Crossing the Line: The Rosewoods, #10

By Katrina Abbott

The school year is winding down at The Rosewood Academy for Academic Excellence, but Brooklyn Prescott is nowhere near ready to leave her friends behind to go home for the summer. Also, there’s that unfinished business with Brady—she can’t leave for the summer with how things are between them now. But how is she supposed to get through to him when he won’t even talk to her to let her explain? Not to mention that he’s moved on and found someone else, a mystery girl that no one knows. The best Brooklyn can do is try to put it all behind her and move on. At least she knows that when she’s ready, there’s someone in the wings waiting for her, someone who makes her laugh and wants to spend time with her. He may not be Mr. Right, but as Brooklyn’s friends tell her, maybe the distraction of Mr. Right Now is just what she needs.

And then there’s her writing project with Celia that will hopefully help get her mind off her mess of a love life. Maybe creating a book boyfriend will help her get over the real one that got away. Can she make it through the rest of the year without getting her heart broken again?

Crossing the Line is the tenth and final installment of The Rosewoods, an exciting Young Adult series for readers who love fun, flirty love stories.

The Rosewoods Series

TAKING THE REINS

MASQUERADE

PLAYING THE PART

READING BETWEEN THE LINES

I’LL NEVER FORGET (Short Story)

THIS POINT FORWARD

RISKING IT ALL (Short Story)

MAKING RIPPLES

ACTING OUT

HITTING THE TARGET

TURNING THE PAGE

CROSSING THE LINE

• Language: English
• Publisher: Over The Cliff Publishing
• Release date: Apr 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524204396

Katrina Abbott

A survivor of adolescence, Katrina Abbott loves writing about teens: best friends, cute boys, kissing, drama. Her main vice is romance, but she’s been known to succumb to the occasional chocolate binge. She may or may not live in California with her husband, kids and several cats. Taking the Reins is not her first book.  

Book preview

Brooklyn

When I got into the tack room, I turned to close and lock the door when I realized it was a keyed lock and couldn’t be locked from the inside. Great, I said aloud but turned back toward my backpack, not having time to worry about it. Anyway, if I was quick enough, no one would even know I was in there getting changed. I didn’t think Brick or Vanessa were even there yet.

I was down to my bra, underwear, and socks, hunched over and just stepping into my riding pants when the door swung open.

Gah...I’m in here! I blurted, unable to cover myself because of the position I was in.

I looked up to see Brady standing there, holding a bridle, his mouth agape.

We both froze and the only movement in the room was the pounding of my heart and the slow sweep of his eyes up my body until he caught my gaze.

Good God.

I swallowed and realized I was standing there, mostly naked, bent over with what had to be a decent amount of cleavage facing him. I scrambled to try to pull up my pants, but stumbled a little, my feet caught in the legs of the tight breeches. Brady stepped forward as though he was going to help.

I’m good! I exclaimed, pulling up the pants as I turned around, giving him my back. God, could this be any more embarrassing?

Brooklyn, Brady said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.

Crossing the Line

The Rosewoods, Book 10

By

Katrina Abbott

––––––––

Over The Cliff Publishing, 2016

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.

CROSSING THE LINE

First edition. April, 2016

Copyright © 2016 Katrina Abbott

Written by Katrina Abbott

ISBN-13: 978-1530834983

ISBN-10: 1530834988

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Steven,

There’s no one I’d rather cross lines with.

xoxo

Making a Man

First things first: he should be a duke.

My pen froze on the page. I looked up from my Moleskine notebook and lifted an eyebrow at Celia. Don’t you think Kaylee would think we’re writing about Declan?

It was a Sunday afternoon in early spring and we were sitting on Celia’s bed in her dorm room, minutes into finally starting our writing project after shooing Kaylee out so we could work. We had pulled a bunch of romance novels off Celia’s shelf as reference but had decided to start with some brainstorming.

She screwed up her face. Maybe at first. But we’ll make him so different that she’ll know right away it’s not him.

I thought about that. Kaylee was smart and would catch on, but it still felt like something we should avoid. What about an earl? I pointed at one of the dog-eared paperbacks spread out on the bed between us.

