Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Noah

The moment I threw the accusation at him—that he was Mr. A—everything around me blurred into a haze. My entire day unraveled in an instant.

Part of me was terrified that I had completely misread the situation. That I had made a colossal fool of myself. That he would just laugh it off—or worse, exclude me from the program for crossing a line that shouldn’t have been crossed. But the other part feared the exact opposite: that I was right, and I was about to dive headfirst into something far beyond what I could handle.

I avoided him like a contagious disease, yet I couldn’t stop watching. Every time he passed by, every stolen glance, every subtle breath he took—I was there, silently observing. And when he finally approached close enough to speak, my legs nearly gave out beneath me.

“I know what you’re doing. Do you?” His voice was low, deliberate.

Then came that invitation—the one that felt like a trap wrapped in silk—to meet him in his room after dinner. He never directly confirmed it, but the way he said it, the sharp gleam in his eyes, and the slow, purposeful way he walked away spoke volumes. It told me everything I needed to know without a single word.

I paced for what felt like hours, wrestling with myself. Should I go? Should I stay? I told myself I was being overly dramatic, reckless even—ruining my entire career on a whim. But deep down, I already knew I was going to show up.

Still, I changed shirts four times, sprayed on cologne, and tried desperately to look like I didn’t care, when in truth, I cared with every fiber of my being.

I kept rehearsing in my mind that I would confront him, force the truth out of him, make him admit what he’d been hiding. But when he finally opened that door, all my carefully crafted words evaporated.

He wasn’t Coach Aiden anymore. Standing there in a perfectly tailored black suit, his eyes darker than the night and just as tempting, he was something else entirely. The shirt clung to his chest as if it had been made just for him, and his presence alone was overwhelming.

Commanding.

Magnetic.

Unyielding.

I tried to speak, but all that escaped my lips was, “Good evening… Sir.”

Damn it.

He didn’t even flinch. Didn’t react. Just stepped aside, letting me in as if he’d been expecting me all along.

I sat because he told me to. I listened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, my mind quieted. No racing thoughts. No frantic attempts to figure out what to say or how to behave.

I simply… felt. Safe, seen, wanted.

Then, he laid a choice before me.

Two lives. Two roles. One truth.

Was I in or out?

But the truth was—I had no idea what he was really offering.

I’d stumbled onto that site out of sheer curiosity, hungry for something I couldn’t name. The challenge had thrilled me—the teasing, the tension, the feeling of being pushed toward a line I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross.

Maybe… I craved that discipline.

That approval.

Hell, even the thought of being punished—by him—awakened something deep inside me I hadn’t known existed.

But this? What he was proposing now?

This wasn’t flirting.

This wasn’t a game.

He wanted more. He wanted my “everything else.”

And before I could make any promises, I needed to understand what that “else” truly meant.

“I don’t know what being all in involves,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

“If you want what Mr. A has to offer,” he replied, his tone dropping lower, slower, almost intimate, “you’ll have to prove you can keep your grades high, stay at the top of your game on the field, and follow orders without question. No distractions. No attitude. You give me your best as a player—and in return, I train you privately. On weekends. In complete submission.”

Licked his bottom lip like I was starving.

Fuck… fuck!

I did not just do that…

“Mm.” He tasted me slowly, deeply, as if he had all the time in the world. “Clearly not interested.”

And then—he stepped back.

Cool. Collected. Composed.

While I sat there trembling, hard as stone, burning with questions I didn’t even know how to ask.

He said nothing more.

Just turned, walked to the other side of the room, and busied himself by the window—back to me—sending a clear message:

This part’s over.

I sat there for a long minute, maybe more, staring at the man who had just flipped my entire sense of self upside down. Half of me wanted to speak, to ask something—anything. The other half was frozen.

Because what the hell had just happened?

Was it attraction? Submission? Curiosity? Or had I simply gotten drunk on his scent and done something I couldn’t take back?

I had kissed him—no, wait, not even that—I had licked him! Like, what the fuck? I had responded to him. And not like a confused straight guy experimenting in college—I wanted him. Craved him.

And now, he wouldn’t even look at me.

Because of course he wouldn’t.

This was Mr. A—and he didn’t chase.