Page 113 of Face Off With Fate

I shook my head, trying to clear the blissful haze, and slid into a corner table tucked away from prying eyes between two walnut shelves stacked mainly with the cracked spines of well-loved romance novels, old and new. The place smelled like espresso and old books.

Perfect setting for poring over the calendar and wallowing in self-pity over all the things I had planned for Monroe and Itzel. The reminder hit me like a truck, and my head dropped into my hands, a curtain of black hair shielding me from the outside world for a moment.

I was jealous.

Not of anything going on between the two of them. Itzel had sent me a long-winded voice message about how I shouldn’t be afraid to be happy with a man and how excited she was for me. No, I was jealous because I wanted to experience these career highs with him. By his side, cheering him on when so many others didn’t want to.

I straightened, stuffing down the self-pity. No, the most important part was to show the public the man I knew Josh to be. And if that meant I needed to do it from the sidelines with no one knowing, it was worth it.

He was worth it.

The Google calendar was lit up with colored blocks, and I ignored the little voice wondering when we’d be able to see each other during all these events. Summer conditioning was already in full swing for the players, and the Stars Developmental Camp started next week.

But it was the events at the start of August that snagged my attention. Bay Area Sports Awards and press day. I had a speech typed up for the awards, had drafted talking points for Monroe, and the list of approved questions to go out to reporters. But that didn’t keep my stomach from turning.

A lot was riding on those two events, with so many eyes there to observe the team—observe him.

I gnawed on my lip, reading over the speech lines I’d jotted down for him. A few weeks ago, my main concern was how these events would represent me and my work. Now…now that seemed to take second place to my hope that the world would see the version of Monroe I did.

The one whose heart was tender…loving.

By the time I made it back to my building, I’d managed to think about Monroe naked approximately forty-seven more times.

I shifted my bag to one shoulder and pushed through the front door, smiling at the lock he’d installed for me. God, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Afternoon light filtered through the front windows, their aged single panes already letting in midday heat.

I was two steps inside when I heard it.

A metallic clank and the distinct clatter of something rolling across the linoleum in my kitchen.

My stomach dropped straight through the floor.

I grabbed Monica without thinking, the shaft smooth and familiar under my palms as I snuck toward my kitchen, heart hammering.

I jumped out from around the corner, Monica poised at my shoulder like a bat. “Who the hell is ther⁠—”

The words cut out when I spotted large, worn boots attached to a pair of muscled legs in light-washed jeans I’d recognize anywhere. The upper half of Monroe’s body was hidden under the sink cabinet.

“I told you I was coming,” he said, voice muffled by cabinetry and the clanking of whatever the hell he had under there with him. “But if you forgot, you better not have charged in here with my hockey stick again instead of calling me about an intruder.”

I set Monica down, leaning her against the corner before he could spot her. Not that I thought it was possible in his current position. “Well, seeing as how you’re the intruder, that wouldn’t have done a lot of good either. How the hell did you get in here, anyway? Did I forget to lock the door again?”

“Had a key,” he said. “And I’m not even going to address the again part of that. Already irritated enough at these ancient fuckin’ pipes, don’t need to think about your lack of survival skills.”

“From when?” I ignored the rest of his complaining.

“When I fixed your lock.”

“You kept a key to my apartment?” I crossed my arms, eyebrows raised. “Stalker much?”

He grunted. “You’re one to talk. You stole one from my front yard.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I’d bet money he had an eyebrow quirked up, daring me to argue with him.

“Did you a favor really.” I hopped up on the counter. “That rock didn’t even look close to real. So I saved you from a nefarious person getting to it.”

The counter was cool under my thighs. I kicked my feet and inspected the sprawl of tools laid out.