Page 13 of Crossing the Top Line

“Jack Strauss played for the Detroit Red Wings in the 1990s. He won them a couple Stanley Cups, and they’ve even retired his number,” Oliver explains.

I take his word for it. I don’t have nearly the depth of NHL knowledge that he does, having grown up in Sweden.

“Apparently, her and her dad are quite close. She’s probably been around more hockey players than we have,” he goes on, a chuckle lifting the end of his statement.

“Which is a good thing, right? She’s not going to be surprised by the day-to-day shit we have to do for this job,” I question, hope blossoming like carbonated bubbles in my chest.

Oliver hums his skepticism, but I don’t let that put a damper on my mood. I’d tried my best not to be a creep tonight, but it was hard to stay away from Tori. She was calm and confident all night, laughing at my jokes, and even though our interactions had been brief, I was able to pick up on her sharp wit and insightful comments in whatever conversation she was part of. And her scent…

Ever since my first training camp for the Mystic, I’ve been enchanted by the city of New Orleans. The history, the food, the people, all of it speaks to a part of my soul I didn’t know I had. And Tori smells like all my favorite things: sweet tea on a sweltering summer day, the magnolia trees in full bloom, salt and something spicy. A heat on my tongue that makes my mouth water for more. The only other person I’ve ever felt this drawn to is sitting just down the couch from me, and I can’t help but notice there’s exactly enough space between us for someone else.

“I tried to figure out if anyone’s ever seen her with a partner, but everyone always clammed up and told me to drop it anytime I got a little too insistent. I don’t know if they’re covering for her, or something else, but we’re going to have to tread very carefully if we want to actually do this,” Oliver says, his deep voice serious and dripping with warning.

My brow furrows at that, lips pressing together. It doesn’t exactly surprise me that someone like Tori has a locker room wrapped around her little finger, but something about Oliver’s demeanor gives me pause.

“Do you think she’s seeing one of the guys who wasn’t at the party?” I suggest.

Oliver shakes his head. “Owen said she doesn’t fuck with hockey players.”

I slump, disappointment turning all of the hopeful bubbles in my chest into uncomfortable knots. God, it would figure that the perfect omega would waltz into our lives, only to not be interested in guys like me and Oli. I’m in the middle of a pity party for one when I feel Oliver’s hand on my shoulder. I look up and find him closer now, our knees almost touching.

“I’m not ready to give up yet, Eli. I saw how she acted around you tonight, and I know you noticed it, too,” Oli whispers, fingers kneading into my shoulder muscles with expert precision.

I relax under his touch, nodding. He’s right, of course. I might be a Mothra sized social butterfly, but I still have eyes. I saw the way her gaze would linger on my face, my lips, my body before she would shake herself and retreat. There’s something between us, a spark or a connection, but getting her on board might be its own battle.

When I look up through my lashes at Oliver, my breath catches in my throat. Eyes like liquid pools of gold sear heat right into the pit of my stomach. His scent is strong with leather and saffron, making my skin break out into goosebumps. This is the closest he and I have been in the last few weeks, but my body wakes up in the length of a heartbeat.

“I want to try. Something about her just seems…”

“Right,” I finish when he trails off, inching closer until our breaths mingle.

He nods before leaning in and resting his forehead against mine, his hand sliding up my shoulder to cup the back of my neck. I close my eyes and simply breathe, letting him invade every corner of my consciousness.

“I’m tired, Eli,” he whispers, so low I’m not sure he even meant for me to hear.

“We can go to bed, if you want—”

“No. I’m tired of…”

I don’t let him continue, instead closing the distance between us and slanting my lips over his. He doesn’t hesitate to respond, fingers digging into my neck and holding me close for the few seconds of contact. When we pull away, we’re both breathless, and I can’t stop myself from smiling.

God, I’ve missed this man.

I lean back in, and he meets my kiss with more heat this time, and my cock stirs in my pants. It’s been so long since we’ve done anything, but I’ve missed him too much. We’ve been sleeping in separate beds, and I’ve missed waking up to his face, missed the scent of him on my sheets. So, when he tries to pull away, I clamp my hand around the back of his neck, holding him in place.

“Eli, we can’t…” Oliver pants between kisses, fading off entirely as I bite his bottom lip and pull it with my teeth.

“We can, but we’ll just have to be quiet,” I correct, nuzzling his jaw, kissing his scruff-covered throat as I go.

A low growl reaches my ears, and I smirk. But my mouth falls open on a silent gasp as he gathers a fist of my hair and yanks my head back, exposing the entire column of my throat for his tongue.

“I’m not the one who has to worry about staying quiet,” he whispers into my ear, his other hand finding my cock through my pants with unnerving accuracy.

I have to bite my lip to contain my moan at the first firm stroke of his fingers, eyes sliding closed. And when he undoes the button and zip of my jeans and grabs my cock again, this time with just my boxers separating skin from skin, I only barely manage to contain my shout of pleasure.

Oliver chuckles, a low, wild sound that sends a shiver up my spine. His hand squeezes the base of my cock, and my knot swells in response. He still has my hair in a tight grip, keeping me from looking down to watch his tattooed fingers work their magic.

“Pull your pants down and face the back of the couch,” Oliver orders in my ear, a snarl barely louder than an exhale.

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