Page 41 of Crossing Lines

“Oh, have you ever been?” I sipped my beer. His family sounded so nice. Would I be able to meet them someday?

“Yeah, I’ve been over there twice when I was little. It was fun. Got to meet some second cousins and stuff.” He plucked a slice of sashimi from the plate. “My German is not good, by the way, so don’t ask me to speak it.”

“Okay. Then don’t ask me to speak French. Being Canadian doesn’t mean I speak fluent French.” I freed a soft snort. “Even if my ex was Quebecois.”

“Oh, Laurent is a Frenchie?” The edge of his lip flared. “Figures.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I gave him an open-mouthed smirk. I had a feeling he didn’t like Laurent much. But who could blame him after what I’d told him?

Shaking his head, he said, “Nothing.” He swirled a slice of fish through his sauce. “Anyway, getting back to parents. Mom raised us and made sure I was at all my games and practices, and now she’s doing real estate.” He snuck the fish into his mouth and chewed, then swallowed it down. “My dad works for the Mayo Clinic. He’s high up in the administrative shit.” He flashed his eyes at me. “I don’t actually know what he does.”

With a nod, I bit the end of my chopsticks, sweeping my gaze over him. It was funny how getting to know someone’s upbringing changed how you saw them. And his story only made me want him more.

He swiped a roll through his sauce. “You thinkIpicked a hard major. My brother is studying pre-veterinary medicine overat U of M.” He snuck the roll into his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. “If I can’t make it in hockey, maybe we’ll open a boutique medical clinic where I’ll see the humans and he’ll take care of their pets.” He snickered.

“You know? That’s not a bad idea.” I chuckled with him. “But I have a feeling you might be headed for the NHL.” I popped my eyes open. Shit, I wasn’t supposed to say anything.

“Yeah? And why do you say that?” He sipped his beer.

I scratched the back of my head. “I, uh, you’re playing so well, that’s why. Keep it up.” I glanced out the window at the darkening sky. I needed to change the subject before something else slipped out. “What do you want to do after this?”

He leaned in, offering me a coy grin. “Go back to your place?” He waggled his brows. “We had the talk. Now it’s time to do the walk. You get what I’m saying?”

My cock tingled with warmth. Hell yeah, I liked that idea. “I do. Let’s eat up then.”

After parkingin my apartment’s garage, I shut off the engine on my car, then turned to Jonah.

Cupping my cheek, he captured my mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, then broke it. “Can’t wait for more of that.” With a grin, he climbed out of my car.

After stepping out, I shut the door and movement caught the corner of my eye. I chased it and my breath snagged. A man stood at the entrance to the parkade. A man looking a lot like Owen, same hair, same build.

“What?” Jonah twisted around, peering off in the direction of the man. “Who the hell is that? Do you know him?”

The man darted off.

“I-I don’t know. Probably no one.” I squeezed the button on my key fob and my doors locked. “Come on, let’s go inside.” Meeting him at the front of my car, I snatched his hand and ledhim toward the entrance to my building. If Jonah hadn’t recognized him, maybe I was seeing things? Or maybe he’d seen the man too late to make him out.

Unlocking my door with my keycard, I led him inside the hallway to the elevator. I didn’t want to ruin our night talking about someone who might not have even been there.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JONAH

As I stood behind Ryan, watching him open his door, my dick plumped in my jeans. We’d had the condom talk on Sunday but hadn’t discussed each other’s tastes. He’d said he wanted me to fuck him before, but was he a bottom, or vers? I chewed the tip of my index finger. I usually topped, but with him? I’d do anything.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, then threw his keys on the kitchen island and shrugged off his jacket. “Want something to drink?”

With my pulse pounding, I nodded. “How about that whisky you had on Saturday night?” I followed him into the main room, then slipped out of my jacket.

“You want it neat or with ice?” He stepped to his makeshift liquor cabinet and pulled out two short glasses with the whisky bottle, then set them on top.

“However you’re having it.” I knew he’d have his neat. Why ruin good whisky by watering it down? I dropped onto the end of his couch and planted my hands on my thighs, looking around the room. It was always picked up, everything in its place.

Twisting around, he strode to me and held out a glass, the caramel-colored whisky a few inches deep. “Here.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed it from him and took a sip, a mixture of smokey wood and honey leaving a slight burn down my throat. “This is good.”

He sat next to me and took a sip. “It’s one of my favorites. I brought this from home. I can’t seem to find much around here except for Crown Royal.” With a chuckle, he held his glass up and swirled the liquid in it.

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