Page 32 of Crossing the Top Line

“You know what I mean,” he drones, sounding more disappointed than anything.

“No, I actually don’t. Because right now, you’re the one who dragged me out into an alley and won’t let me leave,” I fire back, lifting my chin defiantly.

“I can’t leave you alone because we work together. I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Do you?” he asks pointedly.

“Wha—that’s not—that’s not fair. I was here first.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I already regret saying them. This isn’t a swing on the elementary school playground we’re talking about.

Spencer gives me a withering look. “You’ll find that I was very much here first, sugar, considering I was born and raised here,” he answers.

Goosebumps rise on my arms at the sound of that pet name falling from his lips, a warmth blooming in my core that only irritates me more.

“Don’t call me that. And I was with the Mystic first,” I snap, working overtime to suppress all emotions besides righteous fury.

Spencer claps his hands a few times, and I consider stepping up and clocking him. My dad taught me how to throw a punch, but I don’t know if my hand would survive contact with those unnaturally sharp cheekbones.

“Congratulations. You beat me. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve signed a five-year contract. I can’t leave this team even if I wanted to,” he says, his Southern drawl coming out in full force now.

I open my mouth to respond but close it just as quickly. Okay. He’s got me there. And that only pisses me off.

“That’s not my fault,” I say coolly, as I do my best to look down my nose at him despite him being a head taller.

Spencer shoves his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, shrugging. “I’m not saying it is. But I’m saying that we’re stuck together. Pretending like I don’t exist isn’t going to change that.”

“I’m not—”

“Youliterallyrun away as fast as you can whenever I get within ten feet of you. Is that your plan? Are you trying to find a way out of this team?” he throws back, cutting off my half-baked protest.

My vision goes red along the edges, and I let out a low growl. Not that I can muster anything close to a true alpha growl, but it does get his attention.

“Absolutely the fuck not! I’ve worked way too hard to let someone like you waltz in and fuck up my life,” I snarl. Advancing a step closer, I raise an angry finger toward his chest.

Spencer quirks one eyebrow. “Someone like me? And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?” he asks, equal parts annoyed and amused.

I stop short, trying to figure out what I do mean. That he’s a hockey player? Maybe, but that’s not entirely the truth. I was born into a hockey team, raised by an NHL locker room, and have spent my entire professional career around hockey players.

“Well, you’re…you’re an alpha—” I start, but my mouth’s working faster than my brain.

Spencer cuts off my feeble retort with a loud, humorless laugh. “You don’t seem to have a problem with being around alphas, sugar. Or are Eli and Oli secretly betas? Because doping is strictly illegal in professional sports, and I would have noticed by now if they’re using bottled pheromones, considering I live with them,” he says, still laughing at me.

I snarl again, even as my body shivers with memories of how his voice used to sound when he called me that. Pushing that aside again, I step forward, poking him in the chest sharply. “Don’t fucking call me that. And no, they’re not faking anything. And they don’t have anything to do with whatever you’re trying to pull.”

Spencer’s humor fades into confusion, his eyebrows coming down over his eyes. This close up, I can see more of his face, though I almost wish I couldn’t. Especially combining it with the strong cloud of spearmint and blackberry in the shrinking space between us.

“Trying to pull?” he asks, voice as confused as his face. “I’m just trying to figure out a way for us to work together without making it painfully awkward for anyone unlucky enough to be in the same room.”

I snort derisively, straightening up and putting my hands on my hips. “And who says I want to work with you?” I sneer.

“I don’t think you can avoid it. It’s a long season, and unless you’re going to refuse to do your job—”

An affronted gasp escapes my throat, and I whip back around to stare up into his face. “How dare you! For your information, I’ve been doing a pretty good job of avoiding you so far. I’d be doing even better if you would listen to me and stop trying to force this buddy-buddy bullshit! After what you fucking did to me, I don’t want to be friends with you. Period. End of sentence. Full stop.”

It's Spencer’s turn to get angry, and I shiver again as a true alpha growl rumbles from his chest into the shadow of the alley. “After what I did to you? Look, I’m sorry about how things went down at the clinic, but—”

My laugh is equal parts angry and hurt, my heart aching at the casual dismissal in his words. “Sorry? You’resorry? You should be a lot more than sorry for the shit you pulled.” My eyes burn as my mind conjures images I’ve spent years trying to repress.

“I don’t know—”

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