Page 5 of Crossing the Top Line

“I made breakfast. Hurry up before it gets cold,” Spencer chirps.

I growl low in my throat, though it lacks any heat. Not that Spencer hears it, judging by the loud footfalls fading down the stairs.

It’s been two days since training camp began, and I was looking forward to sleeping in past seven a.m. I consider rolling over and closing my eyes again, but I might get a few minutes of peace before Oli decides to drag me out of bed himself. On any other day, I’d let him try his best before inevitably dragging him under the covers with me, but we have a new person living here now. And that’s not how I’d like us to havethatparticular conversation.

Eventually, I flop out of bed and pull on some shorts, not bothering with a shirt for the moment. I run warm, and the New Orleans heat is still holding strong even though we’re in the latter half of September. The central air can only do so much against the might of the blazing Southern sun. When I arrive in the kitchen, I pause at the threshold as I take in Oli and Spencer at the kitchen island. They aren’t speaking, or even looking at each other, but as soon as they notice I’m there, something shifts. Oli relaxes instantly, his eyes drinking in my bare chest for a flash before he turns away. Spencer smiles, though the expression doesn’t meet his eyes. I wander over to the stove to find a pan half full of scrambled eggs, a tray of thick bacon resting on paper towels, toast, hash browns, and huge links of sausage.

“You weren’t kidding about the “eggs and bac-ey”, were you,” I joke, piling my plate with servings of each option.

“When it comes to breakfast, I never joke,” Spencer answers back, words a little flat.

I look over my shoulder, brows knitting together as I try to decipher his tone. We’ve known each other for over a week now, but I’m still trying to get a solid read on him. His face is doing the thing I’d noticed where there’s no light behind his ocean-blue eyes, and he’s not really smiling or frowning. I glance at Oli and notice that he’s shooting a harsh glare at Spencer, even though the other alpha has his head bowed.

Ah. That explains a lot.

I care deeply about Oliver; he’s my closest friend and confidant, and I would jump in front of a thousand bullets for him. But that doesn’t mean he’s not a stubborn, possessive alpha-hole from time to time. I could sit us all down and we could talk this out like adults, but instead, I decide to do what I do best: stir the pot.

Pulling out one of the remaining stools at the breakfast bar, I deliberately move it so I’m sitting so close to Spencer that our knees are a hair’s breadth apart and start to eat my breakfast. Spencer gives me a quizzical look, but thankfully doesn’t say anything. On the other hand, I can practically hear the obscenities Oli’s thinking from across the marble counter.

“So, Spencer, you’re from New Orleans?” I ask conversationally, giving him a pleasant smile.

Spencer’s fork pauses for a heartbeat on its way to his mouth, so fast that had I not been watching, I would have missed it. But he nods as he eats the bite of eggs he’d picked up.

“That’s awesome. I’ve loved this place since I came to my first dev camp. Do you have any place you’re looking forward to hitting up again? Restaurants? Bars? Stores?” I ask, half out of genuine curiosity and half out of a desire to see how high I can raise Oli’s blood pressure before he snaps.

Spencer’s shoulders loosen as he chuckles. “I wasn’t old enough to drink before I got drafted, but there is this one place I’m hoping is still open,” he starts, turning ever so slightly to face me.

He starts describing this rather incredible sounding Tex-Mex restaurant he used to go to with his high school team after games, his face losing that stoney expression with every minute. I keep an eye on Oli out of the corner of my eye, but he’s still staring at me like he wants to throttle me. Soon enough, we’re done eating, and I’m helping Spencer with the dishes while we continue to talk about local hot spots and points of interest that aren’t advertised in the tourist brochures. Oli stands watch over us, arms crossed over his chest, as he leans against the wall just to the side of the hallway leading to the gym.

“You done chit-chatting? We’ve got work to do,” he says in a droning monotone.

I share a commiserating look with Spencer, and I’m more than a little pleased with myself when he cracks a grin before we turn back to Oliver. He lets out a harsh sigh, pushing off the wall and heading down the hallway, leaving us to follow him.

I figured I’d have to pay for my shenanigans eventually, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon. Oliver starts in with an intense circuit workout, bouncing us between stations at what might be a world record pace. Free weights, lunges, jumping jacks, footwork drills, kettlebells, bouncing between cardio and muscle building until my head is spinning.

“You know this is supposed to be our day off, right?” I pant, chest heaving as I lean over, bracing my arms on my knees as I stare at Oli, who’s standing above me with his arms crossed.

“We rested this morning,” Spencer comments, grunting slightly every time he presses up to complete a deadlift.

I throw a disbelieving look at Oli, but the bastard has the nerve to smirk, like he hasn’t just put me through hell. I’m trying to catch my breath before whatever Oli has planned next, fairly certain I’m not going to like it.

I stand and wander over to the mini fridge we keep in our home gym, pulling out a bottle of water and fighting the urge to chug it. That’s a one-way trip to Barfsville. Glancing around, I take a mental count of all the exercises we’ve done in our rather extensive setup, trying to figure out what Oli could have planned next. We don’t have the full gambit of machines like the training facility at the arena, but there are enough to keep us in shape.

“We’re going to do stickhandling drills,” Oli calls out, moving toward the door to the rest of the house.

I nod, relaxing a little. This I can do. Setting the bottle of water on the wet bar counter, I make my way over to the oversized treadmill we use for this activity and the cabinet beside it. By the time I’ve gotten out the miniature cones and hurdles, Oliver’s back with his stick, gloves, and skates in hand.

Spencer’s groan pulls my attention, and I look up to find him sitting on one of the weight benches, stretching out his back. A sliver of his toned stomach shows as he reaches above his head, and it takes a considerable force of will to stop my thoughts from running away from me. We haven’t known each other for that long, and I still haven’t fully figured out how our new roommate swings. I wouldn't want to make things, at best, awkward between us, or at worst, bring down a workplace harassment complaint on my head.

Still doesn’t stop me from drinking in the tall glass of water in front of me, though.

I pace over, leaning down so he can hear me as I drop my voice.

“Wanna fuck with our drill sergeant?” I whisper conspiratorially.

Spencer looks up at me, those blue eyes drifting from my face to my chest before returning, his lips pulling up in a slash of a smirk. He doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, just nods and follows my lead as we head to the oversized treadmill and the bin of cones next to it. Oli is getting into position, adjusting his stance and completely absorbed in his thoughts. I wink at Spencer and grab a handful of props, flicking my eyes around the room. Without needing to speak, he winks back and steps back, positioning himself near the wall.

“Ready for this?” I ask loudly, pulling Oliver’s attention to me and away from my accomplice.

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