Page 44 of Crossing the Top Line

“Woah, who pissed in your Cheerios?” he answers, not missing a beat.

I take a breath and look over at Tori, finding her entire body twisted away from me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stares out of the window. Whatever heat there’d been between us a moment ago has well and truly dissipated. And the curl of her spine, the way she’s ducking her head to make herself as small as possible turns the arousal in my gut to sour acid.

“That’s not—what’s going on?” I ask, glaring at the road.

“I wanted to know where you were. We’re done and I’mstarving,” he answers, moaning the last word.

I glance around and recognize some of the buildings. We’re close to the arena, closer than I would like. I know Eli well enough to know that if I tell him that we’re on our way, he’ll ask how long, and there’s no answer I can give that would end well. If I lie, and give him a large number, Tori might get pissed, if she’s not pissed already. If I tell Eli the truth, then I’m going to have to leave Tori before we can talk about what just happened.

“Be there in a few,” I say after another tense heartbeat of silence.

I don’t bother saying goodbye as I hang up, turning to Tori as I come to a halt at a stop sign.

“Tori—”

“Turn here, and it’ll put you right in front of the arena. It’s only two blocks away,” she snaps, voice cold.

Well, that answers that question. I grunt a reply and take her direction, knowing better than to push. We’re silent for the rest of the very short drive, and I hardly put the car in park before Tori has her seatbelt off and is pulling on the handle. I try to shout for her to come back, but before I can even form the words, she bolts, slamming the door soundly.

Growling to myself, I run a hand roughly through my hair. I wasso close. If we’d had a few more minutes, maybe…

I don’t get to consider what might have been for long, as the sound of the trunk opening pulls me out of my sulking. As I manage to tuck away my sour feelings, Eli slides into the seat where Tori was not a few minutes ago. I wonder if he can smell the sugar and rich florals lingering on the leather. If he does, he doesn’t show it. Spencer, however…

I watch his eyes widen through the rearview mirror, his face unreadable other than the flaring of his nostrils. He looks up and we lock eyes for a moment, a low rumbling growl spilling from his chest before he gains control of himself. Eli’s still chattering away about the afternoon skate, but I’m only half listening. I dare Spencer to say something with my eyes, to ask why Tori’s scent is so strong around us. But he looks away, leaning back into the seat as he turns to stare out the window.

The petty, jealous part of me hopes he imagines me fucking Tori right where he’s now sitting. God knows I’m going to any chance I get.

“No cuts were made today. I don’t know what’s taking Coach so long,” Eli is saying as I tune back into the one-sided conversation he’s holding.

My stomach drops like a lead weight, and my nerves flare to smother any lingering longing or jealousy. Fuck, I’d forgotten about that for a few blissful moments. But now I’m crashing back into reality. Maybe it’s for the best that nothing happened today between Tori and me. Eli is more easy-going than I am, the one to initiate our pursual of romantic partners outside of our relationship. He can do casual hookups and doesn’t fly into fits of jealous rage whenever the object of his attention so much as looks at another man. I’m the exact opposite in almost every way. I know that one touch of Victoria Strauss will have me hooked like the worst sort of drug. If we’d done half the things I’d imagined doing today, and then I got sent back to Shreveport, I wouldn’t be able to go back to normal. She’s altered my mind so much already, and it will only get worse if I don’t rein it in.

So, for now, I’ll have to resign myself to my imagination. Though I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to sustain myself with fantasy and hope.

I’mdozinginbed,working up the resolve to get my ass in gear and tackle my inbox, when the first text message pings on my phone screen. Frowning at the unknown number, I try to place it before I open the message. I have to be wary of this sort of thing because I use my phone for work, and I’d be six kinds of fired if I fall for a phishing scam. But my caution falls away as soon as I see the picture.

“For fuck’s sake,” I hiss out loud, pinching the bridge of my nose even as I fight a smile.

Elijah is in the foreground, taking a selfie with Oliver. Judging by the motion blur and prominent tattooed middle finger, I’m pretty sure Oliver wasn’t exactly a willing subject. I can see the navy-blue faux leather seats behind them, the only light coming from a dim overhead reading lamp. I glance at the time in the corner of my screen. Right on schedule.

Unknown: Wish you were here!

I add Elijah’s number to my contact list before replying.

Me: How did you get my phone number?

Elijah: You didn’t give it to me, so I had to enlist the help of some charming little birdies to fetch it for me.

Me: Tell Oliver I’m going to post that picture you just sent me if he gives my number out to anyone else without asking me first.

There’s a pause, and I let out a resigned sigh. Any residual tiredness I’d felt a few minutes ago is gone. I’m going to need at least two cups of coffee to deal with this development.

I’m granted a half hour of peace and quiet to get my morning routine done, and I’m sitting down at my office desk when my phone pings with another message. But I’m surprised to see it’s not Elijah this time.

Oliver: Sorry about Eli. He went snooping through my phone when I wasn’t looking.

Me: Are you going to try to sell me a beach house in Kansas next?

Oliver: I’ll make it up to you when we get back.

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