Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 137

Chapter 137

Aiden

When I laid the option out on the table, I fully expected him to say no.

In my mind, the ideal version of us was simple—stolen glances during practice, the occasional shower when the building was empty (definitely not in my office with the director just ten feet away—God, Noah), and weekends that belonged solely to us. Sometimes intense and dark, exactly the way he wanted it. Other times soft and tender, like we’d slipped into a life we weren’t supposed to desire. We’d keep our heads down, keep him focused, keep winning. College football wouldn’t last forever; I wouldn’t always be his coach. When he made it to the NFL, miles away from this campus, then maybe we could reevaluate. Perhaps I’d follow him a year later, after everyone had forgotten who I was. Maybe by then, the world would have shifted enough so that two football players holding hands on a random Tuesday wouldn’t cause a scene.

That was the hope. The fragile illusion I clung to.

And if he still wanted to taste all the other things—love, connection, whatever it was—I wanted to offer him a safe door to knock on, rather than watch him smash a window and fall through the shards.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I could feel his nerves buzzing across the room. He tried to settle casually on the edge of my couch, but his knee betrayed him—tap, tap, tap. The pulse at his throat, the telltale sign.

I knew he’d been chewing on this all day. The way he hovered close but never quite touched me, the way his eyes slid away whenever I caught him looking—it was only a matter of time before it spilled out.

So I beckoned him over. “Here,” I said, patting the thick rug in front of me.

He hesitated, shoulders stiff like a kid waiting for a verdict. Then he lowered himself to his knees, guilt already etched deep on his face.

I let my hand rest gently at the back of his neck, my thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw, lifting his gaze to meet mine.

“Breathe,” I murmured. “You’re safe. Say whatever you need to.”

His throat moved as he swallowed hard. His hands clenched at his thighs, trembling, and my own pulse hammered in response—hope, dread, grief, all tangled up in my chest.

Finally, his voice broke through, low and rough. “I thought maybe… just for now, while everyone’s watching us—I don’t know, if we really need to… save face or something…” He faltered, eyes darting away before snapping back to mine, desperate. “Maybe it’d be better if we were open to… other possibilities.”

The words hit me like a gut punch, even though I’d been bracing for them.

“Nothing with feelings. Nothing with emotion. Just enough to blend in. To divert attention, you know?” he said, sounding like he was filing a police report instead of asking me to fracture my heart.

“And I’m not doing this because of Lexie’s dad,” he added quickly. “But it helps—to have a cheerleader pretend girlfriend. Keeps people satisfied. You get it?”

He was doing what he always did when fear took hold—building walls of logic between us like sandbags.

Still, it stung like a slap.

I kept my expression steady. If there’s one thing the field has taught me, it’s how to bleed silently.

“Very well,” I said, the words tasting like cold steel. “Then we start now. I’ll put it in writing—no feelings, no secrets, complete transparency. Safe sex, immediate debrief, aftercare with me. Clear?”

His eyes flickered, relief and panic tangled in equal measure. “Clear.”

“I am.”

“Liar.”

His mouth twitched—almost a smile.

“Listen carefully,” I said, fastening the last button on my jacket. “Tonight, I won’t need permission to arrange or proceed with anything in line with what we agreed. But you will always have the right to stop a scene or refuse it. If that happens—if you call it or walk away—that element becomes a hard limit in the contract. It will be removed entirely. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” he answered quickly, though I could see the flicker of nerves in his eyes. “Sir, can I—I mean, could I ask you to…” His voice caught, eyes flashing with that mix of need and conflict that nearly shattered me.

“Talk to me, baby boy. What is it?” I asked, even as a part of me silently prayed he’d say forget it, let’s stay home, just the two of us, no one else… and that this whole ridiculous plan would die before it ever began.

His gaze locked on mine, pleading. “Can you please… kiss me?”

His request caught me off guard, making my heart skip and my chest ache. I leaned in, capturing his mouth with all the hunger I’d been swallowing down. For a moment, it was just us again—no contracts, no masks, no waiting stages.

Then I pulled back, my thumb brushing the spot on his lip where I’d bitten. “One last kiss,” I whispered, “before everything changes.”

I studied him in the mirror—the coat draped over his bare frame, the collar shining at his throat. If he thought this new freedom would be easy, if he believed it would all swing one way, he needed to face the reality now—before anything was written in stone.