Crossing the Line

by Kendall Ryan

  She nods, a shy smile forming on her lips. “That’d be really nice, actually.”

  I can’t tell you how happy that one sentence makes me. “Have you eaten?”

  Bailey shakes her head. “I’m starved.”

  “I’ll order food, and then you can tell me all about your new job.”

  Bailey agrees, and while she opens a bottle of wine in the kitchen, I work on placing an order from the app on my phone.

  “What are you in the mood for?” I call, perusing the many options.

  “Anything. Seriously,” she calls back. Bailey returns to the living room with two wine glasses and a shy smile. “So, how’s the crew?” she asks. “Have you talked to your mom since we’ve been back?”

  I nod, accepting the glass of red wine she hands me. Bailey sits back down beside me and covers herself with a fuzzy throw blanket.

  “Yeah, I’ve talked to my mom and to Nora. Everyone’s good. Hannah is more adorable than ever.” I show her a picture on my phone, and Bailey lets out a soft sigh.

  She sips her wine, still scrolling through my pictures. There are at least a dozen of Hannah doing nothing more than sleeping, which shouldn’t be all that captivating, but I get it—I’m a sucker for the photos Nora sends too. “I’m so glad I got to meet them all. It was cool to see where you came from.”

  Then why did you ghost me? I think, but what I actually say is, “I texted you when we got back.”

  She nods, frowning, and hands my phone back. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy, but I know that’s no excuse.”

  “I get it. You have a full life. How’s the new job? Are you liking it?”

  Bailey lets out a sigh. “I do. I love it, actually. But, oh my God. The hours have been intense. Either that, or I still have a vacation hangover.”

  I chuckle. “I’m glad you’re liking it.”

  She launches into a story about Dr. Simmons and I listen attentively. I could listen to this girl recite the alphabet. I love the animated way she talks with her hands, and watching her changing expressions, the passion in her eyes.

  When our food arrives, I pull out the containers. “Your salad,” I say, passing her the container. “I ordered you a spinach salad with steak. Hope that’s okay. It has iron. That should be good for you.”

  She gives me a quizzical look as she accepts the container. “How did you know about the iron?”

  Running one hand over the back of my neck, I hesitate. “I, uh, actually texted Owen. The dude knows everything about a woman’s anatomy. I have no idea how; he just does.”

  Bailey smirks, forking a bite of steak. “Becca is a lucky girl.”

  “Hey now,” I say, pretending to be offended.

  She smiles at me. “If memory serves me correctly, you know your way around a woman’s anatomy just fine.”

  Damn straight. A surge of pride rushes through me, mixed with a hint of lust. I can’t help it. Anytime I think about us together . . . I get this weird floaty feeling in my chest, and my entire body aches.

  “I’d be happy to give you a refresher anytime.”

  Bailey laughs, the sound deep and throaty. “Maybe. Just not tonight.” She winks.

  “Noted.” I can’t help the smile that twitches on my lips. Being near her makes me happy. I can’t really explain it—it just does.

  After dinner, we cuddle and watch a movie on the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And even though we’re comfortably lounging on her sofa and the last thing I want to do is rock the boat, I’m dying to know.

  “So, can I ask you something?”

  Bailey turns her head, meeting my eyes. “Of course you can.”

  “I know you said you’ve been busy, and I’m sure you have been, but honestly, why didn’t you text me back when we got home?”

  Bailey weighs my words, pausing and releasing a short breath. “It was fun, right, but you don’t have to do all this.” She waves her hands as she says this.

  Okay, now I’m confused. “Do . . . all of what, exactly?”

  “Be here. Be all sweet to me. Pretend like we’re more than a hookup.”

  Her words are like a fist to the sternum. “I’m not pretending, Bailey.”

  “I guess I didn’t want to be in your way, cramping your style now that we’re home,” she adds with a shrug, and I can’t ignore the way she drops her gaze to her lap.

  My voice is barely a whisper when I respond. “Maybe I want you in my way.”

