking, but my attention keeps splitting. I keep noticing the sound of kitchen cabinets opening and closing. The click of a spoon against the counter. Thora humming something under her breath. Each small noise draws my attention like a magnet.

I should focus on Aiden. He’s my teammate, my closest friend, stuck here dealing with an injury that could impact his whole career. Instead, I keep tracking his sister’s movements. The flash of her profile when she reaches for something on a high shelf. The way she pulls out and redoes her messy bun. Each glimpse of her feels dangerous, like playing with fire.

This isn’t me. I don’t get distracted like this. I don’t let attraction mess with my head or my friendships. But something about Thora gets past all my defenses. Maybe it’s how she stood up to Aiden at the hospital, all fierce protectiveness. Maybe it’s how she brings stories to life with just her voice, making every word feel intimate and real.

Maybe it’s just her.

A commercial break cuts into the game. The question I’ve been holding back all evening rises in my throat. I turn to Aiden before I can talk myself out of it, keeping my voice low enough that it won’t carry to the kitchen. “Hey. How would you feel if I asked out your sister?”

He laughs, reaching for his soda can. “Good one.”

“I’m serious.”

The can freezes halfway to his mouth. He stares at me, smile fading as he processes my earnest expression. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words.

Then footsteps approach from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready,” Thora calls, and the moment shatters.

She emerges with plates of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables that smell incredible. I help her arrange everything on the coffee table, trying to ignore how close our hands come to brushing. When all the food is served, she settles into the armchair across from me, and for a while, we’re just three people enjoying dinner together. But beneath our easy conversation, I feel the weight of Aiden’s unspoken answer. His laugh comes a beat too late when Thora tells a story about a romance novel’s ridiculous plot twist. His eyes narrow when I ask Thora about what projects she has coming up.

I’m watching my closest friendship crack just because I can’t stop stealing glances at his sister.

When we finish eating, Thora starts gathering plates. I stand to help. “Let me?—”

“No, no, I’m good.” She shakes her head. “You guys should hang out. I’ll clean up.”

The second she disappears into the kitchen, Aiden’s expression hardens. “No.”

The single word hits me like a fastball to the chest. “Aiden. Come on, man. I?—”

“Walk me through how you see this playing out.” His voice stays low, controlled. “You take her to dinner, show her around the city. Then what? She goes back home, and you’re still here.”

“If we hit it off, we’ll figure out how to make it work.”

“You really think you could do that?” He fixes me with a look I’ve never seen before. “Because I remember how it went the last time you tried to make a long-distance relationship work. You ended it. Said it was too hard.”

“That was different.”

“Different how?” His jaw tightens. “This is my sister, Luke. I’m not going to watch you get her hopes up just to decide it’s too complicated when she leaves.”

The sound of running water fills the silence between us. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s making assumptions. But he knows me too well. Knows my track record. “I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Maybe not on purpose.” He reaches for his soda, and I catch the way his hand tightens around the can. “But she deserves more than good intentions. She deserves someone who can actually be there.”

The truth of his words settles heavy in my chest. Part of me wants to keep fighting for her—to tell him how it really does feel so fucking different this time. How I can’t stop thinking about her voice, her smile, her fierce but sweet self.

But he’s right and we both know it. Even if she lived in San Francisco, baseball season means being on the road half the time. That’s brutal enough without having a relationship to think about.

And I’m not willing to wreck my closest friendship just because I can’t stop thinking about his sister.

“No, you’re right.” I lean back, swallowing the protest rising in my throat. “Consider it dropped.”

Three days of extra batting practice don’t help. Neither do the punishing workouts, the extended runs, or the hours I spend reviewing game footage. No matter what I do, I can’t get her out of my head.

I catch myself picking up my phone between sets at the gym, typing out messages I won’t send. How’s your day going? Delete. Thanks again for the home-cooked meal the other night. Easily the best thing I’ve eaten for months. Delete. Why can’t I get your voice out of my head, Thora? Delete that one so fast my thumb hurts.

Aiden’s right about the reasons I shouldn’t pursue her. I know that. But that knowledge doesn’t stop me from wondering what would happen if I just called her. If I suggested grabbing coffee, just once, just to see.

“Looking good, Hendrix.” Coach Freed’s voice breaks through my thoughts. I realize I’ve been standing at my locker, staring at my phone. “But maybe save the social media for after practice?”

I mutter something about checking stats and shove my phone away. Then I hit the field and run drills until my legs burn. It helps, for a while. But that night, I’m back to staring at the single text between us, thumb hovering over my keyboard.

Hey, hypothetical question…

Delete.

The phone goes in a drawer. Tomorrow I’ll try harder to forget her.