Page 37 of Cross-Checked

“Fine. Until a friend shows up to stay with you, you can get settled at my place.” He knows he’s calling my bluff, because I literally just told him I didn’t have any options.

I want to ask if he’s always this bossy, but instead I say, “There’s no way I’m staying at your place.”

“Well, there’s no way you’re staying alone. And it feels like it would be a lot easier for you to move into my guest bedroom for a short time than for Abby and me to move in with you. But whatever you prefer.” He says it so casually as he makes the turn into Government Center that I have to wonder if he’s kidding.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yep, my place is very comfortable,” he says.

“I meant I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Easily arranged,” I mutter under my breath.

He chuckles, and as I glance over at him, I can’t help but notice how that smile lights up his face. Even though his eyes are trained on the road and I can only see half of it, I can still tell how different he looks. How relaxed. Happy even.

“I’d like to see you pull off this one-handed murder,” he says, and I bite the inside of my lip to stop myself from smiling. It’s better for everyone if I seem unaffected by his charm.

He shouldn’t be this comfortable with me. He shouldn’t be driving me home, joking around with me, or offering to take care of me. He definitely shouldn’t be insisting I move in with him. But somehow, I still like it that he’s doing all of these things.

“I’m not moving in with you.”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “I’ll probably have to take Abby’s crib apart to move it into your place, but it shouldn’t take that long.”

I groan. “You’re not moving in with me.”

“So you’ll stay with me. Perfect.”

Chapter Sixteen

McCabe

Early the next morning, I sit in the kitchen feeding Abby some rice cereal mixed with sweet potato for breakfast, when I hear a grunt of pain from the guest bedroom. It’s all the assurance I need that forcing AJ to stay with me was the right call.

I’m pretty sure the only reason she relented was that she needed to pee badly when we got back to our building, and didn’t have time to fish out her key and open her door left-handed, so she agreed to use my bathroom. When she was unable to redo the button on her pants left-handed, I think she finally realized that living on her own with her dominant hand immobilized wasn’t possible. At least not yet.

“You okay?” I call out, thankful the guest bedroom is the closest to the kitchen so she can hear me.

“I’m fine.” Her words are grunted too, because she’s most definitely not okay.

Goddamn, this woman is stubborn.“Do I need to come in there?”

She clearly doesn’t miss the amused tone, because she calls out, “Don’t even think about it.”

I’m guessing she’s trying to change her clothes without help—exactly what the doctor and nurse told her she couldn’t do. Now the images of her undressed body are filling my head, which is just so wrong, given that I’m sitting right across from Abby. Still, I can’t stop my brain from going there.

“Oh, I’m thinking about it!” I call back.

Reaching forward, I tickle Abby under her chin to get her to open her mouth so I can shovel in another spoonful of rice cereal. It’s not that she doesn’t like it. It’s that she wants mealtimes to take as long as humanly possible, and I’m not going to lie...feeding her is kind of boring. I’m committed to avoiding distractions while doing it. I don’t go on my phone or watch TV while I do anything with her because we don’t get that much one-on-one time with my travel schedule, and I want to make our time together count. But the sooner she eats, the sooner we can move on to something more fun.

“Dada,” I say, pointing to myself.

“Daaaaaaa,” she repeats.

She’s so close to stringing multiple syllables together, and I’m pretty damn determined that “Dada” is going to be her first word.

“Shit!” The yelp of pain accompanying the curse has me setting the bowl on the table and handing Abby the empty rubber spoon so she can chew on it in her highchair while I investigate what’s going on in the guest room.

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