Crossing the Line

by Kendall Ryan

  Various wines and bottles of local beer are chilling in ice buckets, and several pitchers of Lolli’s very potent special juice have been prepared. My mom took care not to mix them too strong, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Lolli sneaked in behind her and spiked them. A platter of cheese has been artfully arranged on the kitchen island with little edible flowers and bunches of grapes providing pops of color. Later, there will be a bonfire on the beach and dancing.

  No detail was overlooked, and no expense has been spared. I made sure of that.

  Mom handled all the planning, with Lolli providing opinions and direction, and I provided the credit card number. Lolli was firm in only one thing—that our presence here is the only gift she wants. And I sure hope she was serious about that, because despite my reservations about showing up empty-handed, that’s exactly what I’ve done.

  “Fudgesicles,” Bailey says, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. My family’s habit of made-up curse words has apparently rubbed off on her already. “I didn’t even think of it until now, but I didn’t get Lolli a gift.”

  I shake my head. “She requested no gifts. Our being here is enough. That’s all she wants.”

  Bailey frowns and waves one hand. “That’s just something women say. We don’t actually mean it.”

  Shit.

  “Is that true?” Mack asks, appearing out of nowhere from behind us.

  Lolli stops beside Bailey and gives us a wink. “It’s normally true.”

  Bailey chuckles, and Mack and I exchange a confused look.

  Wait, what?

  “But this time, it’s totally legit,” Lolli says, sounding decades younger. “There’s not a single thing from a store shelf that would have made me happier than having all of you here celebrating my birthday.”

  Bailey smiles, looping her arm through Lolli’s. “I think the birthday girl needs a special birthday cocktail.”

  With a chuckle, Lolli accompanies Bailey to the kitchen, while I wander over to check on Nora and the baby.

  Over the course of the evening, I stuff myself with tamales, flank steak, green-chili enchiladas, and enough queso to feed a small village. I chat with my mom and sisters. I dance with Lolli until Fable cuts in, and then I dance with her until Tad says it’s past her bedtime. All the while feeling Bailey’s eyes on me.

  Wondering what may happen later between Bailey and me is totally normal, right? Because the sex? It was totally hot. On a scale of one to I’m ready to get down on one knee and propose hot—let’s just say I’m marching through some uncharted territory.

  Does it scare me? A little, but I’m more concerned with how I can convince her to come to bed with me again. Although I realize in that moment that’s not quite right. Bailey was the one who propositioned me that first night. She let herself into my room with the intention of riding me like a bull at the rodeo. And I was so down with that scenario.

  As the evening passes, I’m happy to see Lolli’s smile has remained firmly in place. When it’s time for cake, though, she begins to look a little weepy. A thousand candles sparkle on top of the three-tiered confection with yellow frosting and pink flamingos piped in hot-pink icing. We sing horribly loud, and off-key while Lolli wipes her eyes with a handkerchief made from one of Pop’s old flannel shirts.

  Damn, I’ll admit I’m having a hard time keeping my own eyes dry. Bailey stands next to me the entire time, squeezing my hand. I’m not going to lie that my brain doesn’t start spinning ideas about someday having a love as deep as Lolli and Pops’.

  Over a slice of cake, I make a point to sit and talk with my dad for a while, since I don’t get to do that nearly enough. He asks a lot of questions about the team, and I enjoy talking hockey with him, even if I am bitterly pissed that I can’t play right now.

  A little while later, guests begin to filter out and retire to bed. When the party has died down and the band has packed up following their three-hour set, and most of the family has gone, I sit on the back deck with my mom, enjoying my first adult beverage of the evening. I haven’t had any dizziness or headaches for several days now, so I’m confident that the concussion isn’t a concern any longer. Bailey waves good-night to everyone and gives Lolli a big hug, then goes on up to bed.

  The grown-up inside me plays it cool, when all I want to do is sprint up the stairs after her and attack her mouth with kisses. Instead, I remain seated where I am, forcing my gaze down into my glass of bourbon.

