Page 16 of Crossed Lines

It’s a few hours into the morning, almost afternoon. Kicking off my running shoes, I follow the smell to the kitchen, and can’t help but let out a laugh.

It looks like a bomb has gone off in here, if bombs were made of flour and coffee powder.

Every available surface is covered in cake squares, and a comically large bowl of peanut-colored buttercream sits on the counter by the sink.

Luke stands in the middle of the chaos, one leg on the counter, the other on his bare toes as he reaches for the top shelf of the high cabinets. He’s wearing a soft cable-knit sweater, the hem riding up a little and showing the sliver of skin right above the curve of his ass.

I’m behind him in seconds, pressing my chest against his back and crowding around him. He startles and slips off the counter, stumbling into me.

“What the—could you not sneak up on me like that?”

“I made plenty of noise, dipshit. What are you doing?”

“Baking.” He whirls around in the tight cage of my arms and glances at my bare chest. “You’re not wearing a shirt. Again.”

“Sue me. I showered at the gym and didn’t have a spare.” I grin at the look on his face, dipping low to nose along his cheek. “Is it bothering you?”

He scoffs but wraps his arms around my neck and draws me closer. My stomach flutters. This is the first time I’ve been this close with anyone I’ve already had sex with. Usually, one night is enough. We go our separate ways, I ignore them if I see them around campus and, in a few days, I forget they ever existed.

Sounds shitty, but both consenting parties agree to the arrangement. Sex is sex, not feelings. I don’tdofeelings.

But then why does my whole body light up when Luke looks at me like that? Like I'm the only person in the world he wants to be around?

Overwhelmed and determined to bring us back to familiar ground, I capture his lips in a rough kiss. His groan reverberates through my body. It’s easy to lick him open; he’s pliant and eager.

I pull away, letting him catch his breath. His eyes are closed, mouth slightly open and slick with spit. He leans forward as if chasing another kiss but seems to catch himself, eyes fluttering open. Humming, I cup his jaw to keep him close.

“Let me try.”

His hands still their exploration of my back. “You want to bake with me?”

“I want to do a lot of things with you.” I thumb his dark freckles, capturing his heavy gaze. “You’re my best friend, hanging out with you is fun. Plus, your voice does this thing when you’re explaining shit and it’s hot.”

His laugh is like music to my ears. I feel breathless staring at him, like I’ve swam across an Olympic-sized pool.

Maybe I lied earlier. Riling him up is only my second favorite hobby. Making Luke smile, seeing the corners of his eyes crinkle and the sweet lines around his mouth, means more to me than anything.

Luke places me in front of a bowl and shows me how to fold some new batter. We’re making coffee cake squares loaded with protein for the team, and the buttercream is peanut butter-flavored.

“Because I know how you are with protein stuff,” he says simply, like it isn’t a big deal. “You should like this combo, though.”

It’s impossible to stop myself from planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “What would I do without you?”

“Anything for the great Spencer Hall, star captain of the Harper Harriers and gift to soccer.”

His tone is sarcastic, but when I turn back to my batter, he’s rubbing his cheek, a slightly dazed look on his face.

Behind his prickly exterior, Luke’s a massive cinnamon roll. He’s the only guy I’ve let behind my walls, allowed to see who I am when I’m not the star soccer captain or the protective older brother.

“You okay?”

Clearing my throat, I grab the spatula from him and start folding the batter. He doesn’t need to hear my shitty thoughts. I’ve burdened him enough.

“Never better. Is this how you do it?”

Luke purses his lips. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“Fuck you, I’m doing it perfectly fine.”

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