Crossing a Line

Author's Notes:

This is an I/T story due to the relationship between the main characters, but it could have easily gone in Romance or First Time. Translation: this is a slow burn. There are multiple erotic scenes in this story, but it takes some time to get there. If that's not your thing, this might not be for you. But, if you enjoy a good story, I think you'll like this one. I know I had fun writing it.

All characters are 18 or older.

***

"Nice speech, dork," my friend Harrison snarked at me, a lopsided grin on his face as he approached. "What the fuck is salutatorian, anyways? Does it mean second best?" he chortled.

"Thanks, dick," I fired back with a laugh before we slapped hands and pulled each other in for a bro hug. "It means I'm smarter than your dumb ass, that's what it means."

Harrison responded by wrapping me in a bear hug and lifting me off my feet. At six-feet two-inches, he had about four inches on me.

His awkward hug went largely unnoticed by the swarm of our fellow high school graduates, decked out in cardinal gowns, who buzzed around us on the turf of our school's sports stadium. After our principal had presented us to our friends and family as the graduating class, and dismissed for the last time, pandemonium broke out as the graduates took off in search of family or friends.

"We fucking did it, Nick," he gushed, changing gears as he set me back on my feet. "We finally graduated. Now it's on to what will be the best phase of our lives: college."

"College won't be as good without my go-to striker to bury my passes into the net," I noted. "I'm still bummed you won't be joining me."

"Come on, Nick," he replied softly with an easy grin. "We both know I'm not as talented as you, and I certainly didn't have the grades to get a full ride to play soccer at Stanford."

I looked him in the eye and nodded subtly. He was right. Harrison was one of my best and oldest friends, and we'd been club soccer teammates for a decade, but the tall, handsome blonde with blue eyes had prioritized sports and his social life over education, with his social life taking up the lion's share of his time over the last couple years. In contrast, I had sacrificed any social life to excel in school and soccer.

Harrison added, "Besides, all those smart girls at Stanford would see through my bullshit. At least I'll have a chance with the girls at San Diego State. They like to party, if you know what I mean."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I'll have to regularly come back home to visit you."

"Yeah, right," Harrison chortled. "I won't hold my breath. At least you won't be alone at Stanford. Jessica will be there with you."

"True."

"Speaking of Jessica," Harrison began, his tone dropping, "are you finally going to set me up with your sister?"

Harrison had been begging me to hook him up with my sister, Jessica, since our freshman year of high school. And I always gave him the same answer...

"Since you're my second-best friend, I won't stand in your way," I replied with a smirk. "But Jessica is my best friend as well as my sister. I won't manipulate her, not even for you."

"Weak," he complained, as he did every other time to my standard response.

"Take your shot or pass the ball, bud," I added. "You've had four years to make a move, and it's not like she's ever had a boyfriend during that time."

"Hey, the only reason she didn't have a boyfriend was because she was always studying or training with you. Pity she's your stepsister or you would have had it made. Jess is fucking hot, dude."

"I don't want to hear that," I replied, crunching up my face in mock disgust before laughing. She may have been my sister, but I wasn't blind. Jessica was, in my opinion, one of the two most attractive girls at our high school. "And she's my sister, not my stepsister. You know I've never treated her like anything less."

"Yeah, yeah," Harrison waved me off. "Speaking of which, here she comes... and she's not alone." His voice lowered as he finished, then he inclined his head in the direction he was looking.

I followed his eyes and easily spotted Jessica; her gold valedictorian stole standing out against her cardinal gown. She looked radiant, smiling and laughing exuberantly. Her striking light blue eyes shone brightly, while her long, golden blonde hair, which she had curled, bounced and swished as she walked toward me. With her lightly tanned skin, slightly upturned nose that had a cute dusting of freckles, my sister was the epitome of the Southern California girl next door.

My focus quickly shifted from my sister to the girl she was walking with—the one Harrison must have seen when he attempted to draw my attention to Jessica. It was the only girl who I thought held a candle to my sister in terms of beauty. The girl I'd had a crush on for four years: Eleni Spanos.

