Page 86 of Cross-Checked

“What?” I ask, suddenly uneasy.

“Not only have younevershown me any kind of preference throughout this process, the contract negotiation thus far made it pretty clear that you don’t want me back on this team.” His words are measured, but I hear the sadness and the anger behind them, and that confuses me to no end.

I made a perfectly reasonable counter to his agent’s ridiculous request, offering him an increase and another three years in Boston. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean that refusing even a small increase in my pay and saying that you wanted to see how the playoffs went before you committed to renewing, was ahugeslap in the face. And that’s the only reason I asked Trevor to start looking into Nashville. Well, that, and my sister’s there.”

Alarm bells are going off in my head...not the warning kind like you might hear after opening your front door before putting in the alarm code, but the loud, intrusive ones you’d wake up to during a break-in in the middle of the night. The kind where the police respond, because the threat is real.Emergency, my brain screams at me.

I put one foot on the floor and tell him to finish taking his boxers off so we can use them to clean up. I amnothaving this conversation while he’s still buried deep inside me and his cum is dripping out onto my ass. And when I’m done wiping myself up, I hand him his boxers so he can do the same, while I get my clothes straightened out.

Tense silence blankets the space as I wait until our hormones have calmed down before saying anything, because nothing about this situation is okay—neither the sex in the stick room, nor the mention of his contract—and I need to walk us back before we fully cross an unethical line.

When we’re clothed, I finally meet his eyes and say firmly, “I think you need a new agent. Call Jameson Flynn and tell him I told you that you need new representation. We can talk more tonight.”

Then I turn and slip out of the door, thankful to find the hallway completely empty because I have no doubt I’m wearing my emotions on my face right now. Not the gooey, love-filled feelings I was overcome with in that room while we had sex, but the rage I feel at knowing that his agent has been lying to both of us.

It’s one thing to drive a hard bargain when trying to get your player a better contract—I’d expect nothing less. It’s entirely another to lie about what your client wants, and then to lie to your client as well. And something like this has clearly happened, because the story McCabe is telling himself about his contract negotiation is not at all what really happened.

Suddenly, this feels like the most important issue to address. I’ve been telling myself this can never work between us because I was sure he was intent on leaving Boston, and it turns out that isn’t what he wanted at all.

Chapter Thirty-One

McCabe

When I wake up, AJ’s not in my bed. Again.

We’d spent most of last night talking and coming to the conclusion that what’s developed between us is far more serious than either of us had planned—but that we both want to stick with this relationship and see where it leads.

Even though we’d broken off the conversation about my contract in the stick room, we agreed not to discuss it further last night. She insisted that Jameson would understand what happened and be able to explain it when I meet with him later today, and as much as I hated not hearing it straight from her, I had to respect those professional boundaries.

Her meeting with Frank is today, too, which makes me feel like this is a big day—for me as a player, her as GM, and us as a couple.

So the fact that she’s snuck out this morning has me a bit worried. I reach over, resting my hand on the indentation in her pillow, and the warmth there tells me she just got up. Slipping my shorts on, I note that it’s still before six in the morning, and pad down the hall, hoping to find her in the kitchen. Instead, I find her about to walk out my front door.

“Hey,” I say, my voice still scratchy from sleep. “Where are you running off to?”

“I need to head into work.”

I clear my throat. “It’s not even 6 a.m.”

“Yep.”

“AJ.” I say her name like I’ve just caught her doing something wrong and need her to level with me.

“Yes?” Her reply is far too sweet to be sincere.

“Why are you really rushing out of here so early?”

“I really am going to work,” she says, but her voice wobbles, betraying her.

I lift an eyebrow. “Who goes to work this early?”

She sighs as she crosses her arms over her chest, showing off her new cast. “I like to skate for a little bit before anyone gets there.”

“What?” I don’t mean for the word to come out sounding so harsh, but the woman has a broken arm, and she thinks she’s skating?

“Hey, my orthopedist told me at my appointment yesterday that, now that I have the cast on, it’s okay to skate. I just have to be extra careful not to fall.”

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