AGAINST the ODDS

Chapter 18: Crossing the Line

(Lillian's POV – He invites her to dinner (as a 'thank you'), and against her better judgment, she agrees.)

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I should have said no.

I should have.

When Jaxon leaned against the doorframe of the rehab center, smirking like he had all the time in the world, and casually said, "Let me take you to dinner. As a thank you."—I should have shut it down immediately.

But I didn't.

Maybe it was the genuine excitement in his eyes after his breakthrough today. Maybe it was the way he asked, low and easy, without his usual cocky persistence.

Or maybe, deep down, I wanted to say yes.

And that's the part that worries me the most.

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The Excuse I Give Myself

I tell myself this is harmless.

It's just dinner.

Not a date. Not crossing a line. Just a simple meal between two adults who happen to be spending a lot of time together.

But as I stand in front of my closet, debating whether my usual jeans and blouse are too casual or not casual enough, I realize I'm lying to myself.

Because this feels different.

And that's exactly why I need to keep my guard up.

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The Dinner Invitation I Should Have Refused

Jaxon insisted on picking me up.

I told him it wasn't necessary, that I could meet him there, but of course, he ignored me. So now I'm sitting in his car, trying to pretend like this isn't completely out of the ordinary.

"This place is good," he says, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his knee. "Not too fancy, not too divey. I figured you'd appreciate that."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're choosing a restaurant based on what you think I'd like?"

He grins. "Nah. I already know you'll like it."

I huff out a laugh despite myself. "That's some confidence."

"Doc, confidence is all I have left."

There's something about the way he says it—half-joking, but with an undercurrent of truth—that makes my chest tighten.

I glance at him, at the sharp lines of his face, at the way he grips the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary.

This isn't just a thank-you dinner to him.

This is him holding onto something real, something normal. A reminder that he's still him, not just an injured athlete trying to claw his way back.

And that's exactly why I should have said no.

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The Problem With Jaxon Reid

Dinner is... nice.

Too nice.

The restaurant is cozy, warm lighting casting a glow over the wooden tables. It's the kind of place I would pick for myself—quiet, comfortable, but not overly intimate.

I don't know how Jaxon knew that, but the thought unsettles me.

He orders a steak. I get salmon.

For the first few minutes, the conversation sticks to neutral ground—rehab, football, the game he wants to be back for next season.

But then, the shift happens.

"So," he says, swirling the ice in his drink, "how does someone like you end up in sports medicine?"

I blink. "Someone like me?"

He smirks. "You know. All serious. All business. I feel like you should be running a high-end private practice somewhere, not wrangling guys like me."

I scoff. "First of all, I do run a high-end practice. It just happens to be in sports medicine."

He laughs, and I shake my head before continuing.

"But if you're asking why I chose this field, it's simple. I like working with athletes. I like the challenge of getting someone back to peak performance. And I really like proving people wrong when they think they can't recover."

He studies me, something unreadable in his gaze. "You ever get attached?"

I pause. "To what?"

"To your patients."

I tense slightly, but I force myself to answer honestly. "I care about my work. I care about my patients getting better. But I don't let it get personal."

His eyes hold mine for a beat too long. "Don't you?"

Something in the air shifts.

I don't look away, but I want to.

Because I know what he's doing.

He's pushing.

Testing that invisible line between us, the one I've been so careful to keep in place.

I clear my throat and reach for my glass of water. "I keep it professional, Jaxon."

He leans back, smirking. "If you say so, Doc."

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A Little Too Easy

The conversation moves on, but the tension lingers.

And the worst part?

I like talking to him.

Jaxon isn't just an athlete. He's sharp, funny, and dangerously good at making me forget why I should be keeping my distance.

By the time we finish eating, I'm relaxed in a way I shouldn't be.

Which is probably why I don't protest when he insists on walking me to my door.

⸻

A Doorway That Feels Like a Crossroad

We stop at my apartment building, the quiet night wrapping around us.

Jaxon shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "See? Told you it was just dinner."

I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow. "You sound disappointed."

He grins. "Nah. I'm just surprised you haven't sprinted inside yet."

I roll my eyes, but I can't fight the small smile tugging at my lips.

Then, he shifts slightly, his expression turning more serious. "Thanks for coming, Lillian."

The way he says my name—not Doc, not Carter—just Lillian... it does something to me.

I swallow. "It was... nice."

"Nice," he repeats, amusement flickering in his eyes.

I shake my head. "Goodnight, Jaxon."

I turn toward my door, but his voice stops me.

"Hey."

I glance back.

His gaze is steady, unreadable. "I meant what I said earlier. I know you keep things professional. I respect that."

Something in my chest loosens, just a little. "Good."

He nods, but before he leaves, he smirks. "Doesn't mean I won't keep trying, though."

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head as I open my door. "Goodnight, Jaxon."

As I step inside and close the door behind me, I lean against it, exhaling slowly.

I should have said no.

But I didn't.

And something tells me this won't be the last time I make that mistake.