Page 95 of Crossing the Top Line

“Casually exclusive?” Spencer parrots.

I nod. “I won’t see anyone else, but I can’t do boyfriend-girlfriend-partner, at least publicly. I want to get things figured out up here,” I say, motioning to my head.

I can sense the mood shift without needing to look up. Another hand, Oli’s this time, is comforting on my shoulder, warmth spreading out over my back and chest. I have to fight my urge to move closer, to climb in his lap and let him wrap his entire body around me again.

“We can do slow. Whatever you need. But please don’t shut us out,” Oli says warmly.

There’s a pause, and I look up to find Oli staring at me. I nod mutely, looking down at the floor. I just need time. Then I can figure out what the fuck I’m going to do. I let out a sigh of relief before I yawn. Three pairs of concerned eyes lock onto my face, and I give them a soft, reassuring smile.

“I’m still getting back on track with my meds, and it’s throwing my sleep schedule for a loop. But I’ll be fine by the time you’re back from the Coyotes game,” I say.

Thankfully, they don’t push and leave without much more fuss, even if I could read the urge to on Oliver’s face. I don’t know if I’ve met a bigger mother hen, but I can admit it’s endearing. And maybe if I can get my head straight, I can indulge him. In moderation.

As I close and lock the door behind their retreating backs, I look around, eyes finding a lump of gray fabric draped over the back of one of my dining room chairs. The one Spencer was sitting in. I pace over and reach a gentle hand out toward the hoodie, the soft material still warm. When the hell did he take this off? How did I not notice? Did he leave it here on purpose?

I look around, as if I expect to find a hidden camera pointed at me, but I’m alone again. And with no one to watch, I quickly pull the hoodie over my head, yanking the hood up. It’s massive on my frame, the sleeves swallowing my hands as I reach up and clutch the neckline, breathing deep before whimpering to myself. Spearmint, cranberries, bergamot.

I don’t take off the hoodie as I prepare for bed. Once I’m tucked under my sheets, I allow myself a little giggle, inhaling their combined scents again. Hope has replaced guilt and shame in my chest. And once the lights go out, I fall into the first restful sleep I’ve had in days.

Ipacearoundmyhouse, tidying knick-knacks and dusting pristine surfaces, my heart galloping in my chest. I’d gotten a text from Oli that they’ve landed back in New Orleans a few hours ago, arriving home after their trip to Dallas. They’ve got a half day off tomorrow before they fly out to Arizona, and they insisted on coming over and spending some time with me tonight.

And that means I’ve been nesting like I’m about to go into heat. Again.

Logically, I know it doesn’t matter. They were here a few days ago when my house was at peak depression disaster and didn’t say a word. But tonight feels…different. We’d agreed to hold off on sex for a bit, just until we can have a real conversation about the group dynamics, which I appreciate, but I’m confident I would be less nervous about spending time with them if we were planning an orgy.

Maybe I should take Spencer’s advice and see a therapist. I’m sure they’d have a field day with me when I’m having thoughts like that.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, a knock at my door pulls me away from my senseless straightening and a smile creeps up my face unconsciously. I scurry toward the door, opening it wide this time to reveal the trio of men I’d been expecting. They’re still dressed in their suits from the plane, and I have to contain my urge to ogle as they stride past me and into my home.

“Thanks for having us over, Tor. Is that pizza I smell?” Eli asks, chipper as always.

I nod as I close the door. I’d ordered delivery, not wanting to mess up my spotless kitchen, and it arrived a few minutes before they did.

“Y’all deserve a treat after tonight’s game,” I say, leading them toward the breakfast bar where I’ve set the boxes.

We spend the next few minutes plating up slices and making ourselves comfortable in the living room, talking over the game. I end up curled against one arm of my couch with Oli at the other, Spencer in one of the armchairs and Eli on the floor, leaning against my cushioned ottoman. I let them describe the highlights to me, even though I’d watched the game as they played it. But there’s something…special about watching someone talk about something they’re passionate about. And all three boys live, sleep, eat, and breathe hockey, and it shows in the way they describe the plays and thinking behind them.

“It’s a shame we don’t get to play Dallas more often,” Eli sighs, biting into his fourth slice of pizza.

“They’re in our conference. We play them, like, six times,” I laugh, shaking my head slightly.

“Four times,” Oli corrects without missing a beat.

I roll my eyes, smiling still. “Oh, forgive me. It’s not like there are eighty-four games in a season for me to keep track of or anything,” I snark back.

The boys laugh and I sigh. I set my empty plate on the end table beside me before scooting tentatively toward Oli. He catches my movement when I’m halfway across the middle seat and I freeze, not sure what to do.

“Don’t overthink it, princess,” he says, lifting one arm invitingly.

I flush a little, tucking my chin as I finish my movement, curling close to his side. He wraps his long arm around my shoulders, holding his plate in that hand as he uses his other to finish his pizza. He’s so warm, and it radiates into me from every point of contact, making me shiver slightly. Moments later, one of my throw blankets floats down over me, and I turn to see Eli smiling as he takes my abandoned place on the other end of the couch.

“Do you think there’re still games out west going on?” he asks, picking up my remote and waggling it.

My mouth twists in a half frown. I don’t mind talking about hockey, or watching my team play, but even I have a limit to the amount of content I want to consume on any given day.

“We’ve had enough hockey for tonight. Let’s find something else,” Spencer says, and I look to find him staring at my face.

I give him an appreciative little smile, turning to look at the screen as Eli starts flipping through channels. Eventually, we settle on something on the Hallmark channel, one of their many Christmas movies that are playing basically non-stop now that Thanksgiving is over. The boys pick up a conversation, but I zone out as I stare at the screen, seeing the moving images but not really taking in any of the meaning. Eli reaches under my blanket at some point and pulls my feet into his lap, his thumbs gently massaging them even as he talks.

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