Eleni was an exotic beauty of Greek and Turkish ancestry who moved into town just before we started high school. She had the most stunning, light green eyes I'd ever seen, and thick, wavy black hair that cascaded down to the middle of her back. With her warm smile, button nose, and tanned, olive skin, I'd oft imagined her as a descendant of Helen of Troy—hers was a face that could launch a thousand ships.

"I heard she broke up with Jonah," Harrison added while I continued to stare at the Mediterranean goddess who had been at the center of most of my fantasies for the past four years.

"Yeah," I remarked absently, my eyes fixed on Eleni. "I heard that, too."

Eleni and I met in Spanish class during our freshman year. At that time, girls weren't really on my radar; I was too focused on school and soccer. Eleni was the first girl who cracked my up-until-then-impenetrable mental fortitude.

However, I wasn't the only one who noticed Eleni. She caught the eye of every guy at school. None more so than Jonah Walsh, a popular and good-looking senior, who didn't hesitate to take her off the market. Fourteen-year-old me couldn't compete with an eighteen-year-old adult who drove a BMW.

I assumed Eleni's relationship with Jonah would eventually end and, when it did, I'd take my shot. Unfortunately, Eleni stayed with him through all four years of high school. Adding further insult to injury, she and Jessica became friends—Jessica was also in the same Spanish class as us—which meant, for four years, Eleni was constantly around me at school, reminding me that the girl I desired was out of my reach.

"Great speech, Nick," Eleni said as she and Jessica joined Harrison and me. Then she added, looking at Harrison, "Hey, Harry."

"Thanks, Eleni," I responded to her compliment. "But Jessica's speech was much better than mine." I meant it, too. I thought her speech was better.

"You're so full of shit," Jessica chided playfully, brushing a golden lock behind her ear. "You know your speech was better than mine. You had the whole crowd laughing. That was an impossible act to follow. Is that why you offered to let me be the valedictorian?" She had her hands on her hips and an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe," I lied with a smirk. The truth was, I held no ulterior motive. I truly believed she deserved the honor of being recognized as the valedictorian.

Jessica and I were the top two students in our graduating class. We took the same classes and earned an "A" in every one of them. With the exact same grade point average, the school principal gave us the choice of deciding which of us would be named valedictorian, and which of us would be named salutatorian. Jessica was my sister, my best friend, and the person I had looked after since we came into each other's lives more than a decade ago. It was a no-brainer as far as I was concerned; she deserved to be the valedictorian.

"And I mean it," I continued, looking at my sister. "Your speech was better. Mine was funny, sure. But yours was inspiring. I saw lots of tears in people's eyes."

"I wanted to go out and conquer the world after hearing it," Harry chimed in, giving Jessica his best smile. "It really was awesome, Jess."

Jessica gave Harry a quick smile, then turned back to me. Our eyes met as we attempted to read each other's minds—the benefit of being best friends for over a decade and growing up in the same house. She wanted to know if I set her up to outshine her; I didn't. I wanted to know if she knew how much I loved her, respected her, and believed she deserved the recognition; the soft smile she gave me after a moment told me she did.

"So, Nick," Eleni said, disrupting the non-verbal conversation I was having with Jessica, "it looks like I'll be thirty minutes from you and Jessica in the fall."

"Really?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah," she answered with a smile that made her pale green eyes sparkle. "I'm going to San Francisco State. It's about half an hour north of Stanford."

"That's awesome, Eleni," I said as my mind processed that my longtime crush, Eleni Spanos, would only be a thirty-minute drive from me for the next four years.

"Hey, Eleni," Harrison said, flashing me a knowing look. "I heard you and Jonah broke up. Is that true?"

"Geez, Harrison," Jessica interjected, though her look of annoyance seemed directed at me. "Couldn't wait for the body to get cold, could you?"

Harrison held his hands up in surrender before Eleni replied, "It's fine, Jess. Yes, Harry, Jonah and I broke up. I was ready to start a new chapter in life and heading away for college seemed like the perfect opportunity for a clean slate."

I couldn't help but notice Eleni's eyes were fixed on mine as she answered Harrison's question. I wondered if she was dropping me a hint. I certainly hoped she was. Before I could follow up, Harrison spoke again.

