Page 30 of Crossed Up

I curse and slap his hand away, massaging the sore spot as he crows. “You didn’t. Did our little Preacher finally break his celibacy with the hot new nanny? Talk about sex on tap without the hassle of commitment.”

That fucking nickname. You get caught celebrating Palm Sunday a couple of times, and suddenly, you’re branded Preacher for the rest of your career.

In my defense, Crew was a baby, and I was too tired to go out and find some random hookup, so I took advantage of my roommate being out to relieve some tension. How was I supposed to know he’d come back early and catch me with my pants down?

“No!” My cheeks heat and I know I’m probably red with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. The anger wins, and my next words come out as a threatening growl. “And don’t talk about her like that. Like she’s some cleat chaser who doesn’t give a shit about us.”

Cope’s jaw drops as he stares at me in shock. I can count on both hands the number of times I’ve snapped at him over the years, and I’m fairly sure all of those were when I was bone tired after Crew was born. Guilt quickly follows on the heels of the anger as it dissipates, and his kicked-puppy look makes me feel like shit.

“Aidan… I didn’t mean anything by it, man.”

Dropping my head to rest on my knees, I murmur, “I know. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Turning my head to the side, I give him a pitiful look.

“Oh shit,” he laughs. “The first girl you like in six years, and it’s Crew’s nanny?” He shakes his head with an amused look, but I see the concern swimming in his dark green gaze.

I drag my hands down my face with a groan. “It’s the way she treats Crew that got me first. Not a single person I’ve ever hired before has treated him like he matters beyond the job. And then she started asking about me. She noticed when I wasn’t okay, and she told me I didn’t have to be. I mean, for fuck’s sake, Cope. She distracted me with one question before we took off on the flight here, and the next thing I know we’re cruising at altitude, and I’m totally fine!”

His dark brows nearly hit his hairline. “You made it through a flight sober, unmedicated, and you didn’t have a single minute of panic?”

I don’t think I stopped staring at Lyla once until we got to the hotel in New York last night. I’ve never liked flying, but ever since Crew was born, it’s gotten a thousand times worse.

All I can think about is how many planes go down during takeoff and landings, and it’s enough to send me spiraling into a full breakdown until we’re back on solid ground.

With one single well-placed question, my guardian angel was able to distract me enough that I actually had fun during the flight, which is something I’ve absolutely never said before. Honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I would think she’s a witch, not an angel.

“See what I mean? It’s only been a month, and she’s turned our world upside down. She’s got this whole homeschool program going for Crew, and I swear to god, I thought that kid was smart before, but now? He’s doing math like it’s second nature.”

I trail off, momentarily lost in thoughts of the pretty brunette. “I asked her to go on a date with me this weekend.”

Those brows that had been raised furrow in concern. “What if it doesn’t work out?

I shrug. “I’ve wondered that too. But we agreed to one weekend, no expectations. If it doesn’t work out or she isn’t feeling it, we go back to being boss and employee with no hard feelings. She can stay on with Crew, and I’ll be professional, or she can find another job, and I’ll write her a fantastic recommendation. I think she could be worth the risk, Cope. And not just for me.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but our head coach, Benny, claps his hands and starts his pregame pep talk, effectively pausing the conversation. We do our team chant, and then I’m in the dugout searching the stands for a head of long brown hair.

Lyla is fucking tiny, so it takes me a minute to spot her next to Wren and some of the other wives and girlfriends, but when I do, my peripheral vision goes dark, and the breath is knocked from my chest.

She’s in my goddamn jersey.

Lyla Taylor is sitting in the WAG section looking like a fucking knockout with the number 23 and my last name plastered across her back, and I think I might be having a stroke.

I don’t hear Coach coming up behind me until his sun-weathered hand clamps down hard on my shoulder. He follows my gaze and whistles loudly when he sees my girl turn around.

“Boys!” he shouts gleefully. “Looks like Preacher here finally caught himself a WAG! Do you know what that means?”

Some of the newer players are kind of confused since they haven’t been around for a wife or girlfriend introduction yet, but all the veteran players grin like the smug assholes they are.

It’s an unspoken general rule that you don’t give a partner your jersey or invite them to sit with the wives and girlfriends unless things are serious or you’re top over tail for the poor thing, so having Ly out there in my jersey is going to be a bigger deal than she probably knows.

The opening notes to Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney play over the field speakers on our side, and the Raptors fans go wild. New York is only a two hour flight from South Carolina, so a surprising amount of the fans here are ours, and they know exactly what this song means. They’re no doubt waiting to see who leaves the dugout first.

Benny hands me a bouquet of fake roses in the signature Raptor blue, making me roll my eyes dramatically. I’d bet my right hand Wren tattled to the team about Lyla being here.

Rhodes was the last guy to get a serious girlfriend, but she works for the organization, so they didn’t have to deal with this, and Wren has been dying to see it in person.

Coach approaches me with a twinkle in his eye and hands me a family access pass before patting me on the back. “Well,” he grins. “Best get on out there, Black. Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

I groan and take the stuff from his hands, nearly stomping out to the field like I’m not secretly thrilled at the idea of claiming my angel so publicly.

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