Celia picked up the book and inspected the cover closely. I couldn’t tell if she was thinking or admiring the cover model’s abs. Probably both. I don’t know, she finally said. "Earl doesn’t have that same ring to it. When I think Earl, I think of a middle-aged plumber with a beer gut and a comb-over."

I snorted. Fine. Baron?

She shook her head. A baron is nothing. And marquess, viscount? I don’t know...No, I think it has to be a duke. Definitely a duke. That’s the highest there is. Unless he’s a prince, of course, but then there’s too much royalty stuff to worry about.

Amazing how much she knew about these things. I didn’t dare ask what she even meant by royalty stuff. All right, I said, not wanting to spend more time on the hero’s title, especially since she was clearly the expert. If she felt so strongly, she could have this one—collaboration was all about compromise, right? What does he look like?

She didn’t even hesitate. Hot, of course.

I snorted. I may as well have asked Chelly. I mean details.

Her eyes dropped down to the cover again.

We can assume perfect abs, I said.

"Of course. But probably longish hair—a lot of men had ponytails back then, thought they called them queues."

I thought of Brady and what he’d look like in a ponytail with his dark hair and intense amber-colored eyes. Pretty hot, I bet. Who am I kidding? That boy would look good with a shaved head or a ponytail down to his butt—his hotness was not about his hair.

But I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Brady. I forcibly pushed thoughts of him out of my head before I started to think too hard about what had happened between us.

Blond, I said. With blue eyes.

Blue eyes, yes, Celia agreed, nodding. But I like dark hair.

So do I, that’s the problem, I didn’t say out loud. Because of James. But blondes are nice, too.

Not just because of James, she said, the apples of her cheeks going a little pink which told me a lot of it was about James. Her relationship with her (former) tutor was still kind of new and she was so easily flustered. It was adorable, though I didn’t tease her on purpose—not only did she get prickly about it sometimes, but I was hardly in a position to joke about someone else’s love life. At least she had one

Redhead? I suggested. You like gingers.

She smiled. I do. But he has to be just the right kind of redhead. I think we should stick with brown or black.

Let’s compromise, I said. Medium brown.

She stared at me for a long moment. Okay. She paused as I wrote it down and then said, So medium brown hair in a ponytail, blue eyes, kissable lips...

A given, along with the abs.

Tall, she went on. Like six-three. Broad shoulders. Big hands.

Yep... I said as I took it all down. All the romance hero clichés.

They’re clichés for a reason, Celia asserted, straight-faced. She was taking this very seriously.

I couldn’t exactly argue about her profile since our Duke did sound perfect. Especially since he’d have an accent and of course would be perfection on a horse. Sigh.

Enough, I told myself and looked up at Celia. Any physical quirks or tics?

Celia exhaled and looked around at the array of books in front of her, considering. He can’t be completely perfect. He needs to have something wrong with him or something that happened in his past that he needs to work through. But it doesn’t necessarily have to be a disability or something physical. Just tortured somehow. The tortured guys make the best heroes.

Maybe he’s an orphan.

Her eyes went wide. Yeah. Left on the church steps and raised by nuns at a filthy orphanage.

I wrinkled my nose. Does it have to be filthy?

"Victorian England? Everything was filthy."

Which brought me to my next point. And why does this have to be a historical romance?

She sighed and her face went dreamy. One of the reasons I love historicals—it was a simple time. Everyone had manners and wore gloves. The glimpse of an ankle was risqué. No computers, no texting...

May I remind you that if it wasn’t for computers and texting, you wouldn’t have a boyfriend right now?

She waved me off, but her smirk told me she was thankful for the technology that had brought her James. Speaking of... She reached for her phone.

Ah ah ah, I said, wagging a finger at her. You promised me we’d work for at least an hour. No distractions, no phones. That’s why I turned mine off. Not that I had a guy sending me love texts, but if we were going to do this, I would go bonkers if she was checking her phone every ten seconds.

Sorry, she said.

So. What’s his name? I asked. The duke of what?

Her eyes twinkled in mischief.

Uh oh, I said. I know that look—that’s a Chelly look. You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?

What do you think of Simon Benedict Sinclair, the seventh Duke of Westwood?

I barked out a laugh. I think you’ve been working on that for a while. It’s perfect, but if we ever get it published, we’ll have to change it—at least the Westwood part.

