Page 30 of Crossing the Top Line

“And you’re lucky we’re the same size,” she tosses back from the bathroom stall.

I laugh, holding up a dress. She’s not entirely wrong; we’ve been sharing clothes for about as long as we’ve known each other, but it’s mostly been her digging through my closet and not the other way around. She’s a few inches shorter than me, so things like this slinky black dress that would normally cover her with ease would end up with me flashing half the city every time I sit down. I toss it onto my reject pile before spying a top. It’s black, the modesty of the high neckline undermined by the mesh panel that plunges down the center.

Rachel opens the stall door, adjusting the hem of her blue bodycon dress before tossing her hair over one shoulder and making her way to the mirror.

I take my turn, shedding my work polo and slipping into the top, frowning slightly as I realize I’ve definitely worn the wrong bra for this type of shirt. But I’d rather have my bra visible than have to worry about my skirt riding up all night. I tuck the shirt into my pants, heading out to get a look at my whole outfit.

“You know what we look like?” Rachel asks, smirking at me through the mirror as she touches up her lipstick.

I give her a questioning quirk of my eyebrow, smoothing down my pants.

“We look like bitches who aren’t going to have to pay for a single drink tonight!” she exclaims, cackling at her own joke.

I laugh along because she’s not wrong. If it isn’t the players buying rounds, then it’s randos at the bar trying to buy their way into our pants with free drinks. But just like every other night out, I have no intention of taking anyone home.

Rachel gathers up her clothes into the duffle bag and we head out into the tunnel, heels clicking on the concrete. The crowds are long gone, and we spot some of the older players heading home. But there’s a small group gathered by the exit, talking and laughing. I recognize Owen, Caleb, and Max right away, and my smile grows. Rachel wasn’t kidding about the usual suspects. But as we get closer, I realize that Oliver, Elijah, and Spencer are also in the huddle.

My smile falters even as Owen exclaims a greeting. They’re all dressed in their slacks and shirts from earlier, the ties and jackets abandoned. Spencer catches my eyes, and I stare him down, refusing to look away first. The small talk around us fades into the background for a moment before I’m jolted back as someone says my name.

“I don’t feel like dealing with parking. Do you want to DD, Tori?” Rachel asks.

I turn to her, my smile perking up again. “Absolutely not,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

“I can drive,” Oliver offers.

I look at him as Caleb echoes the offer. His gold eyes are intent, and I’m pretty sure that a blind person could read the request in them. But I would rather slather myself in honey and jump into the bear exhibit at the Audubon Zoo than be trapped in closed quarters with Spencer Black.

“Shotgun in Caleb’s car,” I exclaim, turning my attention away from Oliver’s piercing stare.

There’s a groan from Owen, but I laugh, starting to walk down the tunnel. Bullet dodged, for now.

Ididn’tgetachance to go out on Bourbon Street before I had to move out to San Francisco, but I’d heard enough stories from my friends’ older siblings to develop a healthy wariness of the notorious section of the French Quarter. And it seems that all those stories had at least a pebble of truth to them based on how this night’s gone.

When Owen invited me out for celebratory drinks, I’d been promised that we’d be going to Pat O’Brien’s, a relatively chill Irish pub famous with tourists. And, yes, we did start there, but instead of relaxing in our booth, listening to the live jazz band, and just unwinding from the game, we found ourselves down the street at a karaoke bar.

I chuckle before taking a drink of the innocuous clear liquid in my hand, shaking my head as I watch the latest amateur and their mediocre rendition of “Eye of the Tiger.” I have a feeling he wouldn’t have been half bad if he wasn’t piss drunk and barely able to stand up straight.

“God, that second goal was unbelievable,” Max gushes from the seat beside me.

The girl on his lap, Emily, giggles and bats her false lashes at Oliver, who shrugs.

“And Coach said you wouldn’t get away with those moves from practice in a real game,” Caleb adds, laughing.

A bright, twinkling laugh reaches my ears, and I can’t stop myself from turning my attention to Tori. She’s been avoiding me all night, always finding some excuse to put distance between us and avoid being left alone with me. Which I’d been willing to write off as her being a professional while we both were on the clock. But this is after hours, so there’s no reason for us not to at least pretend to like each other. Maybe I’ve had a drink too many, but the icy sting of her cold shoulder is pressing more of my buttons than usual. We’re three seats apart, but right now, her attention is fixed on Max and Emily, her slightly glassy gaze assessing the omega’s every move. There’s no jealousy in her mismatched blue eyes, but there’s a flare of protective anger in my belly all the same.

“That’ll show him,” Eli adds, clinking the neck of his beer against Oli’s glass of water.

He leans back in his chair, throwing his head back and downing the rest of the contents, conveniently stretching an arm out over the back of Tori’s chair. And, even though I don’t want it to, there’s another pang in my chest as I realize she doesn’t move away from him. If anything, her eyes seem to sparkle in the multi-colored lights as she turns her attention on him for a brief moment. My eyes narrow slightly with suspicion as I watch her look my roommate up and down once, a small, sultry lift to the corners of her mouth as she assesses the alpha beside her. Maybe Tori’s kibosh on dating hockey players isn’t as strict as the guys are making it out to be.

Rachel lets out a long sigh, swirling the ice in her empty glass. “I want to dance,” she whines, turning to Tori.

I watch as the two share a look, a silent conversation passing between them at light speed. Then she looks at Owen, then Caleb, and then finally at me. I try to hold her attention for another moment longer, trying to see any sort of clue to her thoughts in her gaze, but she doesn’t give an inch, turning away with a decisive flick of her long ponytail.

“They just got drinks, Rach,” she says, a hand coming to rest on her friend’s bare knee.

“Oh my gosh, that sounds like a great idea!” Emily cries, sitting up a little straighter. “Maxy, can wepleasego dancing?” she begs, sticking out her lower lip in a pout.

Caleb chugs the rest of his drink before laughing, though I don’t detect much humor in the sound. “Yeah, Maxy. Let’s get out of here,” he snarks, setting down his drink with a little more force than necessary.

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