Crossing the Line

by Kendall Ryan

  “Yeah, it’ll put some hair on your chest. Or whatever the girl equivalent of that is. Take it one sip at a time.”

  While we watch the sunset begin outside the kitchen window, Lolli and I make small talk, covering a variety of topics.

  I can’t even concentrate on the words coming out of my mouth. Because although I may have ditched my wet clothes, I can’t ditch the feeling that whatever just happened between Asher and me was more than just a little poolside prank.

  It shouldn’t have meant anything. I gave him a hard time about not wanting to do his cannonball, so he retaliated by dragging me in with him. Simple as that.

  So, why am I still reeling?

  I knew coming into this trip that I’d be dealing with a smoking-hot patient. What I didn’t know was that putting my hands on his muscular chest would leave my fingertips buzzing well over an hour later. There’s no doubt that the sexual chemistry between us is very real, and I’m starting to think it’s not just coming from my side. Thinking about the hungry way he looked at my mouth makes my toes curl even now.

  That, or I just really, really need to get laid. It’s been too dang long.

  As the sun sinks lower and lower in the sky, I’m surprised to find the amount of Lolli’s special juice in my glass getting lower too. When Lolli notices, she refills it without a second thought. I think grandmothers are allergic to empty glasses and empty plates. Even when Tad and Steve wander inside to grab hot dogs and buns, announcing they’re firing up the grill, Lolli and I keep at it—enjoying girl talk and some quiet time inside.

  “And then I told him, ‘Listen, buddy, I’ve got a full life here. I don’t need an elderly Prince Charming to save me,’” Lolli says with a laugh, and I realize that I haven’t been paying nearly close enough attention to her stories.

  Gradually, the other family members start to filter inside too. Mosquitoes are starting to bite, and the little ones are up past their bedtimes. Come to think of it, as I approach the bottom of my second glass of whatever the heck Lolli is serving me, I may need to go to bed soon too.

  But when Asher walks through that sliding glass door, his tan line peeking out from above the elastic of his swim trunks, I have a little bit of a different idea about what bedtime might mean for me tonight. Maybe we can take the chemistry I’ve been feeling for a spin.

  Draining the last of my drink, I stand up on slightly wobbly legs, trying to mask the fact that I’m definitely feeling the alcohol in my system. Asher has already headed upstairs, so I quickly thank Lolli for the drinks, say a general good-night to anyone else hanging about, and head straight for the bedroom directly across from mine.

  “Long time no see,” Asher teases when I step into his doorway. He traded in his swim trunks for a pair of basketball shorts, but he’s still shirtless, and it’s a full-time job to keep my eyes off his defined pecs.

  “Lolli and I got caught up talking. And drinking,” I say, swallowing a hiccup after my confession.

  He chuckles to himself. “That special juice of hers will sneak up on you. You’re gonna sleep like a rock tonight.”

  I fiddle with a strand of hair that’s fallen loose from my messy bun as I take another step into his room, pushing the door closed behind me.

  His blue eyes narrow to a squint. “Is everything okay, Bailey?”

  Pulling in a deep breath and harnessing the power of liquid courage, I close the distance between us and press my palm against his chest. Yup. There’s that buzz in my fingertips again.

  “More than okay.”

  Asher gazes down at my hand, tensing a bit at my touch. His face is so handsome and sculpted and curious.

  Curious about this moment. Curious about me. About us.

  And I am too. I want to know what his lips feel like pressed against mine. I want to know how his tongue tastes when it touches mine. What those huge, calloused hands would feel like moving over my skin.

  A slow, shaky exhale escapes his lungs as he places his hands on my waist.

  This is it. I’m sure of it.

  And then, just as I’m about to do what I’ve wanted to do for so long, he pulls me tight into a hug, squeezes me once, then lets me go.

  “You should go to bed,” he says, his voice matter-of-fact.

  My brows knit into a tight line born of equal parts disappointment and confusion. “What, you don’t want to?”

