Page 34 of Crossing Lines

I looked over the eggs. He’d made six of them and probably the whole package of bacon. He knew how to feed a hockey player. My mouth tugged up in a soft grin. “How many eggs do you want?”

“Two or three.” He sank into a chair next to me. “I can do either. I’m not training the way you are.” He patted my hand, resting next to my plate.

“I’ll take three. I’ve got to keep my girlish figure.” With a chuckle, I grabbed three eggs with my fork and dropped them onto my plate. I didn’t want to look like an oaf and eat all his food.

“Got news for you. Your figure is anything but girlish.” He ran his gaze over my bare chest and arms and snuck his tongue out to wet his lower lip. “And it’s exactly what I like.”

“Good.” I wound my gaze across the tattoos running downone of his muscular shoulders and arms and up the other side of his lean torso. “You’ve stayed in great shape for not playing since eighteen.” I cut into my eggs, then arched a brow. “Exactly what I like too.”

He sipped his coffee, then said, “Yeah, I’m not as fit as I was, but I hit the gym pretty regularly.” He chomped a bite off a slice of bacon.

Pointing my elbow toward him, I said, “So, the tattoos. Are they arbitrary, or do they mean something?” I was one of the few guys who didn’t have any…yet. But the thought of having little needles with ink poking my skin gave me the heebie-jeebies.

“They are mostly odd choices made when I was messed up.” Shaking his head, he freed a soft chuckle. “After my injury, I’d tried to make sense of it all and one of the ways I did that was with the tattoos.” He held his arm out over the table, a date scrolled across his bicep with a broken hockey stick above it. “This is the date of my last game. The one where I blew out my knee the first time.”

I widened my eyes. “Oh shit.” My gaze lifted to meet his. “How do you feel about it when you look at it now?” It had to still sting. I ate some bacon.

He dropped his arm and cut into his eggs, rolling his lips. “It’s a reminder of how far I fell and how far I’ve come.” He set his fork on his plate, then tented his hands over it. “There’s something I need to tell you.” His gaze locked on mine.

“Okay.” I set my fork on my plate. “What is it?” This must be the discussion he’d alluded to in the bedroom. My pulse kicked up.

“I’m just going to say it.” He exhaled a long breath. “My ex was HIV positive.”

My stomach recoiled. “Wh-what?” I stared at him. Washepositive? Is that why he didn’t want to have sex yet? “Um…” My gaze darted across the table, and I drank some orange juice.

He wrapped his fingers around my forearm. “Last time I tested, I was negative, and that was two months ago.” His browsknitted. “I’m sorry to frighten you, but I thought you should know.”

“What does this mean?” I forced myself to look at him. I’d never worried much about this. I’d always been careful and used condoms. But for him to bring it up, there was more to it.

“Technically, the last time I was intimate with my ex was over six months ago, so I should be in the clear. I had started taking PrEP over the last year when I knew he was uh…well, didn’t want monogamy.” He dipped his gaze to his plate. “I didn’t want to lose him, so I went along with it, and we still had unprotected sex. He really hated condoms. Had an allergy to latex and, fuck, he just hated condoms.” With a huff, he sat back in his chair and rimmed the edge of his plate. “I figured it would be all right if I were on PrEP. I’d be protected.” His gaze found mine.

Nodding, I itched to pull out my phone and Google some shit. “Okay, so you’re on PrEP, and you’ve been testing negative.” I rocked once. “You should be fine, right?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah. The odds I have it are very, very small, but I guess they’re not zero.”

“But the odds of contracting HIV aren’t zero for anyone, are they?” I worried my lower lip. He was negative. He was taking precautions. I had nothing to worry about. But this was the closest I’d been to the disease. Well, that I’d known of. And it wasn’t a death sentence anymore. “So, I’m a little shocked, but it’s okay.” Leaning over, I pressed my palm to his cheek. “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me.” It had to have been hard for him.

He tilted his head into my touch, gazing deeply into my eyes. “Thank you.” Twisting his head, he kissed my palm. “I’ll understand if you want to use condoms.”

With my pulse settling, I leaned back in my chair. I’d always used them, but with him, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want anything between us. I picked up my fork and ate some egg. “I’ve always used them, but I’d rather not with you.”

Spreading a slow smile over his lips, he drank some coffee. “Okay, so now that’s settled, we should talk about your roommates.” He grabbed a croissant from the box and bit into it.

“What about them?” I stuffed a slice of bacon into my mouth. “The only one I’ll tell is Archer.” Because I’d need someone to talk to. I eyed him. Was he okay with that?

He looked off toward the patio doors behind the cream-colored leather couch we’d given each other blowjobs on, then his attention drew to me. “I’m Archer’s direct coach.”

With a wince, I said, “Yeah, but he’s my best friend. I can trust him.” I could trust the others too, but Ryan was clearly afraid of our relationship getting out.

He freed a ragged exhale, pushing his last egg around on his plate. “Yeah, okay.” Planting his elbow on the table, he propped his cheek in his hand. “What are you going to say to everyone when you get home?” His gaze flicked to mine.

“I’m going to tell them what happened with that fucker Owen and that I passed out on your couch.” I pursed my lips. “They might not buy it, but it’s all I’ve got.” For sure, none of them were going to buy it.

“Okay.” Raising his brows, he ate more of his food. “We need to be careful at practice and games.” He gave me a pointed look.

“Yeah, I know. Last thing I want is for you to get in trouble.” I ate the last of my eggs and picked up my pastry, turning it in front of my face. “But neither of us is seeing anyone else, right?” My gaze swept to him and I took a bite, a flood of egg and butter mixed with bitter chocolate floating on my tongue. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Arching a brow, he curled the edge of his mouth. “Jonah. Are you sure? About being exclusive?”

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