Page 40 of Line Change

Apparently the offer is still open.

I should ignore it. Nobody has ever ruined a working relationship with a linemate by putting his phone facedown and going to bed.

Instead, I tap the reply box.

No.

I erase it.

Fuck off.

That sounds like me, but he’ll know it doesn’t mean no. I erase that too.

Send me a dick pic.

My thumb hovers over the arrow long enough for the typing dots to show on his end. I delete the words before I lose whatever remains of my mind.

Maybe I’m supposed to send mine first. The possibility is so insane I lock my phone and stand up.

Leaving it unanswered is the only sensible option. Getting in my car and driving twenty minutes to Fraser’s place with no warning would be fucking insane.

My keys are already in my hand.

I make it all the way to the parking garage before I admit where I’m going. I could stop during the elevator ride or the walk to my car. Instead, I get behind the wheel.

At Denny, I could turn west and go home. A gas station farther up gives me another chance, and I pass the last useful side street before Fraser’s block without taking it. The drive lasts seventeen minutes. I feel every one.

I’ve spent weeks wondering how his mouth would feel against mine. Now he’s invited me to find out.

I pull into a space across from his building.

This will make everything worse because we have to play together and already fight too much. Adding sex in Seattle means I can’t blame Arizona or a hotel room. I want Nolan Fraser badly enough to do this at home.

I turn off the engine and get out.

The building code is still in the old team-party message. I let myself into the lobby, take the stairs too fast, and knock on his door before the decision catches up with me.

It opens almost immediately.

Fraser is barefoot in gray sweatpants and a faded black T-shirt. His curls are flattened on one side like he was lying on the couch, and the ink on his neck disappears under his collar. He looks past me toward the empty hall before his attention comes back to my face.

“Pope?”

The confusion in his voice almost stops me. Then his tongue wets his lower lip, and I catch the back of his neck and kiss him.

His lips part on a startled breath. For one awful second he doesn’t move, and then his fist closes in the front of my jacket. He yanks me over the threshold and kisses me back hard enough for our teeth to knock.

The door swings shut behind me. I expected his mouth to feel different. I didn’t know how. It’s hot and wet, his lower lip soft between mine. His chest presses hard against me as one rough hand catches my jaw, and he shoves a thigh between my legs while putting his back against the door.

His tongue slides over mine. My cock goes from hard to painful. I push my hips against his and swallow the sound he makes when he feels it. His sweatpants are thin enough that I can feel his cock through them, already stiff and getting harder as he grinds into me.

Fraser bites my lower lip. The sting makes me kiss him deeper, holding his jaw where I want it while his tongue strokes mine. He tastes faintly like weed and the mint gum he chews at practice. That mouth has been on my thumb and my cock. Kissing it is better.

I pull back because I need air.

His fingers stay twisted in my jacket. His mouth is wet and red, and he’s staring at me like I’ve been dropped on his doorstep by a confused delivery driver. “Yes,” I say.

“Uh, what?” He still doesn’t let go of me.