  She meets my eyes with a wry expression. “That has got to be the least romantic proposition of all time.”

  I chuckle, thankful that she made the move to ease the tension that was beginning to swamp her living room. “You’re right. That was pretty bad. Let me try again?”

  She nods, smiling. “The floor is yours. Woo me, Asher Reed.”

  I’m not even sure where to start, honestly. I didn’t expect to come here and bare my soul tonight. But when Aubree said Bailey was sick, wild horses couldn’t have kept me away.

  “I liked spending time with you.”

  With a tilt of her chin, she nods. “I liked it too.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper.

  I can’t let myself look at her mouth, otherwise I’m going to want to kiss her. And right now is about talking, not kissing.

  “It’s probably going to sound crazy, but I missed you this week. I got used to you being right across the hall. Got used to having you there to talk to. Used to you in my bed.”

  Bailey’s gone quiet on me, and I have no idea what she’s thinking.

  “Say something,” I tell her. “Whatever’s on your mind. I’m a big boy; I can handle it.” Even though I’ve just given her the go-ahead to crush me, I really hope she doesn’t.

  “Is it weird that I thought you were going to propose some type of friends-with-benefits thing?”

  What the . . . Is that really all she thinks of me?

  “Would you have said yes if I did?”

  Bailey shrugs. “It’s probably all I have time for.”

  I nod. That sucks.

  “But you want more?” she asks.

  “I want more.” It’s a statement, not a question, and my voice is sure.

  Bailey grins. “I like a man who knows what he wants.” She taps her chin thoughtfully.

  “I want you, Bailey,” I say, my tone filled with certainty, even though my heart is pounding so hard, it’s banging against my ribs.

  “You’ll have to work for me.”

  “Then buckle up, sweetheart, because I’m damn good at working hard for what I want.”

  The sound of Bailey’s laughter is like medicine for the ache that’s lived inside my chest for the past week. “I think I’d like to see that.”

  “I like you in a way that’s totally new for me, but I want a chance. I want to see where this could go, if you want that too.”

  Bailey’s full gorgeous lips twitch. “What did you have in mind?”

  My heart surges. “Let me take you out on a real date. Next weekend. Just you and me. Are you free?”

  “It’s a date.”

  I lean in, and when my lips capture hers, there’s a week’s worth of passion and fire poured into one searing-hot kiss.

  20

  * * *

  Giving it a Go

  Bailey

  I’m sitting on a breezy brick patio with my four best friends, perusing a brunch menu as thick as a chapter of a med-school textbook. It’s a rare sunny Seattle Saturday, meaning every outdoor table at this restaurant is booked all day. But thanks to Aubree, the queen of reservations, we snagged a table with only a day’s notice.

  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to decide,” Elise says, running her finger down the extensive list of skillet options. “This place is unbelievable.”

  “Yeah, Aubree.” Becca folds her arms over her chest. “Is there a reason you were keeping the best brunch spot in Seattle a secret from us?”

  A half smile tugs at Aubree’s lips as she takes a good lon
g sip of coffee, thinking over her response. “Honestly? Because if you knew this place existed, none of you would go to Saturday morning yoga with me ever again.”

  “Busted,” I say, raising my mug in the air. Everyone laughs, except Aubree, who pushes out her lower lip in a pout. “Kidding, babe. Yoga is fun. But, let’s face it. Nothing can compete with banana bread French toast.”

  Sara’s eyes widen in disbelief as she fumbles for her menu and flips through the pages. “Do they have that here?”

  “Yup. And you’d better believe I’m ordering it. I ate healthy all week. I need a carb hit.”

  When the waitress appears with her pen and notepad at the ready, I agree to share my French toast with Sara in exchange for a few bites of hash browns. Once our orders are placed, Aubree gathers up the menus and passes them off to the waitress, leaving plenty of room on the wrought-iron table for her to plant her elbows and lean into full-on gossip-mode position.

