Page 73 of Cross the Line

We’d gotten each other off—on the phone, on video chats, often with promises of what we’d do if we were together. It was torture. Hearing her moan my name as she came on her hand or a toy. Watching her on the screen of my phone, desperate to touch her, hold her. Knowing my hand couldn’t possibly compare to being with her.

By unspoken agreement, it only ever happened the night before either of us had a game, but it had been hot and fun. We’d often stayed on the line long after, talking until one or both of us fell asleep.

More than anything, I loved seeing Logan unwind. Little by little, she was letting down her walls, letting me in. And I wanted that more than anything.

I craved the connection, craved her. Which was why I couldn’t wait another minute, let alone another month, to see her. So here I was, standing outside her apartment, about to try to obliterate her “only one night” rule by surprising her the night before the final game of her season.

Would she be happy to see me? Annoyed at the unexpected intrusion? Irritated by the fact that I was breaking her rules?

I rocked on my heels, glancing one direction then the other as if she’d suddenly appear. And when I finally spied her, looking both ways to cross the street, it was as if my heart stopped. Everything in me was focused on her, homed in on her.

The way her chestnut hair flowed behind her in the fading sun. The way she walked—with such confidence and strength and surety. The way she smiled, her face turned up to the sky.

And then she was headed toward me, and my hat was off my head, my heart in my hands. She glanced up, finally registering my presence, and she stilled.

“Carson?” She squinted at me as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Hey.” I rubbed the back of my neck, my blood surging through my veins. It was as if hearing my name on her lips had jolted me back to life, the paddles of an debrillator being applied to my chest with a powerful surge of energy.

“Why?” She stepped a little closer, her gaze full of wonder. “How are you here?”

“I, um—” I lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to be here for you. The way you’ve been there for me all season.”

The next thing I knew, she was kissing me, and I was holding her, and I never wanted to let go.

June

“What do you think?” Georgia asked me as I sank down in the chair in front of the makeup table in her bedroom. “Hair up or down?”

Georgia and I were getting ready to go to the Atlas Center to watch the Hawks play in Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals. To say that I was excited would be an understatement. It was the first time I’d be attending a Stanley Cup Final where the Hawks had a shot at winning the ultimate prize on home ice. The first time I’d get to see Carson play in person since he’d joined the team.

I was so excited for—and so unbelievably proud of—him. He’d worked hard this season, both on and off the ice. He’d made an effort to get to know his teammates and bond with them, and it had only improved their chem on the ice.

We’d cheered each other on from afar all season, discussing tips and tricks, dissecting games and technique, being honest about how to improve. He’d supported me, encouraged me, and then…he’d surprised me by showing up the night before the final Walter Cup game.

I’d been shocked to see him. Shocked and absurdly happy. I still couldn’t figure out how he’d convinced the Hawks to let him take an overnight trip to Minnesota during play-offs just to be with me. I’d never expected him to come at all, let alone to stay for the night.

I couldn’t think about that night, or the following one, without my skin heating. Carson had been so…intense. So focused on my pleasure, though that was nothing new. In all the times we’d had phone or video sex, he’d always insisted I come first.

Even so, there’d been a fervor to his movements, as if he felt personally responsible for both my orgasms in bed and my success on the ice.

By the time I’d gone to the arena for the game, I’d practically floated there. And as much as he wanted to be at the game, we’d agreed it would be better for him to watch from my apartment. It wouldn’t be a good look for him or the Hawks if the fans discovered that one of their top defense players was attending the PWHL game in Minnesota when he was supposed to be practicing in Boston with his team.

After the win, I’d come home to find him waiting for me. The brief celebration with my teammates and the fans had been amazing, but even that couldn’t compare to finding Carson on my couch, wearing my jersey and a proud smile. He’d immediately taken me in his arms, kissing me without restraint. We’d spent the rest of the night celebrating—on the couch, against the wall, in the shower, and finally in my bed.

I’d never felt more supported or… I shook my head. Nope. Not gonna go there.

No strings, I reminded myself. But I had a feeling it was too late. I was used to holding my own on the ice, but Carson was breaking through all my defenses.

So much for “only one night.”

Only one night had turned into, until play-offs are over.

Only one night had turned into me showing up at his place yesterday afternoon to help him relax before the big game.

We both knew this was going to end soon—maybe even tonight, depending on the outcome of the game. If the Hawks won, they’d take the Stanley Cup. If not, they’d play one last game to determine the winner. As badly as I wanted the Hawks to win, I was also beginning to realize that I didn’t want this thing with Carson to end.

“Earth to Logan,” Georgia teased, waving her hand in front of my face. “How do you want me to style your hair for tonight?”