Page 12 of Crossing the Top Line

I yelp and turn at the sound ofhisvoice, finding Spencer Black staring at me from the other side of the kitchen island. The light from the setting sun that filters through the sheer curtains paints his face in strong oranges and pinks, highlighting his absurdly sharp cheekbones. The water is still running as I freeze, not sure what to do with my…everything.

“You look good. New Orleans has been good to you,” Spencer drawls, leaning on his forearms on the counter.

I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or just being back in his hometown, but the hint of Cajun drawl I remember in his voice is stronger now. And fuck me sideways, but my heart kicks a little harder in my chest, my instincts reacting to him even as my mind revolts.

“Better than you ever were,” I snap, mouth working before my brain.

Spencer sighs and lets his head hang for a moment before looking back at me. His eyes are dark in this light, and his hair is curlier than ever after being exposed to the heat and humidity. I shift a little on my feet as he continues to stare at me, almost like he’s waiting for something.

“Yeah, I guess I deserve that,” he sighs at last, straightening and running a hand through his hair.

The anger and bitterness that I’ve been suppressing for the last six years burns hot and acidic in my chest.

“You guess?” I repeat, spitting the words like a cobra might spit venom.

“Okay, yeah. Listen, I know things ended badly—”

“Understatement of the century, Black,” I snarl, cutting through his platitudes.

I swallow hard, trying to remember all of the very good reasons I couldn’t rip Spencer Black a new asshole right now, even if he deserves it. Chief among them being I was a guest in this house, and even if I’d rather swan dive into a volcano, we still have to work together for the foreseeable future.

“What do you want, Spencer?” I ask calmly, setting my shoulders.

He pauses, looking at me again like I’m a puzzle to solve. I keep my face placid, not giving him anything. When the silence stretches for several agonizing heartbeats, I turn and shut off the tap with a sigh. I should know better than to expect a straight answer from this alpha. I start to walk back toward the party, but Spencer grabs my arm as I pass him. Whipping around, I look up into his face, ready to let loose the angry words sitting on the tip of my tongue, but then I stop. His eyes are so blue, like the deepest lake or ocean. And his scent, fuck me. My mind might have forgotten how good he smells, but my body sure as shit didn’t. The cool, crisp spearmint and blackberry smell of him makes my knees turn to jelly, and I sway, thrown off balance.

“I just want to talk,” Spencer says, words barely above a whisper.

I clear my throat and try to pull away, but Spencer’s massive hand holds tight, not letting me retreat. Closing my eyes, I try to take a deep breath, but that just brings more of his scent into my nose. My mind swims with memories, his hands on my body, his moans in my ears, his purr rattling my bones, and then the emptiness of the nest when he left me.

As I open my eyes, I steel myself. Gritting my teeth, I put both of my hands on his chest and push with all my strength. Thankfully, he’s caught off guard enough that I manage to move him back two stumbling steps. He releases my arm, and I put more distance between us before he can recover.

“Actions speak louder than words,” I snap before turning on my heel and storming back out into the yard.

And for the first time this evening, when I join Dallas and Henrik in conversation and Elijah magically appears at my side, I’m glad for his presence and how easy it is to laugh when he’s around.

TheridehomefromDallas’s party is a soft blur, the edges of my senses dulled by the alcohol I’ve consumed tonight andher.

Victoria Strauss.

I’m practically vibrating in the passenger seat of Oliver’s SUV, bursting at the seams to talk to him, to get his opinion of the charming little omega we met tonight. But even tipsy, I know better than to talk openly about this sort of thing in front of Spencer. He seems like a chill guy, but we’ve barely known him for two weeks. I’m not going to spill mine and Oli’s biggest secret just yet.

Thankfully, once we pull into the garage under our house, Spencer simply grunts a goodnight before disappearing up the stairs and into his room. Oli seems to sense my mood, because he lingers in the living room with me while we wait to hear Spencer’s door click shut.

He settles into the couch, one arm slung over the back, but I sit on the edge, my body turned toward him as a grin splits my face. When I open my mouth to speak, Oli cuts me off with a smirk.

“Yeah, I noticed her, too,” he starts, a warm flicker in his eyes.

“Do you think…” I trail off, keeping my voice low to prevent my words from carrying up the stairs.

Oliver sighs and scratches at the dark stubble that dusts his strong jawline. I know he’s going to shave it soon—he always does right before the season starts—but I wish he wouldn’t. He’s gorgeous without facial hair, but there’s something…wild about him when he’s got a beard. Like his outside is finally matching his insides.

“From what I was able to gather from the other guys, Tori isn’t like other omegas we’ve met before,” Oliver goes on in a low murmur.

I sit back a little, my lips twisting to the side in thought. Oliver and I might have had more than our fair share of experience with omegas in the past, and they’ve all run the gambit of personalities. Sweet and docile, loud and demanding, greedy and toxic, and pretty much everything in between. How different could Tori possibly be?

“Did you know that she’s Jack Strauss’s daughter?” Oliver comments, something like admiration in his voice.

I wrack my brain, the name not ringing a bell immediately. But after a moment, Oliver puts me out of my misery.

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