  “So,” Mom says once it’s just us again. “You and Bailey?”

  “Nah.” I rub the back of my neck with one hand, really not wanting to have this conversation with my mom when I don’t even know what the hell is going on. “I don’t think so.”

  Her eyes soften. “Well, you’ll never know unless you try. I’ve never known you as someone who doesn’t chase what he wants. If Bailey is the woman you want in your life, then chase her with as much passion and determination as you did to get the hockey career you currently have.”

  I focus on my glass of bourbon and don’t say anything else. Mom’s right. When I want something, I don’t stop until it’s mine. Whether it’s playing for my favorite team, getting the position I want, buying the perfect apartment in the best part of Seattle. What I want, I’ve always gotten because I never gave up.

  And I want Bailey. I can’t and won’t deny that.

  But she made it pretty fucking clear that she doesn’t want a relationship. My job takes me on the road for more time than I’ll be home in Seattle. Her career is going to keep her ridiculously busy. On paper, we would never work. I know that. But I still want her. Desperately. Even if I’m not ready to admit that.

  “It’s not that simple,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.

  Mom releases a long sigh, still staring straight ahead. “I don’t want your father’s and my marriage impeding your decisions. We were young, and...”

  I hold up one hand, stopping her. “Mom, there's no need to feel guilty. I know you and dad are happier apart. I've made peace with that. Seriously, there’s no need to trudge up the past.”

  She hums, giving me a thoughtful look. “Okay. I'd just love to see you with a good girl at some point, Asher.”

  “I know, Mom. Me too.”

  “Someone you can bring home to the family. Someone like Bailey,” she adds.

  I press my lips together.

  Mom’s soft voice interrupts my thoughts as she stands up and places her hand on my shoulder. “I like her, Asher. I really like her. For our family, and most of all for you. If you want her, don’t let her go.”

  I watch Mom disappear inside as I finish the rest of my bourbon. But it’s not the strong liquor that swims through my mind, it’s the thought of the gorgeous girl upstairs.

  14

  * * *

  Bye-Bye, Certainty

  Bailey

  Seven days ago, I couldn’t have imagined the feelings currently stirring inside me. And I have one very hot hockey player to blame.

  Prior to this trip, my life was simple. Orderly. Everything made sense.

  I worked, I studied, I worked some more. I occasionally slept, and complained to my girlfriends about how single I was—but I knew what I wanted. And that was to focus on myself and my career. I’ve never needed a man, never need someone to complete me. I loved being an independent woman. It was part of my identity. Now, things are slightly cloudier.

  Am I still super excited about going home to start my residency? Of course. But the part where I go back to being just friends with Asher? That’s a little less clear in my head.

  How do you go back to being just friends with a man you've heard gasp out your name in a lustful groan? A man who is so sexy your stomach literally erupts with butterflies from a simple smile?

  It’s like I can’t stop looking at him differently now—this golden boy with his perfectly chiseled abs and his bright, playful eyes and his honey-colored hair. Now that I’ve witnessed his softer side, as well as knowing his rough-and-tumble hockey/playboy persona h
e lives by back home—well, it’s changed a few things.

  His warmth and affection for his family, even its littlest members, is so endearing. When I watched him working at opening a bottle of cranberry juice for his grandmother earlier, it stirred something deep inside me. Which is why I excused myself, said my good-nights, and rushed up to bed. It was either go up to bed, or else ravish him in front of his family. Even though I assume Lolli would be okay with that, it definitely isn’t how I want her birthday to be remembered.

  After brushing my teeth and changing into sleep shorts and a tank top, I crawl between the sheets. But sleep doesn’t come easily . . . and neither does the ability to turn off my thoughts of Asher.

