Page 13 of Cross the Line
Me: What are you doing right now?
KT: Texting you.
Me: Right, but what have you done this morning that you could share? List three things, just off the top of your head.
KT: Breakfast, Cece’s house, yoga on the back deck overlooking the water
I groaned at the mental image of her doing yoga on a deck overlooking the water. Without warning, I was assaulted by a powerful image of me running my nose up the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent as goose bumps broke out over her skin.
I jerked my head back. What the hell? Where had that come from?
My dick was half hard from the image, my reaction so strong, so visceral, it had provoked a physical response. I tried to brush it off, but I struggled to recall a time I’d had such a powerful attraction to a woman, especially one I barely knew.
Why now?
Why…her? Levi’s sister, of all people.
I am so fucked.
CHAPTER THREE
October
“Whatcha listening to?” Zayn asked, sinking down in the seat next to me.
“Podcast,” I muttered, not feeling particularly chatty.
The team was boarding the plane for our next game in Toronto, and I was dreading the cold. It reminded me of home, not that I’d call it that anymore. It hadn’t been my home for a long time.
I sighed, feeling restless. I hit the button to darken my screen, not wanting anyone to know that I’d been stalking Logan’s socials. It was bad enough that I was constantly checking my phone, as if I could somehow make her respond to my last text message. But it had been days of radio silence. Worse still, I got the feeling that was intentional.
When we’d first started texting, it had been sporadic. But in the last two months, something had changed. We’d rarely gone more than a day or two without texting, and now it had been three days without a word.
Shit. Is she ghosting me?
“What’s that face about?” Boone asked, shoving his bag in the overhead compartment before taking the seat behind me.
“Must be the podcast,” Zayn said. “It’s not a true crime one, is it?” He shuddered. “I don’t know how anyone can listen to those.”
“I love true crime podcasts,” Georgia chimed in, leaning across the aisle. “Which one are you listening to?” And then she started rattling off the names of various podcasts, none of which I was remotely interested in.
“No. Just no.” Zayn stood and crossed his arms over his chest as if to shield himself from Georgia. He grabbed his stuff and headed down the aisle far, far away from her.
She cackled and then sank down in the seat next to Frasier. For someone so tiny, she could be terrifying. She leaned in, asking him something in a low tone, then she patted his arm before placing her headphones over her ears. He’d been grumpy and withdrawn ever since the fight, so I was glad Georgia was looking out for him.
The rest of the team settled into their seats, while the crew finished readying the plane for takeoff. I opened my phone and scrolled through my text thread with Logan, looking for clues. I didn’t get it. Why had she just stopped communicating? Apart from my role in the fight with Wilson during the Seattle game, I couldn’t think of anything that had changed recently.
I replayed our most recent interactions. Logan had texted me immediately after the fight in Seattle to ask if I was okay. We’d texted for a while like normal. And then nothing since, despite my checking in not once but twice.
It was all beginning to feel a little…desperate.
I didn’t know what to do, or even what—if anything—I’d done wrong. Whatever it was, I wanted to fix it. I’d gotten used to our daily conversations. I missed sharing funny memes. Sometimes we had an entire conversation with just memes.
I missed comparing notes on hockey or social media strategy. Yes, she was helping me get closer to my teammates. But we’d hit it off even more than I’d expected. And every time my phone displayed a new alert from her, my insides lit up like fucking Times Square.
“Who’s KT?” Boone asked.
Fuck. I hit the power button, but it was too late. His head was peeking over the top of the back of my seat, and I glared at him.