"Hey, Dr. Becker," Harrison said to my father, who was smiling as he approached us, hand-in-hand with my mother. Harrison then turned to my mother, "Hello, Mrs. Becker."

My father, Dr. Thomas Becker, and my mother, Stacy Becker, were a bit of a Southern California stereotype. Namely, the older, wealthy man who marries the younger, attractive woman. My father wasn't unattractive; he was good-looking. He just wasn't on the same level as Stacy. To be fair to my father, few were.

I was no stranger to the disapproving glances and whispers from people who saw my forty-seven-year-old surgeon father, with his salt and pepper hair and brown eyes, alongside his beautiful, thirty-seven-year-old, blonde haired, blue-eyed wife. I didn't let the judgment of strangers bother me. I knew that their marriage was more complicated than people realized.

My biological mother died when I was six years old, killed in a car accident when she was struck by a teenager who was texting while driving. At the time, my father was in his cardiothoracic surgery residency program, which he would have needed to drop out of if he couldn't find someone to care for me. Care for me like a mother, not like a nanny or au pair. Accordingly, six months after my mother died, a nurse at the hospital my dad worked at set him up with her friend, Stacy. Stacy was ten years younger than my dad, had a daughter my age, Jessica, and was struggling to support herself and her daughter.

Stacy's life had also taken a detour off its expected path before she met my father. She was an exceptional soccer player when she was younger, earning a scholarship to play at UCLA with dreams of playing professionally. When she was eighteen years old, she was called up to the U.S. Women's National Team for a friendly soccer match against the Netherlands in Amsterdam. During her trip, she hooked up with a random guy in a bar while celebrating scoring her first goal for the National Team. Nine months later, Jessica was born. Stacy's dreams of playing soccer and going to college, however, were over.

With a six-year-old daughter and a high school education, Stacy needed a break in life. My dad needed someone to fill the role of mother for me while he finished his residency and supported a family. What began as a marriage of convenience, however, turned into something much more than either of them could have ever predicted when they got together.

Stacy turned out to be a wonderful mother to me, which is why I called her "Mom" and shot down any attempt to apply the qualifier "step" in front of it. I also got a sister and best friend out of a so-called "marriage of convenience". And Jessica got a father who loved her enough to legally adopt her, which is why she also had the last name, Becker, and called him "Dad".

For us, family wasn't about blood. Ours was the family we made. We chose each other.

"Congratulations, you two," my father said, his smile touching his brown eyes as he and my mother approached our group.

My mother released Dad's hand, her eyes tearing up as she rushed to Jessica and embraced her in a hug. My father did the same to me, without the watery eyes or the quickened pace.

That Jessica and I were not biologically related was evident to anyone who understood genetics and saw us next to our parents. I looked like my father. We both stood around five-feet ten-inches, both had close-cropped short black hair, though his was as much white as black, both had brown eyes, and both had an olive complexion that tanned to a golden brown with ease.

In contrast, Jessica looked like her mother. They both stood around five-feet five-inches, both had long, golden hair, both had fair skin, and both had blue eyes, though Jessica's were a light blue whereas Mom's eyes were more of a blue gray.

"I'm proud of you, son," my father told me with the hint of a grin. "And your speech was excellent. Stanford is lucky to have you."

"It sure is," my mother chimed in as she wiped away a tear, wrapped me in a hug, and leaned up to kiss my cheek. "That speech was awesome, honey."

"Thanks, Mom," I said, hugging her back.

"I'm telling you; he sabotaged me by going first," Jessica teased. "He gets to be the nice guy by letting me be valedictorian

and

gets all the applause with a speech that was impossible to follow."

She flashed me a playful grin, which I returned over our mother's head.

"Your speech was incredible, too, Jessica," Dad assured her, before embracing her and planting a kiss on her head. "Even I got a little misty-eyed."

Jessica snaked her arms around him. "Thanks, Daddy."

Standing there at graduation, laughing, smiling and hugging, we were the vision of a happy family. I had no idea that was all about to change.

***

"Nice shot, Jessica!" I cheered as the ball hit the back of the net. "Do it again. Last one."

Jessica jogged to the cone at the top of the eighteen-yard box, her face, arms, and legs glistening with sweat. "Go," she said between panted breaths, then sprinted toward where I stood between the penalty area and the middle of the pitch.

