Cross-Checked (Boston Rebels, #3)

by Julia Connors

Beating the shit out of her then husband wasn’t my smartest move, but I have zero patience for men who verbally abuse and physically intimidate women.

I’m tired and my give-a-fucks for people’s feelings aren’t showing up today.

She’s almost ten months old, and I’m already feeling like the old adage is true: the days are long, but the years are short.

places his baby into my outstretched arms. “Don’t make me stop hating you now.” His words are practically whispered as he watches me take his baby and turn her so she’s facing me. “Wouldn’t dream of it,”

It should be illegal for a guy to have eyes that green or black lashes that long, not to mention a legendary scowl that turns into a grin that fucking melts women’s hearts.

a truth I will never reveal to a single living soul—is that I couldn’t stop looking at her holding my baby.

Thanks to my messed-up hormones, my body’s response to acute stress like I experienced tonight is almost always an exhaustion phase where I feel steamrolled by fatigue for a day or two.

It makes me realize that there’s something inherently freeing about having girlfriends you can talk to. I see it in how well they know the ins and outs of each other’s lives, and how supportive they are of each other. It couldn’t be more different from how I saw women treat each other—the backstabbing, the jealousy, and the competition—when I was growing up.

And when my mouth crashes into hers, all logical thought ceases to exist.

But I’m not thinking about what a terrible idea this is. I’m allowing my body to act on instinct. And my instinct has always told me that AJ and I together would burn hotter than the sun.

Holy shit. She’s going to be the death of me one way or another, so it might as well be through pleasure.

“Yeah, like that thing where you go from scowling to smirking.” “That’s a thing?” “You must know it is.” “I don’t spend a lot of time analyzing my own facial expressions, Alessandra.” No one calls me Alessandra. Not anymore.

“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.

“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.

“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.”

“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?”

“Just because you know my coffee order doesn’t mean you know me, McCabe.” “If you say so.”

“The only time I spend thinking about you is when I’m trying to figure out why you’re so obstinate.” “Ohhh, pulling out the big words now, aren’t we, Sunshine?”

“Stand up, Alessandra, before I haul you out of that chair.”

“It’s nothing.” “If he hurt you . . . if he laid a single finger on you . . .” “Trust me,” I say, “the abuse was entirely emotional.” His entire body stiffens. “I’m going to need you to say more about that.”

She’s such a rock-solid figure in this organization. But I’m learning that her tough exterior isn’t all there is to her.

McCabe You doing okay? Need anything? Sunshine I’m fucking fantastic.

“I don’t remember inviting you in.” “Seemed prudent not to stand in the hallway where anyone could see me.”

“Stay.” The word is so quiet it’s practically inaudible. “Say it again, Sunshine. Nice and loud, so we’re both clear that you want me here.” “Don’t be a dick,”

“I want to make sure that there’s no miscommunication at all. Because once is an accident, but if I stay here with you again tonight, it’s not an accident, and it’s not a mistake. It’s a choice.”

She’s always beautiful. But a laughing Alessandra Jones? She’s unbelievably gorgeous.

“Oh, Sunshine, I’ve been waiting for you for a fucking decade. I could wait longer . . . I would wait longer, if I had to.” Her lips part with a soft sigh. “Why do you have to keep saying things like that?” “Because they’re true.”

“Nothing,” I whisper. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Alessandra.

“Taking care of your needs feels like the bare fucking minimum, Alessandra. And if doing that ruins you, then prepare to be spoiled senseless.”

“Get. Your. Ass. Over. Here. Now.”

“Sometimes we want what we want, even if it’s not what’s best for us.”

This woman will be the death of me. I’ve never been more confident about anything in my life.

Her gulp is audible. “Nothing’s wrong.” “Don’t lie to me, AJ. That’s not what we have here.”

I want her to keep talking to me, to feel safe and comfortable enough that she keeps revealing parts of herself that no one else knows. I want to tell her about my sister, and how earlier today she texted me a listing for a house in her neighborhood, with the message, “Want to live on my street?”

“The universe has a funny sense of irony,” Walsh says, chuckling. “You’re telling me.”

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?”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You have to be there in a few hours for practice. Why would you drive there, and then have to bring Abby back here to meet Nicholas, just to turn around and have to return to the rink again?” I level her with a look. “Because then I can be there for you, too.”

Driving halfway across the city to make sure she’s safe while skating seems to me like a very small sacrifice, yet she clearly thinks it’s a big deal. Just like when I brought her the new makeup remover in Philly. Why is she so shocked when people genuinely want to help her?

“I’m not sure there’s anything I wouldn’t do to keep you safe,” I say, because I’m afraid that what I really want to tell her, that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, would freak her out.

“Oh.” “Might as well come in now,” I say, knowing full well that Nicole and Nicholas are gawking at us. “Uh . . .” He stands there, frozen, and I hold in a laugh. “We already knew!” Nicholas calls out.

“And see,” Nicole says, “that right there? The way you just looked at her like you’d devour her if we weren’t standing here, and how you’re practically eye fucking him, AJ? You guys think you’re not obvious?” She lets out an easy laugh, because apparently we’re ridiculous for trying to hide this.

His tone is sarcastic, so I playfully retort, “You planning to marry me?” “Someday.” There isn’t an ounce of lightness, as though he wants me to know he’s dead serious.

“Excuse me?” I squeak. “Which part of that is unclear?” he asks as his eyes search my widened ones. “The part where we’ve been developing feelings for each other over the past few weeks and you’re already talking about marriage?” “I already can’t imagine myself with anyone but you, Sunshine. You’ve infiltrated every part of my soul and overrun all my defenses. There’s no part of me that doesn’t want to be with you. It’s okay if you’re still worried about how this will work, or if you’re not thinking far enough into the future to know for sure that everything will work out. I’m optimistic enough for the both of us.”

“You trying to get caught?” I’m fucking tired of hiding this, that’s for sure. “No.” “Then stuff those fucking heart-shaped googly eyes back into your head before someone else sees you looking at her that way.”

“Oh, so you’re just asking about how to know if you’re in love for . . . what? Research purposes?” Drew asks, his voice so full of sarcasm I want to throat punch him.

“Yes, Lover Boy, I’m sure. Why? Are you in love, and we don’t know it?” Am I an asshole for deflecting this conversation back to him? Quite possibly. Do I care? Not at the moment.

“When did you become such a smartass?” “I was born this way.”

“You going to introduce me?” Hartmann asks. “Get lost. For real.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to. Not because I didn’t think you could handle that by yourself, but because I didn’t want you to have to.”

“About that,” I say with a smile. “Pretty sure I withdrew from that award nomination . . .” “Pretty sure you deserve it anyway,” he says, giving me a wink before he turns and heads into his team’s locker room.