Page 89 of Cross the Line

Home.

My mind couldn’t dwell too long on that word because he was crouching to the ground, lifting my leg over his shoulder.

“But first—” he grinned up at me, his eyes glittering in the darkness “—I want you to come on my face so that when we return to the party, you won’t be able to look at me without thinking of this moment. Without remembering that you’re mine.”

I shuddered, letting out a shaky exhale. As if I could forget.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Istood at Carson’s kitchen counter, sipping some water in an attempt to rehydrate after last night. I let out a long, slow exhale. What a night.

I smiled to myself as I scrolled through the pictures on my phone—a few from the game, Frasier and Bryn in the med bay, Morgan in her arms. Several of my friends and me. It almost felt like a dream. Like this wasn’t actually my real life.

Especially as I got to the photos I’d taken on the ice after the presentation of the Stanley Cup. Frasier smiling a watery smile as he peered up at the rafters where the banner honoring his best friend was displayed. Followed by a selfie of Carson and me on the ice wearing the biggest grins.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever been happier, and I wasn’t referring solely to last night. Play-offs were typically one of the most stressful stretches of the year, yet I’d felt supported the entire time. Despite the demands of Carson’s own career. Despite how busy we both were, we’d consistently made time for each other.

My stomach growled, and I riffled through the fridge. Carson was still asleep, which wasn’t surprising considering how hard everyone had partied. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself at some of the antics—the body shots, that sculpture… I shook my head.

I pulled out eggs, turkey bacon, and some vegetables then set to work. I had a feeling Carson wouldn’t mind if I helped myself to some of his food, especially if I made enough to share.

I hummed to myself as I moved about the kitchen, enjoying the normalcy of cooking breakfast. The day stretched out ahead of me, blissfully devoid of obligations.

I planned to visit Bryn at the hospital, but otherwise, my calendar was gloriously empty for the first time in months. No practice. No workouts. No podcast. No…nothing. I so rarely had a day with nothing on the calendar, and I was finally able to stop and think.

About the season. About the podcast and my brother. About Carson. About what I wanted—and needed—moving forward.

After last night, I knew things had to change. I was done holding back. I took risks all the time—on the ice, with my career. It was time to take some risks in my personal life.

As I stood there, dicing vegetables and tossing them into the pan, I had to confront the truth. I cared about my brother and his opinion, but I also knew my own heart. I trusted Carson, and this was my life. It was my decision.

I didn’t know what jersey I’d wear come fall or even which city I’d live in, but when I looked at my future, I wanted Carson to be part of it.

Did I want to hurt Levi? Of course not.

But as Cece had said last night, “Bossy brothers should have no say in our love lives.”

My biggest takeaway from yesterday? “No strings” was no longer working for me.

And I could only hope, based on Carson’s comment after the game, that he agreed.

We make the rules.

When we’d started this…arrangement, I could remember him asking, “What if I don’t want just one night?” But that didn’t necessarily mean that he wanted more, as in a relationship. It could just mean he wanted more sex. More of a friends-with-benefits situation.

I didn’t think that was the case—or at least, I hoped it wasn’t. But I figured it would be easier—for both of us—to discuss if we weren’t operating on an empty stomach.

Last night had been eye-opening. Probably because Carson and I so rarely hung out together in person. And when we did, we were usually at home or in a hotel room, not in public.

Women at the club had been eyeing him like a prize to win, trying to touch him, dance with him. He’d been polite but uninterested. I wasn’t even sure he’d noticed all the attention he’d garnered, or maybe he’d just become proficient at tuning it out.

He certainly had his pick of women, especially the puck bunnies who seemed to love him. Not that I blamed them—the man was hot, confident, talented, and in touch with his emotions. A brief glance at his socials revealed endless suggestive comments from fans.

I want to get cozy with Kovi.

I want to have your baby.

Marry me, Carson.