  “So, Bailey. What was up with Asher going over to your place when Aunt Flo had you bedridden?”

  Jeez. Way to call a girl out.

  I shrug. “It was nothing. He wanted to take care of me since I spent the whole week in Coronado playing doctor for him. He was just returning the favor.”

  According to the skeptical look on Aubree’s face, that answer isn’t good enough for her. “Really? Because the last time we talked about Asher, it seemed like you were the one who needed to return the favor.”

  The rest of the girls shoot me a totally confused look. I guess my best friend actually kept her mouth shut when I told her about what went down in San Diego. Or rather, who went down. I haven’t filled her in yet on the fact that I did, in fact, return the favor. And then some.

  “What are you talking about, Aubree?” Sara asks, getting no answers out of me, but Aubree’s lips are sealed too.

  I guess it’s my news to share, and there’s no time quite like the present.

  “Asher and I,” I say, then quickly realize I don’t know where I’m going with this.

  How many details do I really want to disclose? This patio is packed, and the family sitting at the table next to us doesn’t need to hear the details of my steamy SoCal hookup. Maybe it’s best that I keep it short and sweet.

  I gulp down my nerves and cut straight to the point. “Asher and I have a date this afternoon.”

  The table lets out a collective gasp, followed by an outburst of excited chatter, everyone insisting that they saw this coming before anyone else. I think I even hear Becca say something about Asher being my plus-one to her wedding. Give these girls an inch, and they’ll take a whole mile.

  “Don’t get too excited.” I motion for the group to simmer down, calming their excited chatter to a dull roar. “It’s just a date. Nothing official yet.”

  “Okay, but did you guys . . . you know?” Elise wiggles her eyebrows at me suggestively. “Did something happen in California that you haven’t told your girls about?”

  I empty a packet of sweetener into my coffee, keeping my focus there to avoid eye contact. “A few things may have happened.”

  Cue the excited chattering again.

  “Bailey frickin’ Erickson!” Elise squeals, high-fiving me from across the table. “I am so impressed. I knew you had it in you.”

  “He’d better be more careful with you than he is on the ice,” Becca adds on a serious note.

  “He is, trust me,” I tell her. “He can actually be really gentle and sweet when he wants to be. You should see him with his little cousins.”

  Elise claps a hand over her heart. “A guy that’s good with kids? Ugh. I’m such a sucker for that.”

  “And this is a date date, right?” Aubree asks. “Not just a booty call?”

  “Yep. A real, honest-to-God date. I thought it was just going to be a hookup to him, but . . .” I shrug again, feeling my cheeks go warm. “I guess we’re going to try it out.”

  “Okay, so I have to be a buzzkill for a second.” Sara breaks her relative silence, her brows scrunched together in thought. “Are you concerned about juggling a relationship with your residency? I worry about you getting overwhelmed.”

  “Trust me,” I say with a sigh, “worried doesn’t even begin to cover it. At this point, I’m practically a walking pros-and-cons list about starting anything serious. But . . .”

  I can’t finish my thought before my mind goes racing full speed back to Coronado. Every hair on my arms stood upright each time Asher’s wild blue eyes met mine from across the beach. And when he came to check on me last week, all it took was seeing him at my doorstep for my heart to fall right back into place. What we have is electric, and he’s willing to work to make me his. It would be a shame not to let him try.

  “All right, who ordered the banana bread French toast?”

  The uneasy feeling in my stomach is instantly replaced with pure hunger when the waitress sets my plate in front of me. Holy crap, this French toast looks like it was sent directly from heaven. One bite, and I’m convinced it was cooked by an angel.

  As we eat, the conversation shifts to wedding planning, and Becca launches into some ridiculous story about her future hubby requesting a dunk tank at the reception. It’s absolutely hilarious and totally something Owen would suggest, but my attention goes out the window when I feel my phone buzz twice in my purse. Just as I hoped, it’s a text from Asher.

  Hey, gorgeous, are we still on for today at 3? I’ll pick you up.

