Page 17 of Crossed Lines

He lunges for the spatula, but I lean out of the way, laughing at his contrite expression. It’s so cute, I can’t help but wrap an arm around his waist and draw him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Luke lets out an indistinct noise and looks at me with wide eyes. I let go of him, smiling a little.

When we finally get back to baking, we settle into easy banter. There’s something about him that makes me feel calm and soothes the monster rising in my chest. I don’t feel like I have to fight and claw and kick with him.

With Luke, I feel free. Whatever this is, I don’t want it to end.

6

Luke

Grunting, I wipe my sweaty forehead and watch the soccer ball roll away behind me.

This isn’t working. Coach assigned a few solo drills for my two-touch passes, and I’ve been struggling to get through them, let alone do them well.

The training pitch is empty, fluorescent lights illuminating the turf under the night sky. I don’t know how long I’ve been out here, practicing until my thighs burn, but it feels useless. It’s like something’s blocking me from reaching the heights I know I can get to.

After our half-day of recovery, Coach had us in for a light training session. I blamed my distracted state on Spencer and the way he winked shamelessly at me every chance he got. Even Junseo had commented on it, grinning smugly. Assholes, both of them.

After brushing off Spencer’s offer to hang out after recovery—and firmly ignoring the way my stomach clenched at the look on his face—I took a lap around the swimming pool to calm down before heading out here. Now it’s just me, the open sky, and the ball. No Spencer in sight, and I’m still failing.

Heat prickles behind my eyes. I press my fists to them, willing myself not to cry. I’m not Spencer’s kid sister; I shouldn’t be spilling tears over stupid soccer drills.

The crunch of footsteps on turf cuts through my thoughts and I quickly rub a hand over my face. Hoping my eyes aren’t red, I whirl around to see a familiar tall figure in gray shorts and a tight black compression shirt.

He runs a hand over his buzzed hair, rings glinting, a slow smile spreading over his face. Even exhausted and stressed, Spencer looks good.

“What are you doing here?” I’m proud when my voice doesn’t tremble.

Spencer comes to a stop right in front of me. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Would’ve been here earlier but Coach dragged me into a meeting. You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” He steps closer, frowning. “You’ve been off all day. If you need to talk about anything, I’m always here, man.”

“I should be asking you that. You’re the one who disappeared this morning.”

When he finally returned to our tiny kitchen, it was as if he'd left some part of himself somewhere else. For a moment, he’d looked… lost.

I want to know what’s wrong so badly, it’s like an itch I can’t scratch. Contrary to popular belief, I do care about him. Everything is more bearable when he’s around.

Spencer makes a face. “That was nothing, just my brain being all fucked up. I’m good now, but you’re clearly not.”

Damn him and his big stupid eyes, and his stupid concern, and the stupid, sweet way he’s looking at me. Something hot splashes on my cheek, and I don’t realize I’m crying until Spencer is suddenly in my space, a large hand cradling my face.

“Please don’t.” His touch is unbelievably gentle as he swipes away the tears. “God, you’re killing me.”

“Sorry, I don’t even know why I’m crying. This is so stupid, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t be sorry.” He wraps his free arm around my waist, drawing me into a hug. “I’ve got you.”

We’ve hugged before, usually friendly bro-hugs or congratulatory chest bumps when we win a match, but this is different. He feels good and smells even better. All I want to do is melt against him and let my worries about everything—disappointing my dad, ruining the team synergy, messing up during the finals—fade away, until it’s just us. It’s the nicest hug I’ve ever had.

I sigh into his chest. “I keep missing easy passes.”

“You’re too in your head about this shit.” He presses a soft, closed kiss to my neck. “When you let yourself step back and enjoy the game, you’re amazing.”

Except how do I ‘enjoy the game’ when my brain won’t stop running through a dozen scenarios where I ruin everything?

“Maybe I should let Coach sub in Adams,” I say stiffly.

---