  “Of course I want to,” he says with a sigh. “I mean, fuck, look at you.” His gaze rakes over my curves, a low, quiet growl building in the back of his throat.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that I can’t cross that line with you, Bailey. Not like this.”

  “Like what?” There’s a twinge of annoyance in my voice.

  He heaves a sigh. “You’ve been drinking. And more than that, you’re my . . . caretaker. We can discuss this more tomorrow, but right now, we need to get you to bed.”

  My gaze flicks between Asher and the queen-sized bed behind him. There’s more than enough room for the both of us.

  “Your bed,” he says firmly, reading my mind. “Please don’t make this any harder than it already is. Come on, I’ll meet you in there.”

  Reluctantly, I sulk off to my bedroom, not bothering to change before slipping underneath the fluffy coral comforter. Asher appears moments later, a tall glass of water in one hand and two aspirin in the other.

  “Here. Take these. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

  I do as I’m told, then finish the glass of water.

  “Good girl.” He takes the now empty glass, refills it in the bathroom sink, and leaves it on the nightstand “just in case.”

  “Anything else I can get you?” he asks.

  I would respond “a kiss good night” if it weren’t for the fact that I’m already half-asleep.

  • • •

  When I wake up, the sun has already climbed up a good portion of the sky.

  I barely made it back to my room last night without falling asleep on my feet. Meaning there’s no way I set an alarm. But if my body woke itself up on its own, I know that I’ve clocked more than my necessary eight hours.

  The clock on the bedside table tells me the good news . . . and bad news. It’s ten freaking thirty. Which means I got almost eleven hours of sleep.

  Holy REM cycle. I haven’t slept this many hours straight since before I started med school. During med school, I’d be lucky to get that many hours combined over the course of three days.

  Whatever was in Lolli’s special juice knocked me on my butt last night and is giving me one hell of a headache this morning. But it’s nothing a little aspirin can’t fix.

  I roll out of bed and reach for my toiletries bag to see if I packed any. Although I’m sure there’s some in my medical supplies for Asher if I need backup.

  And then the memories start coming back to me.

  Asher. The aspirin. His room last night.

  Oh no.

  My cheeks instantly go hot. Was Lolli’s cocktail secretly a love potion? Because I obviously had no self-control last night. Could I really not make it two freaking nights into this trip without coming on to my patient?

  I change out of the clothes I fell asleep in and into a fresh pair of denim shorts, a sports bra, and a comfy tee before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

  My plan is to swing into Asher’s room and apologize before I have to go and face the rest of his family, but when I step into the hall, his door is open and the room is empty. Shit. He’s up and about already while his medical supervision is too busy sleeping off a hangover. Just peachy.

  I head to the kitchen, where there’s still no sign of Asher, although there is a fresh pot of coffee and plenty of bagels and cream cheese up for grabs. Tess and Steve must have come by early this morning, because she’s already finished all the dishes from breakfast and is sitting at the table, sipping on coffee.

  “Good morning, Bailey!”

  Her voice is cheery, although louder t
han my hungover self would like. Still, I give her a smile as I pick out a blueberry bagel and pour myself a mug of coffee.

  “Have you seen my patient yet this morning?” I ask, taking a seat next to her.

  She tilts her head toward the window. Outside, Asher is coaching a game of touch football with his nephews in the sand, giving out instructions on the best way to snap the ball. I guess he’s just as good with his nephews as he is with his nieces. It’s sweet.

  “He’s really a sweetheart, you know,” Tess says, probably responding to the smile tugging at my lips.

  This woman is perceptive. Or maybe I just wear my heart on my sleeve.

  I nod. “He’s a good guy.”

  “He’s not the wild child the media makes him out to be,” she says. “We’re all hoping he’ll find the right girl who will see through that stuff. Someone who will make him want to settle down.” The knowing look she’s giving me over her mug nearly makes me choke on my coffee.

  “Oh. No,” I manage to say between coughs. “I’m not—he isn’t—we’re just friends. I’m about to start my residency, where they’ll be training me to take over as their primary internist in a few years, and . . .”