Fair enough, she said, smirking. All right, so the heroine is—

The door suddenly slammed open, banging against the wall. I dropped my pen and Celia gasped. It wasn’t a crazed guy with an ax but our friend Chelly.

Chelly! I blurted. Did you have to scare us half to death?

Her eyes were wide, but she wasn’t smiling. Something had happened.

What’s wrong?

Chelly’s eyes darted to Celia and then came back to rest on me, making my heart start beating in double time. Chelly, you’re freaking me out. What is it?

It’s Brady, she said, her face softening into an apologetic expression.

I jumped up off the bed before I even realized I had moved. What happened? Is he okay?

She nodded. He’s fine. Nothing like that. I was just over behind the stables with Abe when I saw him on the porch of the dean’s cottage.

So? He’s there all the time. She’s his mother, Celia said as though Chelly needed a reminder.

Chelly scowled at Celia and then turned to me. He wasn’t alone. He was with that girl.

She didn’t have to say what girl; I knew—the girl we’d seen him with at the restaurant that day.

Does he have a sister? Celia asked, hope in her voice.

I shook my head, not taking my eyes off Chelly.

She went on. They got in his truck together.

That doesn’t mean anything, Celia said, putting her hand on my arm.

He held the door for her and helped her in. He was very close.

My heart felt like it was imploding; it literally ached in my chest. Brady wasn’t a touchy-feely guy; didn’t get close to anyone. Except me, but not anymore.

I’m so sorry, Brooklyn, Chelly said, walking up to me and pulling me into a hug.

He’s moved on, I said, trying to be practical about it. And he brought her home to meet his mom. It was just a matter of time.

Chelly squeezed tighter and rubbed my back, but no matter how hard she tried to comfort me, my heart was still withering inside.

~ ♥ ~

After several long minutes spent in the bathroom, mopping up tears while I heard Chelly and Celia talking in hushed tones out in the dorm room, I tossed the used tissues in the trash and gave myself a look in the mirror. A good look.

I’d promised myself I would be different this year. That I would be the girl who went out and grabbed life by the throat and got what she wanted. The girl who didn’t let life pass her by.

Well, I’d tried that a few times and had seriously messed things up with Brady but that didn’t mean my life—my love life, particularly—had to be over.

I took a few deep breaths and thought about everything that had happened over this year already: I’d dated several guys, hooked up with a very hot veteran in London, had escaped a threat on my life and had made the best friends I could imagine and was now on the cusp of writing a book with one of them.

And I’d fallen in love. With a guy the universe did not want me to have.

That last point made my chest hurt again, but talk to anyone over twentysomething and they’ll tell you your first love hurts the most.

Fine, I told myself in the mirror. I’d gotten that crushing heartache out of the way. Now it was time to move on. Time to suck it up and move forward. If Brady wasn’t willing to even hear me out or consider trusting me again—and since I hadn’t spoken to him or even caught a glimpse of him in weeks, I couldn’t deny it any longer—I had to move on.

It kind of sucked that all of my friends had guys and I was the last single one, but that didn’t mean inevitable spinsterhood. I thought about Celia’s historical romance novels and the few that I’d devoured as I waited for her to start pulling up her marks enough that we could start writing. If anything, those books seemed to embody that whole ‘it’s never too late’ philosophy. Confirmed spinsters finding love seemed to be a recurring theme.

With renewed optimism, I nodded at myself in the mirror and exited the bathroom.

Both Celia and Chelly looked at me, concern all over their faces.

I’m fine, I said automatically, adding, No, really, when it was obvious neither of them believed me.

Chelly pursed her lips. I’m really sorry, Brooklyn. I hate giving you crappy news, but I figured you’d want to know.

I shrugged. I knew it was really over, but I guess this is closure, right?

Both girls nodded. A new beginning, Chelly said, glancing at the window. Like spring.

Sitting down on Kaylee’s bed, I scootched so I was sitting against the wall, facing the two of them sitting on Celia’s bed. Yeah, I said. Time for renewal.

Time to get you a guy, Chelly said.

I shook my head. I’m not ready yet. I might be ready to move on from Brady, but...

Your heart is still healing, Celia said. Of all of my friends, she was the one most in tune with matters of the heart. She was intuitive and also had all that romance reading on her side.

I nodded. Exactly.

