Crossing Lines Chapter 51

**Noah**

I hadn’t gotten a yes yet.

Which was insane, because I was twenty-one years old, in college, and somehow less free than when I was living under my parents’ roof. Crazy part? I was *choosing* this.

The thought made me stop mid-stretch during warm-ups, a smirk tugging at my mouth. I could walk off this field right now. Hell, I could walk into that party tonight without so much as a text, and there was nothing Aiden could actually do about it—legally, anyway.

But then… the image in my head shifted. Not to the party, not to the beer or the music, but to his face. The way his approval felt like oxygen. The way “good boy” hit harder than any cheer from the stands. And just like that, my little flare of rebellion fizzled into something else entirely.

I was free, sure, but my freedom consisted of being free to choose life with or without Aiden away from the field. And as much as I loved having friends, a social life, and getting laid, from the second Aiden entered my life as Mr. A, I had been obsessed with him. I saw him everywhere—quite literally—and thought about him every moment I wasn’t with him. 

I was so damn screwed.

Which is how I ended up putting on the single most perfect practice performance of my life.

Flawless passes. Tight footwork. Not a second of hesitation in the drills. Every play-run like I was trying to win the Heisman that afternoon. I even made sure to nod sharply when he barked an order, throwing in a crisp, “*Yes, Sir*,” loud enough for him to hear.

When I glanced toward him after a particularly clean throw, he was watching me with that unreadable, razor-edged calm. The kind that made me feel like he could see exactly what I was doing and was just waiting to see how far I’d take it.

“Good work, Blake,” he said once as I jogged past him. His tone was clipped, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that told me my bribe campaign wasn’t going unnoticed.

By the end of practice, I was practically vibrating with the effort to be perfect. I lingered, waiting for everyone else to clear out, keeping my helmet tucked under one arm like I had all the time in the world.

Miguel smirked as he walked by. “Don’t be late, golden boy. Party starts at nine.”

Keon slapped my shoulder pads on his way out. “Seriously, man. You’re coming, right?”

“I’ll be there,” I said, trying to sound casual, even though I was still technically under lock and key without the damn key.

Miguel turned back with a grin. “Hey, maybe Coach should come. Loosen up, have a beer.”

I choked out a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

He shrugged. “Could be fun. Bet he’s even hotter when he loosens up.”

“I already invited him,” Keon said casually, like it was no big deal.

My heart skipped a beat. “You did what?”

“I told him to come by for a beer. It’s the weekend anyway, and I had over a dozen requests—”

“Requests? From who?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

They both gave me matching *are you serious?* looks.

“C’mon, dude, you didn’t notice? Half the cheerleading squad has a crush on our coach,” Keon said with a laugh.

“Not to mention a few of the players,” Miguel added with a wicked smirk, clearly including himself in that number.

My jaw tightened.

While I wasn’t exactly worried about the girls—at least, not in the same way—there was no universe in which I was going to let any guy lay eyes on Aiden the way I did. Let alone a damn finger.

I watched them go, my mind twisting between reckless temptation and the slow burn of my own stubbornness. By the time I found myself alone in my room, I’d already decided I wasn’t going. Screw the party. If staying home with Aiden meant keeping him away from every wandering eye and temptation, then fine—I’d take the hit.

I grabbed my stuff for the weekend, slinging my bag over my shoulder and heading toward the lot where my bike was chained. That’s when Aiden stepped into my path, looking infuriatingly composed after two hours in the Texas heat.

“No need to ride over to my place tonight,” he said, voice smooth as glass.

I frowned. “What?”

“You’ve got permission to go to the party,” he continued. “Since you wanted it so badly. I might be stopping by myself.”

My stomach dropped. Permission. He made it sound like he was granting me some priceless gift, when in reality it felt like he’d just chosen a room full of drunk idiots over me. And if *he* was choosing the party, well… so was I.

I forced a grin. “Cool. I’ll see you there then.”

“Enjoy yourself, Blake,” he said with a look that I couldn’t quite read—half challenge, half warning.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what it meant. I just turned on my heel and walked away, already running through what I was going to wear. If Aiden Mercer wanted to show up at that party, he’d find me having the kind of fun that didn’t involve sitting at home waiting for him.

The frat house was already buzzing by the time I walked in, music thumping so hard the floor practically vibrated under my sneakers.

I’d gone with dark jeans, a fitted black Henley that clung just enough to my chest and shoulders to show off the hours I’d been putting in—not just on the field, but under Aiden’s unrelenting, military-level training. My hair was still sun-bleached from summer practices, skin bronzed from the Texas sun, and judging by the way a few heads turned, it was doing me favors.

“Blake! There he is!” Miguel’s voice cut through the noise as he shoved a red cup in my hand before I could even close the door.

Keon grinned from across the room. “Golden boy finally shows.”

“Happy you made it, man,” another teammate clapped me on the back. “Killer practice today.”

I tossed them a grin, soaking it in. The attention, the easy energy—it felt… good. Familiar. Like the old days when I was the star, before everything in my life revolved around rules and schedules and yes, *Sir*.

A few girls glanced my way, eyes sweeping me up and down before exchanging whispers. I’d always been popular with girls—being quarterback pretty much came with that—but lately, it was different. If I’d been in great shape under my dad’s obsessive routine, now I was sharper. Leaner. Stronger. Aiden had polished me into something that got noticed without me even trying.

And I knew they were noticing.

I was halfway through my beer when the front door swung open… and that was the end of my ten seconds of glory.

There he was—Aiden—casual jeans hugging his hips, a dark T-shirt stretching over his chest, sleeves rolled to show off his forearms. Every head turned, but his eyes locked on me… before they looked away.

The girls weren’t the only ones staring.

And suddenly, the night didn’t feel like fun anymore.