Page 31 of Cross the Line

I lifted my head, struck by the sweet expression on her face. “Never too soon for a silver lining.”

“At least you’re no longer in a hurry.”

“That’s true,” I said, trying to determine if she wanted me to go, or if she was hinting for me to stay. Logan didn’t typically dance around a topic, but when she yawned, that settled it for me. “Even so, I should get going.”

“To where?” she asked, kicking off her shoes and settling in on the couch. “You don’t even know where you’re staying yet. Come on.” She patted the couch cushion before pulling a throw pillow into her lap. “Stay a little while. Hang out with me.”

“You sure?” I asked, hesitating near the door. “I don’t want to intrude.”

She waved a hand through the air. “Come on, Carson. You know me better than that. I wouldn’t invite you to stay if I didn’t want you here.”

Oh. Right.

I kicked off my shoes, leaving them by the door before shuffling over to the couch. I hesitated a moment before taking a seat at the opposite end. As much as I wanted to sit next to Logan, I figured putting some space between us would be safer.

Did I want to be more than friends? Absolutely.

I hadn’t felt this way in a long time, maybe ever. I didn’t get jealous. But I’d been jealous when Boone had flirted with Logan earlier.

I didn’t do relationships. And yet, I wanted to be in a relationship with her. I wanted her.

But I also realized how important Logan had become to me. And I wasn’t willing to jeopardize what we had for something I knew she didn’t want.

She didn’t date hockey players.

I sucked at relationships.

Neither of us was interested in something long-distance.

“Can I get you a drink or something to eat?” she asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“I’m still full from dinner, but I wouldn’t say no to a beer if you have one.”

“Sure.” She stood, going over to the fridge. I watched her as she crossed the room, so much power coiled inside those limbs. So much grace and strength. She was beautiful.

She pulled out two beers, popping the tops off them before handing one to me.

“Good game tonight,” I said, holding up my bottle and tilting it toward her.

“Thanks.” She clinked the neck of her bottle against mine, and then we both drank.

“Mm. Damn.” I glanced at the label on the bottle as I continued to enjoy the flavors. It was tropical and almost pillowy in a way I couldn’t quite describe.

“Good, right?”

I nodded. “Really good.” I took another sip.

“It’s from one of my favorite local craft breweries. That’s one of the best things about living here.”

“This place suits you,” I said, gesturing to her and the apartment. “Minneapolis, the apartment, all of it.”

“That’s funny.” She laughed. “Earlier tonight, I was thinking about how much I miss LA. How much it feels like home.”

I nodded, trying to maintain a neutral tone as I asked, “Could you ever see yourself moving back there?”

She took another sip of her beer. “I’d love to say yes, but…”

“They don’t have a PWHL team there,” I offered. “Though there’s a rumor that the PWHL is looking to expand to the West Coast.”