Page 3 of Crossing Lines

“I think he might be queer.” Myles cut into his pasta. “At least he was giving me those vibes.”

“No fucking way.” Mason scoffed a laugh, then pushed on my shoulder. “Dude, there’s hope for you yet.”

Shit, Myles was never wrong about that. He could smell a queer man from a mile away. I picked up my Gatorade. “Doesn’t matter even if he was. He’s a coach. Can’t date a coach, it’s against school?—”

“You been looking that up already?” Ace eyed me. “He’s a coach, but technically, he’s notyourcoach. He’s Archer’s and Tyler’s coach.”

With a long exhale, I plunked my drink on the table, fixating on Ace. “I don’t have to look it up to know something like that is probably against the school policy.” Besides, the chances of me dating him were zero to none. Even if he were queer. And hot. And probably really smart and driven to have this job at his age. I was in so much trouble. “Can we just eat now and leave it be?” This was exactly why I should have kept my mouth shut. Now they’d put all this crap in my head.

“Aw, you’re no fun, Jonah.” With a scowl, Mason plunged his fork into his pasta.

After dinnerand a few rounds of video games, I lay on my bed with my phone in my hand, chilling. It had been a long day and practice had been grueling, so I was exhausted. Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve, and I’d stay up late partying with the guys then. But tonight, I wanted answers.

I held my phone to my face and opened the screen, then tapped on my Instagram app. What guy my age didn’t have an Instagram account? With a smirk, I ran a search on his name. A string of profiles came up. Damn, there were a lot of Ryan Gibsons on Insta.

Scrolling through the accounts, I scrutinized each one, looking for a man who resembled the one in our locker room today. The image of him was etched in my memory.

As my finger landed on a face that resembled his, my heart about stopped. Fuck, it had to be him.

I opened his profile. Thank fuck, he hadn’t made it private. Oh no, there was tile after tile of images of him with all sorts of people. My lips curled into a grin. Now to figure out more abouthim. But damn, the guy was photogenic as hell. Okay, or just attractive.

I scrolled to the very bottom, perusing images of him in hockey gear, on the ice, some of the photos professionally taken. Okay, so he played hockey at one point. I scanned the date. These were from ten years ago. He played hockey ten years ago?

Twisting my lips, I scrolled up the page. Image after image of him in bars and partying came up. Many of the images were of him with men, no shirts, flashing lights in dark spaces, in places that said gay bar all over them. Was he gay? Holy fuck. My dick woke.Calm the hell down, Jonah. He’s our team’s coach.

As I scrolled to more recent times, the party boy images faded and were replaced by more domestic images of him with a man about his age, their arms wrapped around each other, the new man kissing his cheek. The new guy had dark hair and eyes and was fucking hot in his own right. I read a caption under a photo of them both at a nice restaurant with white tablecloths:Happy anniversary, baby.

My chest twinged and I swallowed hard. So, he had a boyfriend. Were they still together? Had he brought him down here from Toronto? If he had, then this would be easy. He was taken.Jonah, you ass.No matter if he’s taken, he’s your team coach.

With a scoff, I shifted on the bed and rubbed my forehead. What was it about this guy that had me so fucking obsessed? He was all I’d thought about since I’d seen him, even though I’d tried not to. My brain was stuck in Coach Gibson mode.

I scrolled some more and images of him in a suit standing behind a bench at a hockey game came up, then some photos appeared of him in team-colored sweats standing on the ice in skates, obviously coaching a team at practice. Okay, so those must be photos of him doing his juniors coaching.

A few photos popped up of him with a thin woman wearing a scarf on her head, her skin pale and cheeks gaunt. Who was that? I tapped it open and read the caption. The photo was taken onMother’s Day last year. His mother? Was she sick or something? He’d said he had family business… The worry on his stunning face was clear to see. Jesus, this guy had quite a story. My heart filled with warmth. Shit, it made me want him even more.

With a ragged exhale, I dropped my phone to my side and stared at my bedroom ceiling. I shouldn’t have looked. I should have left it alone. But I couldn’t help myself. I was an idiot. And in any case, I was sure he still had a boyfriend. I mean, what guy would let a man like Ryan Gibson go?

With a sigh, I sat up on the edge of my bed, throwing my legs over the side. Time to get ready for bed.

The next afternoon,I sat on the couch in the main room while everyone got ready for our New Year’s Eve in-home festivities. My hand twitched over my phone. I’d been wanting to look up Coach Gibson’s Instagram account again, but so far, I’d been successful in denying myself.

My gaze swept the room. Myles and Tyler turned on the gaming console at one end of the couch while Ace waited patiently with his controller in one hand and a beer in the other. Archer was getting his shit together for his big night out with Leo, his new boyfriend.

“Hey, ready for a beer?” Mason called out from the kitchen, his head inside the refrigerator door.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” I hadn’t wanted to start too early. Without thinking, I lifted my phone to my face and tapped the screen, then opened my Instagram app. One little peek couldn’t hurt. I’d only look once. I bit my thumbnail, swiping over Coach Gibson’s account.

“Dude, seriously?” Mason snatched my phone from my hand and cackled, looking at the screen as he stood behind me.

As my heart kicked, I sprang from the couch, jumping overthe back of it, and yanked my phone from him. “Stop it, Mason.” The fucker had to see that.

“You’re so crushing on that guy!” A wide smile broke out over Mason’s face.

“Fuck off. Am not.” I slapped at Mason’s shoulder, but Mason ducked out of the way. “He’s a goddamned coach.” And my greedy little brain should remember that.

“A young and very hot coach.” Mason jogged to the other side of the dinette from me.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Archer, his blond curls framing his brown eyes with thick lashes, scanned the room, planting a hand on his hip.

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