Page 68 of Crossing the Top Line

“I’ve…I’ve never really donethisbefore,” Tori says, pulling her hand away from my grip to wave it vaguely between the three of us.

I glance at Oli, who gives me the slightest chin tilt of consent, before I turn back to Tori. “We’ve got experience in that department, and we can talk about that if you want—”

Tori shakes her head, and my words catch in my throat. I want to apologize for treading into a sensitive subject, but then she sighs, pulling both her hands away to cross her arms tightly over her chest. She looks back out onto the street, and I share a concerned glance with Oli, trying to figure out what to say next.

“It’s not that. I’ve never really had a…well, what I guess I mean is that I’ve never done…relationships. I’ve never had a serious boyfriend or girlfriend, let alone more than one at a time,” she mumbles, starting off strong, but then trailing off until her confession is barely above a whisper.

I laugh before I stop myself, because she’s got to be joking. Tori is beautiful, smart, driven, witty, and so many other things. The fact that she’s single at all still shocks me to this day, but to hear her say she’s never once had a partner is almost too bizarre to be true. But then she throws a glare at me, her cheeks darker and eyes glassy. My disbelieving smile fades as I look at Oli, but he seems just as shocked as I am.

“Wh-how?” I blurt out.

She lets out a sharp sigh and opens her mouth to answer, but then looks over my shoulder at something. When I turn around, I see a man in a stained apron heading our way with two trays. He sets them down in front of Tori and Oli, and I stifle a moan at the delicious smell wafting up from their sandwiches.

“You wanna order somethin’, you gotta go up to da countuh,” the chef drawls, and it takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying. It’s been a while since I’ve encountered someone with this thick of an accent.

“I’m good. Thanks,” I reply with a friendly smile.

The chef simply shrugs and walks away, humming to himself. I look back to Oli and notice the pile of French fries on his tray, which makes my mouth water. But I know we don’t have much longer before we have to be back at the arena, so I simply grab one of his fries and pop it into my mouth. Oli growls, but I roll my eyes and grab another. If he really wanted to stop me, he would.

“So back to this no-boyfriend thing. How, and I mean this from a place of utmost respect, thefuckis that possible?” I start, leaning on one of my fists while my elbow rests on the table.

She rolls her eyes, not looking at me as she shakes a rather alarming amount of hot sauce onto the fried shrimp practically bursting from the French bread bun. “I grew up with twenty-three adopted uncles around me, all of them in peak physical condition and not afraid to punch someone for looking at them or one of their loved ones wrong. Sort of hard to find a middle school boy who can handle that sort of intensity. And the few who could really only wanted to date me to get close to my dad. I thought it would get better once I went away to college, I had a few guys that would text me or grab coffee with me, but when I started as a Teacher’s Assistant for one of my professors, I had to be careful about guys trying to get with me to raise their grades so I sort of…swore off dating. And then…”

She trails off, setting down the hot sauce bottle gently and staring into the depths of her sandwich, like she’s trying to find what to say next within the mayonnaise, pickles, and breadcrumbs. But Oli saves her the trouble, taking her hand again.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything else right now if you don’t want to,” he says, the low rumble of his comforting purr making me melt right alongside Tori.

“No, I…want to. I just don’t know what I’m doing,” she replies with another frustrated huff.

“Want to…be with us? As your first boyfriends?” I ask slowly, watching her face closely.

She frowns, her forehead creased with thought. Neither Oli nor I speak, waiting for her answer. My stomach is tight with anxiety, and I brace myself for whatever answer might come next, good or bad.

“I think so. But I want to give it some time to even have that conversation. I don’t want to rush things.”

Oli gives me a warning look, not that I really need it. This is better than I could have hoped for. She’s not rejecting the idea of being with both of us out of hand, and she’s absolutely right that we need to talk and set boundaries and limits, especially if we want to give this a real shot. I want to lean over and kiss her, but she already looks liable to smash through the shop window and bolt, so I manage to contain my excitement. For now.

“Sounds like a plan. We can find time after practice when we get back for a good talk. Maybe we can take you out on a real date,” Oli says.

She looks up with a little smile, and my entire world brightens as she nods. Oli gives her hand a squeeze before allowing her to pull back and pick up half of her sandwich. Conversation picks up again, though the topics aren’t nearly as heavy as the previous one. I continue to munch on Oli’s fries, and even a few pieces of perfectly fried and seasoned shrimp when they fall out of his sub—or po’ boy as Tori quickly corrects me when I speak that mistake aloud. Once we finish and start to head back to the arena, I slide up beside Tori, letting my hand brush against hers until I softly wrap my pinky around hers. She looks down at the contact and then up into my face, her expression tight with alarm. I give her a reassuring smile but let go.

We can work up to PDA. Slow and steady wins the race. And besides, I’ve got plenty of planning to do for our date to keep me busy.

Themoodinthelobby on the morning of our trip out west is a strange mix of excited and anxious. There isn’t the usual buzz of chatter, the few conversations being exchanged only in hushed whispers. By all accounts, this trip should be like any other, but it’s been hard to escape the headlines.

It would figure that Tristan King has been on a ten-game point streak leading up to the first of two times the Mystic is facing the Wardens. And it doesn’t help that we’ve had a rough few games, and the crowds at home are thinning. Questions about the King-Black trade aren’t uncommon on social media, and it’s taken all my training and experience to keep my mouth shut and not reply to the trolls and their hot takes. My intrusive thoughts document has grown by two whole pages.

A burst of sudden laughter pulls me out of my head, and I whip around to find Eli standing with Oli, Jari Hakala, and Owen, grinning like a fiend as the others laugh at whatever joke he just told. I smile fondly, my heart skipping a beat.

We agreed that we would wait until after we got home from this trip to talk about what our future could hold. The idea of a future with anyone, let alone two alphas, usually would make me break out in anxious hives. But I’m surprisingly calm about it all. There’s no rush to this, and we’ve got plenty of time to figure out what a relationship might entail. And they aren’t putting any pressure on me to make a decision before I’m ready, which might be the best thing of all.

“I’ve seen more jubilant funerals,” a familiar voice mutters from my side.

I manage to contain my surprised jolt, turning to look up at Spencer with a raised eyebrow. He’s not looking at me, his ocean-blue eyes scanning the room, eyebrows low in thought.

“Well, it is five-thirty in the morning. And not everyone can be a human laugh factory like your buddy,” I reply, lifting my cardboard cup of coffee in Eli’s direction.

“You know what I mean, Tori,” Spencer grumbles, shoving his hands in the pockets of his slate-gray slacks.

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