Chelly snorted. Doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun. Date, kiss, have fun with boys. That’s what they’re there for.

That’s horrible, Celia said, frowning at Chelly. "Boys aren’t put on this planet to be playthings."

Chelly was unaffected by Celia’s scolding and simply shrugged and turned to me, giving me an eye-roll. "Not only to be playthings, but I can’t imagine nicer toys, can you?"

You... I didn’t finish my sentence and just shook my head, grinning at my friend. She loved to tease, but we all knew she was totally gone on Jared.

Anyway, Chelly went on. "What I was saying is that you don’t have to think of it as looking for the one. Play the field. Just date without even the thought of a commitment."

I knew what she was saying, that I needed to be like she had been before her and Jared realized they were meant to be together. No commitments, no talk of future. Just some casual teen fun. That’s what teen years are for, right?

Having fun without the pressure of commitment sounded like something I could handle.

Okay, I said.

Chelly’s eyes lit up. Good. Hey, what about Jenks? She looked over at Celia. Didn’t he tell you he wasn’t looking for anything serious?

Celia nodded and by the look on her face, she didn’t have any lingering feelings for the cute ginger swimmer, but between all the history with Jared and Dave, the last thing I needed was to date another one of that group of guys. Or another Olympian hopeful.

I shook my head. He’s great and all, just not my type.

I hear he’s a great kisser... Chelly said, angling her head toward Celia, who was suddenly blushing.

Even so, I said.

All right, Chelly said, letting it go. We’ll see if we can find someone suitable at the upcoming dance.

Find someone suitable? She made it sound like I was looking for the right blood donor. Still, I appreciated it. The dance was the next event where we’d see any boys. Except for my jumping practice the next afternoon—the one where I’d see one boy in particular who’d been interested in me. But before I could turn my thoughts to Brick Coolidge, Celia tossed my notebook at me. Come on, let’s continue—we promised we were going to do this today.

Chelly looked from Celia to me and then back again. Continue with what?

We’re starting our writing project.

Oh yeah, Chelly said, making no move to leave. Don’t mind me. I’ll just observe.

Chelly, Celia said. We can’t work with you here.

Chelly huffed and pouted a little but got up off Celia’s bed. Fine.  I guess I’ll go hang out in the lounge.

It wasn’t until the door shut behind her that we realized one of the novels was missing off Celia’s bed.

Jealous Much?

The next afternoon, I arrived to the stables just in time to get Charlie saddled up and rush out to the jumping course.

Now that there was no fear of snow, we practiced outside in the show jumping ring, which was much nicer than being in the stuffy arena (and meant we didn’t have to lug around jumps, since they were already set up in the permanent ring). Even though it was cool out, once we all got moving and warmed up, the fresh air was much appreciated.

I led Charlie out to the course and cursed to myself when I saw Vanessa and Brick up on their horses, chatting with Janette, our trainer, as they waited for me. I wasn’t late, but hated being last and wondered how Vanessa had managed to get here so quickly after last period let out. I’d dashed out of class and had rushed to change in my dorm room as quickly as I could, yet she still beat me.

Although as I walked closer, I figured out her motivation to get to practice quickly: Brick.

I already knew him to be a flirt—from the second we’d met back at the derby, we’d had something of a flirty banter going on—and he was really good-looking with his dark blond hair and piercing blue eyes, so it was no surprise that Vanessa was into him. Except now that my focus was off Brady and I was considering Brick as a potential guy to have fun with, it sort of bothered me to have competition.

Okay, it really bothered me but not in a way that I’d break them up if there was something seriously going on between them. But was there? I needed to find out. I suddenly wished Chelly was there—she’d know the best way to find out, but without her, I’d just have to observe and maybe ask a few strategic questions.

But first, I needed to mount up and get through practice.

~ ♥ ~

Covered in sweat, I walked Charlie around the perimeter, cooling us both down after a particularly hard practice. Despite how gross I felt and how eager I was to get a shower before dinner, I felt really good about how I’d done—since quitting dressage and focusing on show jumping, which was obviously my sport—my confidence was restored and I felt like I actually deserved to be there.

It also took so much pressure off now that Janette was my coach.

Speaking of whom, You can take him in now, she said nodding toward the entrance. You, too, Brick. Vanessa, give Daisy a couple more laps and then you’re good to go.