  Tess nods. “You’re a busy gal.”

  “Exactly. Too busy for a relationship, for sure. But—” Then I stop myself before I say, But not too busy for a hookup.

  Yikes. It’s probably not a good idea to let it slip to your patient’s mom that you want to ride her son. My bad.

  “But I’m sure he’ll meet the right girl someday,” I say instead. It’s a solid save, but she’s clearly not convinced.

  “It always happens when you’re not looking,” she says, her voice filled with cheer.

  But before I can ask her to elaborate on that thought, Asher comes through the sliding glass door, making a beeline for the fridge.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.” He grabs a bottle of water and downs it in three long gulps.

  Tess takes the opportunity to not so subtly drop an excuse about needing to find Steve, leaving the two of us alone.

  Asher grabs a bagel and snags the seat his mom was formerly occupying. “How much of last night do you remember, cutie?”

  He’s grinning at me, and I suddenly want to die. Like, literally fall into a sinkhole and never be seen again. That would be perfect right about now.

  I groan, burying my face in my hands. “All of it, unfortunately. Two of Lolli’s cocktails may have made me bold, but my memory is sadly quite intact.”

  He whistles under his breath. “You had two? One is the limit on those things. Even for me.”

  “That would’ve been good to know before, Ashe.”

  “Whoops. Sorry.”

  I bite into my bagel, buying myself a little time to work up even a fraction of the courage I had last night. There’s no putting it off. Might as well jump right in. Geronimo.

  “Look, we both know I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry for coming on to you last night. That was really inappropriate of me.” My eyes are cast bashfully down at what’s left of my coffee as I brace myself for whatever cocky comeback he has in store. Instead, what I get is a snicker.

  “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  Confused, I look up to find him wetting his lower lip with his tongue. It sends a flash of heat through me.

  “Let me be clear,” he says, his voice quiet but blunt, and his blue eyes filled with amusement. “The only reason I didn’t sleep with you last night was because you were drunk. So if you’re feeling equally bold tonight, come find me.”

  Holy shit. Am I delusional? Or did I just hear him right?

  I sit, slack jawed and wide eyed, staring at Asher, whose smirk is getting wider by the second. “Are you—are you serious?”

  “Serious about what?”

  It’s not Asher asking. At some point in the last five seconds, Tyson has appeared in the kitchen. He’s got his swim trunks on and a bagel in his hand, which he takes an enormous bite of as he blinks at us, waiting for a response.

  What is it with this family and interrupting?!

  Asher plays it off as gossip about our friend group, which Tyson accepts without further questioning, and moves on to the next topic.

  “Mack and I are going paddle boarding. You guys in? We’ve got four.”

  “I’m down,” Asher says, then turns toward me. “You in?”

  “I’ve never been.”

  “You’ll like it.”

  “We can teach you,” Tyson says. “It’s not too hard.”

  “Will I get wet?”

  The smirk returns to Asher’s lips. “Oh, you’ll be wet. I’ll make sure of that.”

  Tyson scoffs. “I think what this idiot means is, yeah, go get your suit on.”

  7

  * * *

  Kiss It Better

  Asher

  It’s our third day here, and I have a phone call with Trey scheduled to start in a few minutes.

  Bailey sits at the end of my bed, drinking coffee from a pink polka-dotted mug. Lolli’s favorite pink polka-dotted mug. It’s obvious Bailey’s won her over. If she’s drinking out of that mug, the one I’ve never been allowed to touch, Lolli’s allegiance runs deep already.

  It’s a little alarming, really.

  When we got back from paddle boarding with my cousins, I made a fresh pot of coffee and some eggs for me and Bailey to share. She was quiet as we ate, and it’s not like I could probe her for info with my family hovering nearby.

  I obviously said way too much when she tried to apologize for coming on to me last night, but I wanted her to know that an apology really wasn’t necessary. She’s gorgeous, and I’m totally feeling her vibes.

