8. Lines Crossed
Chapter eight
Lines Crossed
T oday is practice day for Jaxon and it’s going to be the day that I’m setting boundaries.
The practice field is already humming with activity when I arrive. I march onto the field like I’m being forced to visit my nemesis in the hospital. There’s resignation and a little bit of terror, both pushing me past clashing helmets and a shouting coach. I see Jaxon right away. How can I not? He’s like a giant, shirtless neon sign. Our eyes meet, and his face splits into a smile that screams trouble. I veer left like an Olympic sprinter trying to dodge a bus.
He heads straight for me.
“You’re avoiding me, sweetheart.” Jaxon’s voice is low, and his grin is even lower.
He’s drenched in sweat, glistening like some sportswear ad for cocky quarterbacks. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to babysit a high-maintenance athlete, but it’s the first time one has made my stomach flip like I’m on a rollercoaster without a seatbelt.
“I’m not avoiding you. Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, aiming for cool indifference. I miss. “We need to talk.”
He’s still staring, like he’s waiting for me to trip over my own feet.
“After your practice.” I force myself to break eye contact and walk past him, wondering if he can see how red my face is. Professionalism, Tori. Keep it together. But it’s hard to stay focused when your biggest challenge is six-foot-four with abs that could legally be declared a weapon.
Practice grinds on, each pass and tackle like a reminder that I’m in way over my head. When the players finally start wrapping up, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. But before I can make a run for it, the sky darkens like a scene from a disaster movie. Just my luck.
Ominous clouds loom on the horizon, promising a storm. I shiver despite the muggy heat. It doesn’t take long for fat drops of rain hit my head and soak through my blouse in seconds. Great. At this rate, I’ll look like a drowned rat in record time. I can’t wait to explain that one to my boss.
I make a run for my car but Jaxon stands in my way.
“Let’s get out of this,” he shouts over the roar of the rain. He doesn’t wait for a reply before tugging me toward an old equipment shed. It’s either follow him or get washed away. I pick the lesser of two evils and let him drag me inside.
The door slams behind us, muting the storm but not the pounding in my chest. It’s cramped, dim, and the air is thick with humidity. Shelves piled with helmets and jerseys loom around us like witnesses. This is not how I pictured my career.
I lean against the wall, catching my breath. Water drips from my clothes, forming puddles at my feet. Jaxon stands across from me, equally drenched. His t-shirt clings to his chest, outlining every sculpted muscle.
“Cozy,” he says, running a hand through his dripping hair. His shirt clings to him in ways I really shouldn’t notice.
“We can’t stay here.” I force my gaze away, trying to focus on anything but the way his eyes seem to smolder in the dim light. Outside, thunder rumbles like a warning.
We’re alone, hidden from prying eyes. The air feels heavy with more than just humidity. I swallow hard, my heart an erratic drum beat in my chest.
“Pretty sure your car can’t swim.” He steps closer, his eyes intense.
I try to retreat, but there’s nowhere to go. This is exactly what I was afraid of—him getting too close and me being too stupid to push him away.
“What are you afraid of, Tori?” His voice is rough, the kind that doesn’t beg for answers but demands them. “Why do you keep running?”
His nearness is overwhelming. Everything about him is overwhelming. The rain drums on the roof, amplifying the tension until it’s all I can hear.
“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he whispers, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath.
“I don’t—” I start, but my voice catches.
What happens next could change everything. And that terrifies me more than any storm ever could.
He braces a hand on the wall behind me, caging me in. The rain drums overhead, a staccato rhythm that matches my pulse. I press back against the rough wood, but there’s nowhere to go.
He leans in, his nose brushing mine.
“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he whispers, his lips a hairsbreadth from mine. “Tell me it’s all just for show.”
I part my lips, ready to deny it. But the words won’t come. Because standing here, with the storm raging outside and Jaxon’s heat seeping into my bones, I can’t lie anymore.
Not to him. And not to myself.
The kiss is slow at first, testing, like he’s waiting for me to push him away. I don’t. God help me, I kiss him back. My hands find his shoulders, and everything else—logic, plans, reality—falls away. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him, and the world shrinks to just this, just us.
I surge forward, fisting my hands in his rain-soaked jersey and pulling him flush against me. He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me like a tuning fork.
His lips slant over mine with a hunger that steals my breath. His hands slide down my sides, igniting sparks with every touch. He grips my hips, lifting me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist, needing to be closer, always closer.
The world narrows to the press of his body, the slide of his tongue, the rasp of his stubble against my skin. I lose myself in the taste of him, in the fierce possessiveness of his kiss.