  I loved just looking at him tonight. The clench of his chiseled jaw as he reacted to something Mack had said. The casual way he rested his bulky arm across one of my shoulders. The easy way his mouth lifted in a smile when Fable darted past. The love that sparkle in his eyes when he looked at his baby niece, Hannah. Not to mention that I can’t seem to forget the way he kisses—a kiss so firm and insistent and hot that my toes curl against the sheets even now.

  And then I have a terrible thought. A girl could fall in love with Asher very easily. Too easily.

  I have no idea what to do with that information, other than push it away faster than a hockey player can slap a puck into a net.

  15

  * * *

  Mixed Bag

  Asher

  After the party is over and the mess in the kitchen is cleaned up, I trudge up the stairs and let out a defeated sigh when I see that Bailey’s door is closed and there’s no light coming from beneath her door. I guess I have my answer.

  I’ll be sleeping alone tonight.

  Maybe it’s for the best. My groin still throbs, and I don’t particularly want to reinjure it. Of course, I wouldn’t say no if Bailey decided to join me later.

  I slip into my room without bothering to turn on the light. After using the bathroom, I brush my teeth and then shuck off my shorts and T-shirt, then crawl into bed.

  The memory of what Bailey and I shared in this bed slams into me, and arousal thrums low, heat stirring in my veins. I’m just considering jerking off when a warm body rolls over next to me, settling close.

  “Bailey?” I say with surprise.

  “Ashe,” she murmurs, rolling closer and placing one palm flat against my abs.

  My body responds immediately, my cock hardening at the first sound of her husky, sleep-laced voice.

  “What are you . . .”

  The rest of that sentence goes unspoken because warm lips press against mine in a sleepy kiss. I don’t get the chance to ask her what she’s doing here, but she makes it obvious, kissing me eagerly.

  Rolling to my side until our bodies are flush, I fit my mouth over hers and deepen the kiss. Bailey’s lips part, welcoming my tongue, and I groan deeply.

  But it still isn’t enough, so I push up onto my elbows, moving on top of her until I can cage her in with my forearms and press my throbbing erection right between her thighs. Bailey lets out a satisfied sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. I’m on the exact same page. It’s both a relief—easing the ache just a fraction—but not remotely enough to satisfy.

  But then Bailey does the most brilliant thing. She opens her thighs wider until I can fit the head of my cock right against her warm center, where I rub and grind and tease as her tongue flirts with mine.

  “Oh fuck, Ashe,” she whispers, her voice sounding breathy and desperate. “I want your cock.”

  “Yes, sweetheart. It’s yours.” Now. Tonight. Next week. Forever.

  That last thought should scare the shit out of me, but it doesn’t. Not even a little.

  Before I can plot my next move, Bailey’s hands are between us, working into my boxer briefs, pushing them down over my ass until her hot palm is working up and down over my straining cock.

  Fuck.

  It feels so damn good. A shudder races through me, and I let out a groan that Bailey drinks down. Holding my weight above her with one arm, I bring my other hand between us, pushing my fingers into the side of her underwear to rub her warm, wet heat.

  “We’ll be careful this time,” she says on a gasp.

  “So careful,” I murmur.

  Thrusting her hips up into mine, Bailey takes control, coating me in her wetness, and trying to work my dick inside.

  My relief is instantaneous. I like her in charge, and groan my appreciation. “Yes, sweetheart.”

  Bailey squirms, closing the gap between us until the head of my cock wedges just inside her snug pussy. It feels incredible, and her answering moan is the best sound in the world.

  Then realization slams into me like a freight train.

  “Condom,” I croak, my voice hoarse.

  “Right,” she answers, dislodging the best feeling I’ve ever had.

  I move off her, but only long enough to retrieve a condom and suit up. Once I’m secure, I lie flat on the bed and pull Bailey on top of me.

  “Ride me,” I say on a groan when she rocks against me teasingly.

