Page 28 of Cross the Line

“Yes, really. I was hoping to deliver this in person. Happy early Christmas,” Carson said, holding out his hand. I couldn’t see what was inside, his fingers curled around the mystery item.

I tilted my head, intrigued. Excited. And a little nervous.

“But I didn’t get you anything,” I teased.

“I’ll take one of your jerseys. And I’d like it signed, please.” He smiled, but there was a sheepishness to it that was both endearing and adorable.

“And what exactly do you intend to do with one of my jerseys?” I couldn’t believe how husky my voice sounded.

We’re friends. Just friends.

He leaned in a little closer, close enough for me to feel the heat from his body, the warmth of his breath on my ear as he asked, “What are you hoping I’ll do with your jersey?”

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re not going to do anything nefarious with it.”

“Nefarious?” He held a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “Me?”

I laughed, crossing my arms over my chest. “You really want one of my jerseys?”

He rocked on his heels. “Yes, ma’am. Then I can wear it to your next game. Show it off on my socials.”

I scoffed, trying to imagine it. The idea of his big body covered in my jersey, it… Yeah. It did something to me. Fuck.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” I said, needing to put some distance between me and that idea, hot as it was. “But also, maybe…don’t.” I cringed, hating how that sounded, but I could only imagine what my brother would think if he saw his ex-best friend wearing my jersey. It would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

“If I promise not to brag about the jersey or show it off, will you give me one?” he asked.

“Mm.” I considered it. “Maybe.”

“Here,” he said, urging me to hold out my hand to accept his gift. “Take this. I didn’t bring this because I expected anything in return. That’s not how a gift works.”

I studied him, realizing how different he was from my ex. And then I wondered why I’d been comparing them in the first place.

I held out my hand. Carson placed a piece of paper on my palm, the warmth of his skin a shock in the cool night air. At least, that’s what I was blaming it on.

“What’s this?” I smiled, unfolding the piece of paper to reveal a handwritten note in a loopy, feminine scrawl.

Logan,

I’m a big fan. Give me a call sometime. I’d love to chat.

xx,

Emerson Thorne-Crawford

Her phone number was listed below her name.

I read the words twice more, still trying to convince myself I wasn’t dreaming. When I lifted my gaze to Carson, he was watching me closely.

“Is this for real?” I whispered, scared to believe that it was true. That he’d done this for me.

It had been almost a month since Thanksgiving. Almost a month since he’d shipped me a pie and told me he’d do anything for me. Now…this?

He nodded, his expression solemn. Hesitant. Watchful. “It’s for real. She attended a holiday event for the Hawks, and I mentioned you. She said she was a big fan⁠—”

“She…what?” I gaped at him. “Emerson Thorne-Crawford knows who I am? You’re joking.”

He chuckled, a bemused expression on his face. “I’m not. She said she’s been wanting to attend a Wolves game.”