Cross the Line

It sucked.

What was it about him? He was my opposite in every way. Black dishevelled hair to my perfectly coiffed blond, lean to my bulkier build, and an abrasive attitude to my generally easy-going nature. And his lip piercing. Couldn’t forget that. The only thing we had in common was our skill on the soccer field.

Fuck. He was coming over.

“Think you’re fucking special, do ya, Golden Boy?” He came to a stop in front of me, hostility radiating off him as he stood, arms crossed, shooting daggers from his eyes.

I rolled my eyes at his juvenile nickname for me. “I know I’m special. What was the view like from the sidelines, Delinquent?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he took a threatening step towards me. “I told you to never use that word in relation to me again. And fuck you. You’re just the shiny new toy. When I’m back, I’ll be the leading goal scorer again, the team MVP.”

I let my gaze bore into his, not backing down. Give someone like Kian an inch, and they’d take a mile. We were nose to nose, both more or less the same height, which I was grateful for because it meant he couldn’t use his height to intimidate me. “Stop referring to me as Golden Boy and I might consider it.”

“Do I look like I take orders from you?” He bristled, shoving against my chest. “Get out of my face.”

“You’re the one in my face,” I commented mildly, which caused him to bare his teeth in a snarl. My gaze dropped to his lips, his piercing glinting in the sun. Man, I wanted to run my tongue over that piercing. I licked my lips, and his eyes darkened as they followed the movement of my tongue. The tension between us crackled with energy, morphing from hostile to…something else.

Then, he shoved against my chest again and I stumbled backwards, taken off guard. He let out a low, taunting chuckle, elbowing past me and stalking off the field.

Back at the house, I dropped my bags by the front door and followed the smell of baking into the kitchen to find my mom in the middle of transferring a tray of cookies, fresh from the oven, onto a cooling rack.

“Just in time.” I grinned, swooping in on the rack.

My mom batted my hand away. “Not yet, you’ll burn your mouth. Have patience.” She softened her words with a smile as she looked at me. “How was practice?”

“Good.” I returned her smile. As usual, she looked completely put together, all blonde elegance—the perfect Stepford wife at first glance, although she was anything but subservient. She and my dad made a great team, and I was lucky to have them as parents.

“Your father will be home late tonight; he’s caught up at work.” Untying her apron, she hung it on a hook on the back of the door, then began pulling pans from the cupboards.

I nodded. My dad’s role as a financial analyst often had him working long hours. He’d been handpicked by his US-based employers to move to London, as part of a small team heading up the new branch they’d opened up over the summer. Used to being on the coast, none of us had wanted to live in London, so we’d ended up here in Alstone. From what I’d seen of it so far, it was okay, other than the fact that everything was so fucking small compared to what we were used to. Roads, houses, cars… Still, I guess it made sense, since we were on a tiny island. I missed the US—the feeling of

space, my old home near the beach in Stamford, Connecticut, and my school. Most of all, though, I missed my group of friends—their casual acceptance of my being openly gay, and the way we all looked out for one another.

I’d spent my eighteenth birthday here alone, since it had taken place before I’d started at Alstone High, and I didn’t yet know anyone. That had been a low point for me, but things had improved since then. Thanks to my soccer skills, I’d quickly become popular in school, although I still felt like the new guy, the outsider. Hence the fact I hadn’t yet broadcast my sexual orientation. I wasn’t ashamed, and I wasn’t about to deny it if I was asked, but I guess the move overseas had left me unsure about my place in this new world. I wanted to be more settled before I announced it.

I’d been lucky in the past, but my ex-boyfriend, Blake, had gone to a different school…and let’s just say that a broken arm was the least of his problems when he’d come out in front of the entire football team.

I sighed. I needed to give it time. Moving to a new house was stressful enough, and I’d moved halfway across the world. I couldn’t expect everything to fall into place straight away.

My mom interrupted my melancholy thoughts, sliding a plate in front of me. Thanking her, I took the plate and headed up to my room.

After I’d demolished the cookies, I lay on my bed, thinking back to today’s soccer practice, and the heat of Kian’s body pressed against mine as we stared each other down.

My dick reacted like it always did when I thought of him, and I forced myself to focus on soccer formations in my head, pushing him out of my mind.

Pale green eyes invaded my thoughts again, and I groaned aloud.

Time to try something else. I mentally began listing his negative points.

Arrogant.

Rude.

Abrasive.

Troublemaker.

Delinquent.