Page 101 of Cross-Checked

“What do you mean, you used to work together?” Jules screeches, her eyes huge as she looks back and forth between McCabe and me, where he stands ten feet from us, talking to Drew and Colt.

I let out a small laugh, hoping it doesn’t clue her in that this conversation is making me nervous.

“Yeah, I recruited him when I was a scout in St. Louis, before I became the assistant GM there.”

“And then?” Audrey asks.

“And then he played there for two years before he got traded to Boston, and a couple years later, I took the GM position here.”

Jules nods, like she’s following, but she’s narrowed her eyes at me. “I thought Colt said there was some sort of bad blood between you two? But it doesn’t seem like there is.”

“There was,” I tell her, wishing I could confide in Jules and Audrey the way I confided in Lauren. But for now, the fewer people who know, the better—just until the season is over. “But we cleared up a little miscommunication about his trade, and things have been better since.”

Ireallyneed to tell him the full truth about how that trade went down, but I’m already afraid of how he’ll react when we play St. Louis next week and he sees Chet for the first time since beating the shit out of him.

It’s going to be hard enough to keep our relationship a secret. Knowing that there’s even more to the story would make it impossible—there’s no way he wouldn’t react if he knew how Chet actually forced me into the trade. And if things between them turned violent again, that would be the worst possible scenario. I will prevent that, at any cost.

I’ll tell him the rest of the story as soon as the playoffs are over—hopefully after he’s held the Stanley Cup above his head and taken a victory lap around the ice, for the second time in his career.

He’ll understand why I waited.

“Hey,” Drew says, sidling up next to Audrey and snaking his arm around her waist as he pulls her into his chest. “Our table’s ready.”

An hour later, our group has polished off three bottles of champagne. I’m still sipping my second glass, and next to me, Ronan hasn’t finished his second beer. It’s an unspoken agreement that we’re keeping our drinking moderate, because we don’t want to waste tonight’s precious alone time. In fact, the only ones drinking heavily are Luke Hartmann and the birthday girl, Marissa Walsh. She’s pretty drunk, probably from the birthday shots she did with some of the guys when we first got here.

Beneath the table, Ronan squeezes my knee, and it’s so unexpected that I inadvertently flinch. I glance over at him as he leans toward me, then tilt my head toward him so he can speak directly in my ear.

“So...St. Louis for the finals. This mean you’re definitely going to that gala?”

“I guess it does.”

“It would be a shame not to see you in that dress again,” he says, dragging his fingers up the inside of my leg while memories of the way he looked at me when I walked out of the dressingroom last time we were in Philly float through my mind. The hunger...there’s always hunger in the way he looks at me. My eyes flick up to his, and sure enough, he wants to devour me.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Can’t help it,” he says, nudging my shoulder with his. “And stop changing the subject.”

“You can’t come with me to the gala, Ronan. It would be a disaster.”

“Why?” His fingers creep up my thigh until they’re almost at the apex of my thighs. I swat his hand away. The last thing I need is Audrey, who’s on the other side of me, to look down and see his hand.

“You know why. Let’s just get through the finals and then?—”

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Colt calls out, and Jules elbows him in the side, which doesn’t even phase him. He just sits there, smirking at us, like he knows exactly what’s going on.Shit.

“AJ’s going to some big fundraising gala when we’re in St. Louis next weekend,” McCabe says casually before I can chime in. “Her ex is going to be there, so I was saying she should have some of us come along with her.”

“Why?” Zach asks, concern in his voice. “You need protection or something?”

My laugh comes out like a snort as I wave him off. “No, I’m fine. McCabe is just overreacting.”

“Actually,” Jules says, head tilted as she looks at me, “I think it’s a good idea. If your ex is going to be there, whywouldn’tyou want people there in your corner?”

“Because we’re not going to be boxing?”

“You know what I mean,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “For emotional support.”

I look around the table, about to make a joke about not bringing hockey players to a black-tie event for emotionalsupport. But all the guys are staring back at me, jaws tight, nodding their heads like the decision is already made.

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