A little nervous at being given an opportunity to be alone with Brick, even for just a few minutes, I swung my leg over and dismounted before leading Charlie back to the barn. I walked slowly, both to continue to cool down the horse and also sort of maybe wait for Brick to catch up. It didn’t take long before he did.

Good practice today, he said.

Thanks. I smiled over at him, hating that even sweaty and red-faced, he looked cute. Dare I hope I looked a tenth as good?

So... he began, but then didn’t say anything else, making me look at him.

Yes?

His shoulders hunched as he blew out a breath.

I did an exaggerated double-take. "What is this? I asked, pressing my free hand against my chest. The Brick Coolidge, master flirter and devastator of ladies is without a thing to say."

He laughed and looked a little embarrassed. If he wasn’t already flushed from the exercise, he might even have blushed. I’m afraid so, he said. Does that lower your opinion of me?

Actually, it’s totally endearing, I thought, but said, Perhaps a little.

He frowned and pouted but then cocked his head, a sure smile taking over. What if I said your beauty made me momentarily speechless?

Did this guy take lessons in seduction? I was suddenly glad for my own already-flushed face. I waved him off. Pfft, false flattery will get you nowhere.

What if it’s not false? he said, his voice low.

I looked at him, searching his eyes, but they didn’t waver, his flirty smile gone. It suddenly didn’t feel like banter anymore.

Brick, I... I looked down at my feet as we approached the barn.

I know, he said. You’re not dating. You made that clear. It makes me think maybe the rumors...

My head snapped up toward him. What rumors?

He looked at me for a second, like maybe he was sorry he’d brought it up. He sighed. That you’re dating Fleming.

I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me that there were rumors. And there was that time when Brady had pretty much run Brick off when he’d been talking to me in the barn and had gotten too close. But that was over a month ago and I literally hadn’t seen Brady in weeks, so there was no reason for anyone to suspect that there was something going on with us now.

No, I said. I’m not dating anyone. I... I exhaled and looked away for a second before I said. I’m not really looking to date, either.

He nodded but I felt like I wasn’t getting across what I was trying to say. I wanted to hang out with him, just not exclusively. But I wasn’t just looking for hookups, either. And before anything happened, I needed to find out his status.

No better time than the present, right? Anyway, I said. If you’re going to the dance on Friday, maybe I’ll see you. Unless you’re going with someone else.

Someone else? he asked.

Ugh, you’re going to make me say it? I nodded back toward the ring. You know, like Vanessa or someone else, I said, hoping to sound breezy.

We’d stopped at the door to the barn where I would turn right toward Charlie’s stall and he would go left to Poppy’s. He turned his head and looked back toward the arena. Vanessa?

I shrugged.

He smiled down at me and touched my nose with the tip of his finger. Do I detect a bit of jealousy in you, Brooklyn?

I snorted loudly, a lot more loudly than I intended. Jealousy? No! I blurted out, in case the snort wasn’t enough, because at that moment my mouth forgot about the whole ‘he doth protest too much’ thing.

Stupid mouth.

Brick gave me a knowing smile. I need to get back to Westwood, but I’m looking forward to seeing you on Friday, he said.

Wednesday, I corrected.

What?

Wednesday. I’ll see you on Wednesday—our next practice.

Of course, he said, "But I’m really looking forward to Friday." He gave me another nose tap before he led his horse into the barn.

My heart should have been fluttering at the way he’d touched me and knowing he was looking forward to seeing me at the dance, that he liked me and was still interested, even after Brady had chased him off.

But while I was flattered at the attention, my heart hadn’t seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary, thumping its regular rhythm as I watched him and Poppy going down the aisle. At first it bothered me; it made me realize I was never going to get in deep with this guy and that made me sad. And then I realized not jumping in heart first was exactly the kind of relationship I needed.

C’mon, Charlie, I said, clucking my tongue at him as I led him in the other direction.

Preparations

Too nervous to let the girls (especially Emmie) fuss over me, I decided to wear my plain little black dress to the dance. I really didn’t have it in me to try on anything from Emmie’s latest box of couture gowns, courtesy of her mother.

I did allow my roommate to lend me her ruby necklace, which would—I had to admit—look perfect with the scoop neckline of the dress, but that was it. Tonight was all