“Fine,” I snapped. “And when I win, you have to dye your hair black, get a nose piercing and wear a shirt that says, ‘I feel things’ for an entire week.”

Colton burst out laughing. “Can you imagine the reaction at the police station?”

“So?” I held out my hand. “A gentleman’s wager?”

“A gentleman’s bargain.” Jason took my hand in his and shook.

“Guys are so stupid¸” Milo muttered as she stepped into my arms and gave me a hug. “Now keep your pecker in your pants or I lose two hundred bucks to Colt.” She tugged my ear so hard I saw stars. “Seriously, Max. I don’t lose bets. I don’t care if you have to tape it down, just don’t let it out.”

“I’m really—” I swallowed. “Really uncomfortable right now.”

“Good.” Milo stepped back. “Remember this conversation every time you want to dip your honey into a pot, and we’ll be golden.”

“You just ruined both honey and drugs for me. I’ll never get high again.” I sighed.

“Dude.” Colt slapped me on the back, then whispered in my ear. “You get yours, you hear?”

They were officially the worst friends in the history of friendship.

“Right.” I nodded. “I’ll try to, um—”

“Don’t try, man. Trying doesn’t get you to third base. Trying gets you a walk to first. All right? You want a grand slam, how do you get a grand slam?”

How sad that he was trying to convince me to sex strange women. I had half a mind to feel sorry for Milo for being married to a man that desperate to win a bet.

Then Milo made eye contact with me and crossed her legs, then gave me a thumbs-up.

Never mind. They deserved each other.

Colt pushed me away from the crowd. “Look, if you need, like . . . help getting your bat to . . .” He bit his lip. “Swing?”

“Yeah.” I winced. “Wouldn’t have gone with that word choice.”

“All you have to do,” Colt whispered in a low voice, “is just imagine how good winning feels. You want to win the game, don’t you, Max?”

“Uh, yes.”

“You hesitated.”

“I was confused.”

“About winning?” Colton smacked my chest. If he kept smacking me I was going to kick him in the nuts. Feel me? “You want to win, Max. Losers don’t get prizes.”

“Right.” I nodded.

“You want a prize.” Colt held my face in his hands. “And we don’t lose to Milo. Okay?”

“So . . .” I sniffed. “Just to be clear, you want me to play baseball with the girls? And you don’t want me to lose?”

“What?” Colt shook his head. “No, it was a metaphor!”

I gave him a dumb look, wondering how far he’d take it.

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and then held out his hands in front of him. “You know those noodle toys? That people have at their pools?”

I managed to keep a straight face. “You mean those really hard ones that people beat each other with? Those noodles?”

“Yes!” Colt sighed in relief. Damn, teasing him was just too easy. “Imagine that you’re the noodle.”

“I’m the noodle.” I repeated. “Got it.”

“And you want your noodle to make contact with the um . . . tube. The floating tube!”

“Why?” I shook my head. “Why do I want the tube?”

“Because she’s—it’s hot!” Colt all but yelled.

“But I’m already cool because I’m in the pool.”

“Someone left you outside the pool and you’re very . . . hot, and dry, and needy, you need the tube.”

Holy shit. Why wasn’t this getting filmed? I crossed my arms. “I see, so I need the tube in order to feel . . . satisfaction?”

“Yes.” Colt rubbed his hands together. “So glad we understand each other.”

“Hey.” Milo walked up to us. “Max is gonna miss his flight if he doesn’t leave now. What are you boys whispering about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I chuckled and put my arm around Colt’s neck. “He just thinks the best way for me to find that special girl is to have a pool party. Baller idea.”

Colt groaned.

“Seriously.” I nodded. “Can’t wait to smack my noodle around those tubes, it’s going to be . . . so refreshing.”

Colt stiffened.

“Well!” I slapped his back. “I’ll see you guys on the other side! Remember, I left my will in the safe.”

“Bye!” Everyone waved but Jason.

“Look.” He pushed me away from everyone and slapped my back. “I know you’re pissed we forced you into this, but think of it as an extended vacation where you can really think about what’s important in life.”

I squinted. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes.” His jaw flexed as he looked down at his feet. “You can’t just sit around all the time. A man needs purpose, and maybe this is what you need to find yours.”

“A dating show?” I asked sarcastically, irritated that he was actually making sense.

“Enjoy yourself.” He nodded. “You never know, you may find the one, and in my mind that’s the easiest way to find direction . . . a woman can motivate a man to do anything.”