Page 57 of Cross-Checked

“So, who’s Sunshine, anyway?” Walsh asks from beside me.

Have we always been this fucking nosy about each other’s lives? Thank god I changed her name in my contacts, because if I’d just been that lost in a texting conversation with my boss, there’d be a lot of questions.

“It’s my nickname for Abby,” I say, while mentally chastising myself for the lies. If I keep piling them on, it’s going to be hard to remember them. “That’s just a text thread with her nanny. He was updating me on the day.”

They don’t need to know that I already talked to Nicholas when he FaceTimed me earlier this afternoon so I could see Abby before I left for my game.

Walsh nods, but from his expression, it’s clear he doesn’t believe me. Drew, Zach, and Colt look less suspicious.

“Anyway, I have to go. He needs to talk to me about...an appointment she has tomorrow.” I scoot out of the booth and say, “Let me know what I owe for my drinks, and I’ll send someone the money.”

She leans against the partially open door, her arms crossed over her stomach, as she asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Well, that’s one way to congratulate me on the win tonight.” I hold up the pharmacy bag with one hand and push the door open with the other. “I got you something.”

Backing into the room as I step inside, AJ looks up at me with a lifted eyebrow. “I don’t remember inviting you in.”

“Seemed prudent not to stand in the hallway where anyone could see me.” As the door clicks shut behind me, I hand her the paper bag.

She reaches into it and pulls out a small glass bottle. I’m not one hundred percent sure it’s the same one she had, but it’s a glass bottle with a black lid like the one I saw in the picture.

“You . . . got me makeup remover?”

Is it my imagination, or does she sound touched? That thought pisses me off, because replacing something she accidentally broke feels like such a minor thing—yet I don’t think she’s ever had someone to do that for her. Not a guy, at least. I’ve never wanted to punch Chet in the fucking face more than I do right now, and that’s saying something.

Setting the bag aside, her eyes meet mine, and I see the war raging in her gaze. She doesn’t want to want me here, but she does.

I understand the feeling completely.

I shouldn’t want her. I shouldn’t be here with her. It makes every single thing about my life more complicated, and I don’t do complicated. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to convince myself that I don’t want her.

And now, I’ve decided to stop trying.

If she doesn’t want me in return, she can be honest about that, and I’ll respect her decision. But I’m pretty sure we’re in the exact same boat here.

“Would you like me to leave?” I ask her.

She works her lower lip between her teeth like she’s considering my question, and I step closer.

“You need to stop doing that.” My voice is low, almost feral with the longing that courses through me at her proximity. No one else has ever made me feel so damn needy, so desperate for her attention and affection. I would have thought I’d hate this feeling, but I don’t hate it. Not at all.

Her look is coy as she releases her now-glistening lower lip. “Doing what?”

I turn toward her, and she takes a step back, right into the wall behind her. The quick grunt of pain she lets out as she winces reminds me that her entire back is bruised.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say, pressing my hand against the wall next to her head as I lean in. “Are you okay?”

“McCabe.” Her voice holds that warning tone that turns me on. “You shouldn’t...”

“Be here. I know.” My throat bobs as I swallow, and her eyes focus on the motion, but she doesn’t respond. “Tell me to leave.”

As she glances up at me this time, her tongue darts out, running along the line of her upper lip, but still, she says nothing.

I lean in closer, my face a breath away from hers.

“You smell like beer,” she says.

“That’s because I just had a few with the guys to celebrate our win.” I trail the bridge of my nose along her cheek until my lips reach her ear, relishing the way her breath catches. Dropping my voice even lower, I say, “Tell me to leave, AJ.”

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