Page 49 of Cross the Line
His hair is nearly white-blond, his tan deepened by contrast—especially when Matheo and Christina rejoin us and Matheo sits next to him with his tanned arm resting on the table next to Erik’s.
“All the time,” Dylan says. “Just ask any of the other guys what they think of Andersen.”
“He has one helluva backhand shot, though.” Jayden’s warm chuckle oozes through me, his voice a low rumble that kicks my pulse.
“They should call me the annihilator or assassin or something,” Erik says, drawing a chorus of laughter.
“Know your place, sugar,” Matheo smirks, patting Erik’s shoulder.
“And you’ll definitely remember our resident panty-dropper, Rio.” Dylan glances at Christina, winks, and reintroduces her to Erik and Ansel. He carries that warm-but-held-together energy that makes the languor in his pale blue eyes even starker. He sighs. “Obviously you know Bruce and the star D-Men of the team.”
“That’ll be me and Eli,” Jayden murmurs, flattening his hands against my stomach, thumbs grazing skin. In a low tone, he whispers, “Your superstar boyfriends.”
I twist to find his face. He sticks his tongue out, playful, and my breath stutters.
Boyfriends. I’ve never even had one. Now I havetwo.
Holy crap.
“Anyone know why Weissman’s ass was hauled home?” Dylan asks.
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Erik sighs.
“What happened?” Jayden keeps the conversation moving with a calm voice at odds with the hammering in his chest beneath me.
“To Weissman?” Matheo groans. “Coach pulled him aside, and he looked like a little lost puppy when he was done with him. Fuck man, we started out so strong, and now…”
“Everything is falling apart,” Erik huffs.
“Well, Andersen, sometimes there are bigger things in life than a fucking trophy,” Dylan snaps, tossing back his water like it’s something stronger. The melancholy in his eyes is as real as it looks.
“Shit, Dylan, I didn’t mean it like that. Just that we were at the top, and—” Erik grimaces and lets it drop.
Matheo doesn’t. “If we don’t fix this shit, we might as well pack up our shit and go home. This is embarrassing. What’s worse is we’re sitting here like pussy-ass punks, wallowing like we’re not the best fucking team in the league. Fuck Weisma?—”
“What if something happened back home? To his family? His wife? Why are you an asshole?” Jayden snaps, his arm tightening around me like I’m his tether. “Is there anyone else you want to talk smack about today? ‘Cause my offer from earlier still stands.”
Heavy silence settles over the table. Jayden drops his forehead to my shoulder and breathes. Christina and I take the room’s temperature as heads duck, eyes wander… Dylan scrolls his phone like a hawk.
He breaks it. “Are you sure Oliver’s married?”
“Dude is eighteen,” Erik marvels as Matheo adds, “Explains why he never hangs out and is always in a rush to get home. All this time we thought he was stuck up…”
“If thinking and saying the wrong thing was a talent, you’d be the superstar for it,” Jayden grumbles into my shoulder.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, okay?” Matheo groans.
“What did you do?” Ansel whistles, goading.
“Shut it, Reinhardt!” Matheo flips him off, then looks back to Jayden. “I’m fucking sorry for what I said earlier, for… I didn’t mean it. I was mad and frustrated, and I’m an asshole. Okay?”
Jayden thaws under me, loosening his arm. “Asshole doesn’t cut it, but fine.”
“I’m sorry,” Matheo says again, offering a fist. He holds it there until Jayden bumps it. “It won’t happen again, bro, I swear.”
“I can’t find any photos of Twisty’s girl on his socials. Like, the kid posts two to three times a week, all personal shit, and there isn’t a single girl in it.” Dylan drops his phone in the middle and keeps scrolling through Oliver’s Instagram.
“Didn’t have him down as a skateboarder,” Matheo says, tapping a video.
