Page 45 of Crossing the Top Line

Me: Is that a threat?

Oliver: It can be if you want it to be *sly face emoji*

My face heats as I stare at the messages, my stomach fluttering traitorously at the myriad of implications of that comment. Flashes of what happened in the car a few days ago zip through my mind, and I swear I can almost feel the weight of his massive hand on my thigh. I whimper at the phantom warmth, the coiling heat in my belly, shivers running down my spine as I remember the powerful orgasm I’d given myself once I was safely locked in my bedroom. I know better than to indulge myself in those types of fantasies, but the things I was ready to do to that man in the backseat of his car…

I shake my head before my mind gets washed too far down the gutter. Locking my phone screen, I place it face down on my desk, out of direct line of sight. Once I boot up my computer, I’m jumping into getting posts scheduled, comments answered, all the mundane parts of my job. I could do this stuff in my sleep, but today, I pour my whole focus into my tasks. Thankfully, my phone stays still and quiet for the rest of the workday.

I’m closing my laptop and pushing back from my desk when the first message in hours comes through. For a moment, I consider leaving it alone, but then curiosity gets the better of me.

Elijah: Rachel put the mic on me for tonight. Should be interesting.

My brow wrinkles in confusion, a little frown pulling down the corners of my mouth.

Me: Why? Everything okay?

Elijah: Oh, I’m good. But one of the Flyers we crossed paths with has a big mouth.

I chuckle, holding off from replying as I make my way out to my living room, thumbing through takeout menus. But my phone goes off again as I’m trying to dial my favorite Thai place.

Elijah: Is it hard to censor cuss words in videos?

Me: Not really, but we can try to cut around the worst of it. Is he that bad? Who is it?

Elijah: Think his name is Anders-something. He played in the A last season, and still has his panties in a twist about how we eliminated the Phantoms in the first round.

Elijah: And yeah. He’s even getting under Oli’s skin. So don’t be surprised if someone drops the gloves tonight.

Me: Don’t start anything you can’t finish.

Elijah: We both know how good I am at getting people to…finish *wink emoji* *kiss face emoji*

Elijah: Will you kiss me better if I do have to teach this bastard a lesson?

I’m going to pull a muscle if he keeps making me roll my eyes so much. I don’t dignify that last text with a response, putting my phone on my charger instead.

I don’t recognize the player he mentioned, but I’m not surprised that the chirping has started this early in the day. The Philadelphia Flyers aren’t in our conference or division, so we only play them once or twice a year. But their minor league affiliate, the Lehigh Valley Phantoms, is a division and conference rival of the Shreveport Krewe. You’d think that once a season is over, bygones would be bygones.

But I’ve never met a group of people who hold grudges longer than hockey players.

Tonight’s game is going to be a lot more interesting.

“Things are hot today in Philadelphia, ladies and gentleman. But we’re going back on the New Orleans Mystic Power Play, brought to you by Bart’s Office Incorporated, the official logistics partner of your New Orleans Mystic.”

Hot is a bit of an understatement, Gene.

I take a long swallow of my wine as I watch Dallas, Henrik, Alexi, Zemgus Ozolins, and Max Pettersson take their position for the faceoff.

We’re only ten minutes into the first twenty-minute period, and Elijah’s already drawn two penalties, tripping both times. I can see him in the corner of the frame getting checked out by the trainer, as he went down pretty hard the second time. But the camera pans away before I can see any more, following the puck as it cycles around the offensive zone.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out which player had a problem with Elijah. Anders Forrest has practically gone out of his way to get in Eli’s face any time they’re on the ice at the same time. Logan must have picked up on the tension, because he’s been putting Spencer, Eli, and Oli out more often than in the last few games, capitalizing on the distraction.

The puck slides all the way down the ice, letting both sides get a change in. Eli, Spencer, and Oli have Owen and Caleb with them as they regroup and go on the attack, moving as a unit up the ice.

It happens so fast that, at first, I’m not sure what happened, the goal horn ringing out to a booing crowd. Elijah’s at the center of a celebration pile in the corner, the boys patting his head and shoulders with their gloves before they head back to the bench. My face splits in a grin as I watch the replay. It’s a great goal, taking advantage of a distracted goalie. It’s so easy to get lost in the behind-the-scenes work I do for the team, but watching Eli and Oli, and even Spencer to a reluctant degree, play is like a breath of fresh air. Averyneeded breath of fresh air, if I’m being honest.

I turn to my laptop, my attention half on my television as I put together a post to celebrate the goal.

“Watch here, Gene, as Astrauckas passes cross ice to LeBlanc. The puck is on his stick, and thenboom! Quick shot on goal through traffic. Jokinson just gets his stick on it, going up over Lafaye’s shoulder,” Mike Martin, the color commentator, narrates to the slow-motion replay of the play.

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