Page 1 of Crossed Lines

1

Luke

“Do you have to be shirtless right in front of me?” I glare up at my roommate from the kitchen floor.

A dirty cleat sits in my lap, its spotless twin placed carefully on my other side, and I scrub it harder with a rag. This is such a stupid forfeit, but I’d rather jump off a cliff than not hold up my side of the bet.

“You know you love it.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I scoff, shaking my head. “Whatever, man. When can I stop doing this? Your cleats are stinking up the kitchen.”

Spencer shrugs, unfazed, and swallows the last of his protein shake before tossing the bottle into the sink. His answering grin is wicked, showing off slightly crooked teeth. The bastard’s probably getting a kick out of seeing me like this, sweaty and racking up aches on the floor.

He leans against the counter and adjusts his gray sweatpants to sit lower on his hips. His bare chest shines like a beacon, tight muscles shifting under planes of pale, smooth skin. It’s distracting.

Spencer Hall is distraction incarnate. Every part of him commands attention, from the glinting sword piercing throughhis helix and the row of rings decorating both his knuckles, to his dark brown hair cropped close to his skull.

“Told you I’m a god at video games.”

“You pretended you sucked at this one so I’d let my guard down, asshole.”

It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have taken him up on the bet when we both knew he could beat me with his eyes closed. But he’d looked so smug it made me want to put him in his place. Sighing, I give one last cursory swipe of both cleats with the damp rag and get up, dusting off my workout shorts.

“Next time get someone else to clean your stupid lucky cleats.”

I fling the dirty rag at his head. It would have hit its target, but a hand darts out and easily snatches it mid-air. Another grin, this one wide enough to catch a glimpse of his sharp canines.

“I hate you,” I say. It’s a lie, and we both know it. But Spencer’s never been one to let things slide.

He prowls towards me, body shifting like a jungle cat, until he’s in my personal space with no intention of leaving anytime soon. I bite my lip, trying not to inhale too deeply.

But it’s no use. The smell of cedarwood, smoke, and faint orange has already permeated our apartment. This close, it’s intoxicating.

He’s not much taller than me, but the extra height means I have to tilt my head up to meet his gaze—a fact he takes great pleasure in exploiting. Like the rest of him, his eyes are piercing, a vibrant cornflower blue surrounded by dark brown lashes as thick as any girl’s.

We’re way too close. It’s almost like I’m back in that room with him, at the dorm party that changed my life. Neon blue light, the acrid smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke, his ripped jeans unzipped at the crotch. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory.

“Say it again,” he says, low and rumbling. “This time like you mean it.”

“Back off, man.” For a split second I forget he’s shirtless and press my palm to his chest to shove him away, but bare skin meets my fingers. I snatch my hand back like it’s been burned. “And could you put on some clothes?”

Spencer chuckles, a deep sound from the base of his throat. It would almost be nice, if he wasn’t laughingatme. For the three years we’ve known each other, he’s taken great pleasure in flirting with me every chance he gets. Teasing the straight boy must be fun.

I give as good as I get, though, and we’ve fallen into an easy routine of trying to irritate each other.

It didn’t start off so nice. The night we met I learned pretty quickly that Spencer Hall is as arrogant as he is a knockout soccer player. Unfortunately for me, he’s also my closest friend.

Somehow, after that rough start, we managed to settle our differences and now we get along. For the most part. He’s still Spencer Hall, and I’m still Luke Howard; I think us arguing is written in the stars.

Clearing my throat, I step out of range—being that close to Spencer is like being in orbit, and every part of me wants to drift closer despite the danger of exploding—and grab my training bag from the couch. Spencer watches me the entire time, an amused smile on his lips.

This one is different from his hunter’s grin. It’s softer, more affectionate. Heat flashes in my lower stomach and I force myself to turn away from him, shoulders tight with tension. He’s always known how to push my buttons, make me forget what I’m supposed to be doing.

But there’s no room for mistakes, either on or off the pitch.

If we’re getting to the Collegiate Summer Soccer Championship finals, I’ve got to bring my A-game. I’m not justdoing it for me—I’m winning for my dad. And my mom’s spirit, beyond the grave.

If only I wasn’t living with the biggest distraction ever to grace the earth.

---