Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 72

Chapter 72

Noah

I still hadn’t heard the word I desperately wanted—a simple yes.

It was ridiculous when I thought about it. I was twenty-one, a college student, supposedly an adult, yet somehow I felt more confined than when I lived under my parents’ roof. The strangest part? I was the one choosing this restriction.

That realization hit me during warm-ups, right in the middle of a stretch. A smirk crept onto my lips as I paused, the absurdity of my situation sinking in. I could easily walk off this field, right now. Hell, I could stroll into that party tonight without sending a single text, and legally, there was nothing Aiden could do to stop me.

But then, the mental image shifted. It wasn’t the party, the music, or the beer that filled my mind—it was Aiden’s face. The way his approval felt like the very air I breathed. The way hearing “good boy” from him struck deeper than any cheer from the crowd. Just like that, my brief spark of rebellion fizzled out, replaced by something far more powerful.

I was free, yes, but that freedom boiled down to choosing whether to live my life with or without Aiden once I stepped off the field. Despite loving my friends, my social life, and the thrill of casual encounters, from the moment Aiden entered my world as Mr. A, I had become utterly obsessed. I saw him everywhere—literally—and thought about him every second I wasn’t with him.

I was so completely screwed.

That’s how I ended up delivering the single most flawless practice of my entire life.

Every pass was perfect. My footwork was tight, precise. I didn’t hesitate for a moment during drills. I ran every play like I was chasing the Heisman trophy right then and there. I even made sure to nod sharply when Aiden barked an order, slipping in a crisp, “Yes, Sir,” loud enough for him to catch.

When I glanced his way after a particularly clean throw, he was watching me with that razor-sharp, unreadable calm. The kind of look that made me feel like he could see every thought racing through my mind, waiting to see how far I’d push it.

“Good work, Blake,” he said once as I jogged past him. His tone was clipped, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a spark that told me my subtle attempts to win him over weren’t going unnoticed.

By the time practice ended, I was practically buzzing from the effort to be perfect. I hung around, waiting for the field to empty, clutching my helmet under one arm like I had all the time in the world.

Miguel passed by with a smirk. “Don’t be late, golden boy. Party starts at nine.”

Keon slapped my shoulder pads as he left. “Seriously, man. You’re coming, right?”

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

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

I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, right.”

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

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

My heart skipped. “You did what?”

“I told him to swing by for a beer. It’s the weekend, after all. Had over a dozen requests.”

“Requests? From who?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.

They both shot me matching looks like, Are you serious?

By the time I arrived, the frat house was already alive with energy. Music pounded through the walls, the bass so strong it made the floor vibrate beneath my sneakers.

I chose dark jeans and a fitted black Henley that hugged my chest and shoulders just right, showing off the hours I’d put in—not just on the field, but under Aiden’s relentless, military-style training. My hair was still sun-bleached from summer practice, my skin bronzed from the Texas sun, and judging by the way a few heads turned, it was working in my favor.

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

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

“Glad you made it, man,” another teammate said, clapping me on the back. “Killer practice today.”

I smiled, soaking it all in. The attention, the easy energy—it felt good. Familiar. Like the old days when I was the star, before my life became a series of rules, schedules, and yes, Sir.

A few girls glanced my way, eyes roaming over me before exchanging whispers. I’d always been popular with girls—being quarterback pretty much guaranteed that—but lately, it was different. If I’d been in good shape under my dad’s obsessive training, now I was sharper. Leaner. Stronger. Aiden had molded me into someone who got noticed without even trying.

And I knew they were watching.

I was halfway through my beer when the front door swung open—and just like that, my ten seconds of glory were over.

There he was—Aiden—wearing casual jeans that hugged his hips and a dark T-shirt stretched over his chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. Every head turned toward him, but his eyes locked on me for a brief moment before looking away.

It wasn’t just the girls staring.

Suddenly, the night didn’t feel fun anymore.