This is insane, a distant part of my brain screams. This is your client, your job. You can’t do this.
But God, I want to. I want to drown in this feeling, in the way he consumes me, body and soul.
Jaxon tears his mouth from mine, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat. I tilt my head back, giving him better access. His teeth scrape my pulse point and I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“Tori,” he rasps, his voice raw with need. “I want—”
Reality crashes over me like a bucket of ice water. I shove against his chest, wrenching myself out of his grip. He stumbles back, eyes glazed and chest heaving.
“We can’t do this,” I gasp, my voice shaking. Even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. This thing between us, it’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt.
He lets me go, but not without a fight in his eyes.
“Why not?” he demands. “Because it’s not real, or because it is?”
The silence stretches between us.
Say something, I silently beg. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this isn’t just a game to you.
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, rain dripping from his hair, his lips swollen from my kisses.
And I can’t bear it, the weight of his gaze, the intensity of what just happened. So I do what I always do when things get too real.
I run.
I yank open the shed door, the rusted hinges screeching in protest. Rain lashes my face, but I barely feel it. All I can feel is the pounding of my heart, the ache in my chest where Jaxon’s touch branded me.
“Tori, wait!” he calls after me, but I don’t look back. I can’t. If I do, I might not be able to leave.
I sprint across the muddy field, my heels sinking into the soft earth with each step. The rain is relentless, plastering my hair to my face. But I keep running, desperate to put distance between myself and the man who just shattered every wall I’ve ever built.
By the time I reach my car, I’m shaking so hard I can barely get the key in the lock. I wrench the door open and fling myself inside, slamming it shut behind me.
For a moment, I just sit there, my hands clenched around the steering wheel, my breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. I close my eyes, trying to steady myself, but all I can see is Jaxon’s face. The way he looked at me, like he could see straight into my soul.
I don’t know what’s real anymore. All I know is that I can’t do this. I can’t risk my heart, my career, everything I’ve worked so hard for.
With trembling hands, I shove the key into the ignition and start the engine. The windshield wipers slash frantically across the glass, battling the deluge. I put the car in drive and step on the gas, desperate to escape.
As I peel out of the parking lot, I catch a glimpse of Jaxon in the rearview mirror. He’s standing in the rain, watching me go, his expression a mix of frustration and something else, something I can’t quite name.
The drive home is a blur, a haze of rain-slick streets and blurred traffic lights. The kiss keeps coming back in vivid detail, relentless as the rain on my windshield. I should’ve pushed him away sooner, made it clear we’re nothing more than a publicity stunt. But the second his lips touched mine, it all unraveled. I want him. And that’s a disaster in the making.
Lightning flashes, and for a split second, it’s like the whole world is exposed, raw and unprotected. Just like me. I grip the steering wheel, telling myself it’s just the storm making my heart race like this. I’m almost convinced until his words echo back: Because it’s not real, or because it is?
I pull up to my building, soaked to the bone and even more tangled up inside. The familiar concrete and glass loom over me, a stark contrast to the warmth I left behind in that shed.
Inside my apartment, the silence is deafening. I expect it to be comforting, but it’s anything but. The quiet presses in on me, amplifying the chaos in my head. I flick on the lights, but it still feels dim. Maybe it’s just me.
I shiver, peeling off my wet clothes and leaving a trail to the bathroom. The hot shower should clear my head, but instead, it steams up the mirror, blurring my reflection like even it can’t face me. I can’t blame it. My thoughts are a frantic mess, looping back to Jaxon and the way he looked at me, like I was the only thing that mattered.
Wrapped in a towel, I flop onto the couch, my hair dripping onto the cushions. I stare at the ceiling, watching the shadows twist and reform with each flicker of the city lights outside. It’s almost as restless as I am.
I change into dry clothes, pulling on an old t-shirt and sweatpants like they’re armor against what I’m feeling. The fabric is soft and familiar, but it does nothing to shield me from the truth. Every step I take echoes back to the kiss, reminding me how badly I want what I shouldn’t.
Sinking into the corner of the couch, I hug a pillow to my chest and reach for my phone. I tell myself it’s to check emails, to bury myself in work, to focus on anything but him. I don’t get the chance. The screen lights up with a new message.
I’m not sorry.
Jaxon. The words are so simple, but they hit like a freight train, sending my heart into overdrive. I stare at the screen, knowing exactly what he means. He’s not sorry about the kiss. He’s not sorry about making me want more than I can handle.
The boundaries I was so desperate to maintain crumble in front of me, and I’m left with nothing but the truth: I’m in over my head, and I’m not sure I want to be anywhere else.