  Holding my phone under the table, I excitedly type out my response.

  See you at three! I’m so excited.

  I tack a smiling emoji at the end of the message, but just before I press SEND, I switch it to a red heart instead. It’s a tiny, silly change that might not mean much. But to me, that little picture of a red heart is worth a thousand words.

  Or really, just one little word that it’s too soon to say.

  • • •

  “Down in a sec!”

  It’s three o’clock on the dot, and my intercom just buzzed, announcing Asher’s arrival.

  “Actually, two minutes!” I push on the button again, yelling into the intercom. “Just give me two minutes.”

  I had the whole afternoon to decide on an outfit, and now seconds before walking out the door, I’m second-guessing every choice I’ve made.

  What do you wear for a date when you have absolutely zero clue what you’re doing?

  I’ve tried to keep my outfit as middle-of-the-road as possible. Not too fancy, not too casual. After trying on and rejecting about fifteen different outfits, I settled on my pink paper-bag shorts, mostly because they’re the exact same color as my bikini that Asher drooled over the whole time we were in Coronado. Paired with a tucked-in black V-neck top and a delicate gold necklace, I look cute, but not over-styled.

  So, why am I still fighting off a tidal wave of nervous energy? This is Asher. We’ve already slept together. Twice. Hell, he’s the one who’s supposed to be impressing me on this date, not the other way around.

  Yet, I can’t deny the lump stuck in my throat.

  Knowing that he came over to care for me cracked something open inside my chest. We may have started as a casual hookup, but dare I wish for something more? The possibility both thrills and scares me.

  With one final mirror check, I sigh as my buzzer goes off again. Shit.

  Okay, no more time for second-guessing. I can’t keep him waiting.

  Slipping my purse over my shoulder, I head out the door and down two flights of stairs, spotting Asher the moment I step outside. One look at him, and I’m instantly calm. Partially because he’s dressed casual too—he’s in black jeans and a gray tee, which is stretched tight across his chest. But also because with one flash of his gorgeous smile, I forget whatever it was I was worried about.

  As I make my way toward him, my breath catches as his bright blue gaze slips from mine, all the way down to my strappy nude sandals, then back up to meet my eyes again.

  “Hey there, gorgeous.” He
flashes me another smile and, to my surprise, pulls me in for a slow, gentle kiss hello.

  My heart flutters in response, even when he pulls back, giving me another appreciative once-over.

  “You look cute as hell, you know that?”

  My heartbeat thumps faster as I take in his compliment. “I clean up all right when I don’t have to wear scrubs,” I joke, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Now, are you finally going to tell me what we’re doing today?”

  “Well, since I know it can be hard to return to real life after vacation, we’re going to be tourists in our own city for the afternoon.”

  His tone is so matter-of-fact that, for a second, I almost don’t realize that his answer wasn’t really an answer at all. I still have zero info on what our day holds, and by the looks of it, he’s not leaving room for any more questions. Lacing his fingers with mine, he tugs me toward the crosswalk and across the street to where he’s parked.

  Asher’s shiny black sedan is easy to spot amongst the bikes and beater cars that line my street. I live in the university district, and most med-school students are a little more worried about tuition than their cars, myself included. Compared to my dumpy little sedan, his luxury car may as well be a stretch limo. Especially because he opens the passenger’s side door for me like a damn limo driver.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say with an eye roll. “I have two quite capable hands, you know.”

  “Oh, I know all about your capable hands,” he says through a smug grin. “But last I checked, I’m supposed to be wooing you. So, let me be a gentleman, will you?”

  I concede, sliding into the passenger’s seat, noting how clean the inside of his car is. I wasn’t exactly expecting smelly duffel bags—he’s trying to impress me, after all—but this car looks like he could have driven it here right off the lot.

  “Is this a new car?” I ask as he presses a thumb to the push start.

  He shakes his head, pulling a pair of aviator sunglasses out of the console. “I just got it detailed before I picked you up.”