I passed her the ball, which she controlled with ease, then turned and dribbled around a series of cones. After she completed the circuit, she passed the ball back to me, which I fired back to her. She repeated the series of dribbles, this time going the opposite way and using her other foot, before returning the ball to me again. I hit a final one-time pass back to her, which she received comfortably, before turning, dribbling, feinting, and hitting a shot that caromed in off the right post.

Once she saw her shot go in, Jessica's knees buckled and she crumpled down until, finally, her face planted into the damp grass. I chuckled as I walked over to her.

Walking to Jessica, I took in the familiar smells of grass and sweat, as the rays of the early morning sun remained hidden behind the thick marine layer. I felt the warm morning air on my bare skin; I'd tossed my shirt off when we started, knowing it would just get soaked if I left it on. With the combination of my hard work and the slight humidity, I'd generated a good sweat, which was currently glistening on my bare torso, arms, and legs.

"Great strike, sis," I told her as I leaned down and placed my hand on her sweaty back, which was covered only by her racerback sports bra. She groaned, then got up into a squatting position, her hands on her knees as she bent over to catch her breath. I added, "Really good stuff today."

For the past ten days since we graduated, Jessica and I had religiously woken up at dawn, eaten a quick snack, then hit the local field to train for ninety minutes. With the marine layer that lingered until after noon—June gloom as it was known around here—the heat wasn't too bad. We liked to get our workout in early while it was cool, and also so we could enjoy the rest of the day at the beach when the sun finally came out.

Waking up early to train was a tradition our mother started right after our parents married. Mom was determined to ensure that her kids were soccer stars like her; she didn't have Dad's money or education, so she enriched our lives where and how she could. And enrich our lives she did. The early morning training sessions not only made us incredible players—the type who get scholarships to play at a top school like Stanford—but they also taught us discipline, the value of hard work, and brought Jessica and I closer together.

As Jessica and I got older, we no longer needed Mom to run our training sessions. From the time we could drive, Jessica and I began training together every morning we didn't have a game. Since one of the lessons Mom was trying to teach us was to push ourselves, she graciously stepped aside and let us handle our own training once we decided we were ready. Truth be told, we'd been ready for a long time.

Jessica and I bonded from the start. When I first met her, I'd just lost my mother, and my father was always at work. So, when I unexpectedly got a sister who was the same age and enjoyed the same things as me—soccer, reading, parks, the beach, and exploring the neighborhood—I latched on to her. That she welcomed me into her life enthusiastically, at a time when I was desperate for affection, sealed the deal for me; Jessica earned my undying loyalty.

It didn't take long for me to prove my loyalty to Jessica. When we were eleven years old, a popular but arrogant boy at school, Todd Roberson, asked Jessica to go out with him. She turned him down. In response, he and a couple of his cronies decided to surround Jessica and tease her at lunch, calling her a lesbian—she must have been gay to turn Todd down, after all. When I saw what was happening, and the look of terror on her face, I ran to her defense, shoved Todd on his ass, and got Jessica away from them. Todd eventually got back up and, once he did, I got a black eye and a punch in the gut. A small price to pay for the look of gratitude and love Jessica gave me when I came to her rescue. After that, we were inseparable.

"You're an asshole," Jessica panted as she straightened up, adjusting her soccer shorts that cut off at the top of her glistening thighs. "We should have stopped thirty minutes ago and gotten Starbucks, like I suggested. Instead of you torturing me for another half hour."

"Quit your whining," I retorted with a grin. "You'll thank me in the fall when you're a starter." Spotting a few blades of grass on her face, I cupped her cheek with my hand and brushed them off with my thumb.

Jessica's hand shot up, catching me by the wrist. "What are you doing?" she asked anxiously, her face flushed and her striking blue eyes wide.

"Nothing," I replied quickly. Suddenly noticing how close we were standing, with my hand on her face and smiling at her, I recognized it must have looked like I was about to kiss her. I quickly took a step back and tried to pull my hand away from her grasp. "You had some grass on your face that I was brushing off," I added softly. She released my wrist.

"Sorry," Jessica mumbled, then found her voice, "you caught me off guard."