  Barely a second later, Bailey is lifting herself up on her knees and finding the right angle to join us. She slides down slowly, allowing us both to adjust to the overwhelming sensations. It’s like being punched in the face—with pleasure, instead of pain. It’s way too much, and it’s fucking perfect.

  Bailey trembles on top of me as she slides all the way down until I’m fully buried in the tightest heat I’ve ever felt. I let out a monstrous groan as hot arousal flickers wildly through my veins.

  I place my hand on her hip to guide her, but Bailey doesn’t need any direction. She rolls her hips like she’s been training for this moment for years, rather than studying for a medical degree. Honest to God, if you told me she was a dick-riding champion instead of a medical student, in this moment, I would have believed you.

  Working together, kissing often, we race toward our release. When Bailey brings one hand between us to touch herself, I brush it away.

  “My job, sweetheart.”

  Her answering groan is audible. “Yes, yes, yes. I’m so close.”

  And I’ll get her there—that’s no question. But I’m still learning her body, still figuring out that slow, deep thrusts make her breath catch in her throat and her fingernails curl into my biceps. Tiny helpless whimpers fall from her perfect lips as my fingers continue moving between us.

  Then I feel it—the delicious squeeze of her body around mine. She leans over me, falling onto my chest. She nuzzles my throat, her lips scraping the stubble on my jaw.

  “Ashe,” she says on a low moan as her orgasm pulses between us, seeming to go on forever.

  I rock into her, pressing deeper, and the feeling of her tight heat squeezing me propels me over the edge. “Fuck, Bailey. It’s too good.”

  Cupping one hand against her jaw, I tilt her chin, fitting my mouth across hers. At the first hot sweep of her eager tongue against mine, I lose the last of my self-control. Thrusting into her in short, uneven strokes, my entire body goes rigid, ready to explode. Bailey murmurs encouraging things into my ear as I empty myself into the condom in hot, pulsing waves. I feel light-headed when it’s over.

  Holy hell.

  The intensity of what we just shared deserves to be acknowledged. But rather than talk, or cuddle, or even just lie together while we catch our breath, Bailey climbs from the bed and begins hunting for her clothes.

  “You can stay,” I say, sitting up to watch her pull on her underwear.

  “That’s okay.” She grabs her tank top. “I’m sure you’ll sleep better without me in your space.”

  I doubt that’s true, but her dismissal of this moment between us leaves me momentarily speechless. My mood sinks faster than a slap shot into an empty net.

  What the hell is happening?

  “Your leg okay?” she asks, glancing toward me.

  I nod absently. My leg is the last thing on my mind right now.

 
; A second later, Bailey presses a quick kiss to my mouth, and then leaves me there alone still wearing a damp condom.

  For as much heat had filled this room just moments ago, it now feels cold and empty.

  16

  * * *

  Catch Flights, Not Feelings

  Bailey

  “Ugh. Close, you bastard,” I groan under my breath.

  I feel like my suitcase is an impossible game of Tetris. Move a pair of shoes. Rotate my makeup bag. Try putting my shampoo in vertical instead of horizontal.

  I’ve been sitting on my bedroom floor packing for the last half hour, but no amount of rearranging, squishing, or pleading with my belongings has made everything fit. I’ve even switched outfits, trading in my T-shirt for a more structured top that was taking up more space. No luck.

  After resituating a pair of sandals for what has to be the tenth time, I put all the muscle I have into giving the zipper another tug. Nope. It still doesn’t budge.

  Why is it that everything always fits in my suitcase when I’m packing for a trip, but on the way back, it’s like my stuff has multiplied by ten? Add it to the list of things I will never understand. Along with black holes, the male metabolism, and, most recently, my feelings for Asher.

  I’ve had such an incredible time with him this week, both in and out of the bedroom. But this week was vacation, not real life. And in real life, I’m way too busy to make time for a relationship. My life is kind of like this suitcase—so filled to the brim that if I try to add one more thing, it just won’t fit.

  Let’s be honest, it’s not like Asher is relationship material anyway.