  But I don’t have time to process all that, because the phone starts ringing, and I accept the call.

  “How’s my favorite center doing?” Trey asks in lieu of a hello.

  “Hey, Trey. Just fine. The headaches are less frequent now, and my strain is actually starting to feel a little better.”

  “Well, that’s certainly positive news.”

  “Yep. Bailey’s here too, if you want to say hello.” I hold up my cell, which I’ve placed on speakerphone.

  “Hi, Trey.” Bailey moves closer, setting her mug on my nightstand so we can sit together near the phone.

  “Hello, young lady. How’s our patient been? Not too difficult, I hope.”

  Bailey looks at me and smiles. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Good to hear. How’s the strain coming along?”

  Bailey looks at me, waiting for me to show her my injury so that she can respond to Trey. Since the first day we arrived and she tended to me in the sunroom, I’ve avoided those deft fingers getting too close, well, to all the important parts, again, so she hasn’t actually seen it in the last couple of days.

  “Let me just examine him,” Bailey says, ending the long pause in conversation. “May I take a look?” she asks me, her voice lower.

  “Have at it,” I mutter.

  I lean back on the bed, propped up on my elbows, and watch as she hikes up the right leg of my shorts, running a warm palm up the expanse of my thigh. I suck in a ragged inhale when she moves my boxers to the side next, careful not to expose more of me than she should.

  The deep purple color of the bruising has faded into pinks and lavenders. I can’t help but see the concern written all over Bailey’s face as she gazes down at my injury.

  “Is the swelling down?” Trey asks.

  “In a manner of speaking,” I say, feeling slightly dizzy.

  It doesn’t take a medical degree to know a different part of my anatomy is currently swelling for an entirely different reason. Thankfully, Bailey doesn’t seem to notice, or she’s hella good at pretending she doesn’t notice.

  “Keep up the ice regimen and call me right away if anything changes.”

  “Absolutely,” I manage to say.

  When I finally look up, I find Bailey’s eyes are clear and bright and kind
. She likes this, being here. Helping me. Looking after my aches and bruised muscles. I like it too—way too much.

  “Feel better, bro,” a deep masculine voice calls from the background.

  Trey clears his throat. “That was Landon. I’m taping up his wrist.”

  “Ah, tell him thanks and will do,” I say.

  There are a few more shouts and well-wishes from a couple of the guys on my team in the background, which leave me smiling as we end the call.

  Bailey is watching me curiously, like she’s trying to piece something together. I wait her out, knowing she’s got something on her mind.

  Finally, she says, “This must be so different for you—being here, surrounded by all these women instead of the testosterone-fueled locker-room talk you’re used to.”

  “Yeah. A little, I guess. But this is how I grew up, so it’s normal for me. I’m fine with a little girl talk.”

  She smiles. “I could see that.”

  “Plus, I actually hate gender stereotypes.”

  “You?” Bailey’s tone is filled with shock. “You’re the manliest man I know, Mister Star Athlete. Mister Tough-as-Nails Hockey Player.”

  It’s funny to know that’s how she sees me. “Eh. Maybe? But, shit, I would happily stay home and cook and clean all day, and have a wife who’s the breadwinner.”

  “Hmm.” She considers this, still watching me.

  “And if I want to cry at the song ‘Over the Rainbow’, that should be totally acceptable.”

  She softens, leaning one arm on the bed beside me. “You’re right. It should. It’s a very beautiful song.”

  “Damn straight it is. As a man, we’re practically taught that it’s not okay to show our feelings and emotions.”

  “True, I never thought about it that way,” Bailey says quietly. She still hasn’t moved from her spot beside me on the bed.

  “Hey, thanks for being here. For all this. For looking after me.”

  Her lips part and she shifts her weight, so she’s leaning the slightest bit closer. “It’s really no hardship.”

  When I place my hand on top of hers, she doesn’t pull it away like I half expect her to. “Still. I appreciate it.” My voice has gone husky, and I can’t deny that we’re sharing some type of moment.