Page 28 of The Wildcat

“Aww, come on . . .”

“She’s really pretty...” Kerrigan answers with wonderment in her voice, her tears long forgotten. “And she knows ballet... Oh, oh, and she knows all the best cupcakes.”

“Oh, I bet she’s got great cupcakes.” Ares manages to duck before my hand can connect with the back of his head.

“Watch it,” I warn and drop a kiss on Jaxon’s sticky cheek.

“Thanks for this,” I tell my sister. “I won’t be too late.”

“We’re good, Cross. I’ve got it. Be as late as you want.”

Damn. I love my sister. I could have called the nanny tonight, but Bellamy said not to worry about it, and I’d always rather the kids be with family.

One more quick kiss to Kerrigan before I walk out the door and shove the dad guilt down for the night.

Not the easiest thing to do, but for the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to a night out. I plug Everly’s address into the GPS and shoot off a text.

Cross

On my way.

Cinderella

Okay. Text when you’re here and I’ll meet you in the garage.

Cross

No.

I’ll pick you up at your door.

You may not believe it, but my mother did teach me manners.

Cinderella

Never gonna let me live that down, are you?

Cross

Not planning on it. No.

I’ll see you in a few minutes.

Less than ten minutes later, I’m chatting with her doorman.

Yup. Doorman. Because Everly Sinclair lives inthat kindof building.

The kind with gleaming marble floors, that threaten to blind you when the light hits them just right, and a fancy coffee shop. One that probably charges eight dollars for a cup of black coffee. It’s the kind of building where you need to be buzzed in and given a special code for the elevator to go up to her condo.

Once I step into the elevator, I hit the code for the penthouse. Because why wouldn’t she live in the penthouse? And who steps on right before the doors close? The bartender from West End, who I’m not entirely sure doesn’t have a thing for Everly.

I lift my chin. “Hey, man.”

“Still chasing evil twin?” the guy asks while he looks at me like he’s assessing a threat.

“Something like that.” I cross my arms over my chest and size him up. This guy doesn’t intimidate me. I’ve been playing pro hockey for over a decade. I’ve gotten into it with bigger, badder guys than this. “You chasing her too?”

I half expect him to throw a punch until he laughs. Hard. “Fuck no. She’s psychotic.”

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