Page 126 of Face Off With Fate

Didn’t matter how many times I’d faced down a press room full of reporters firing questions. Tension still settled in my shoulders the second a room full of eyes was on me.

Which was exactly what was going to happen when I accepted this award.

Prominent figures from the Bay Area sports teams milled about the ballroom, shaking hands and making small talk. None of them were who I was looking for.

I went rigid when I spotted her near the far end of the cocktail tables. José Gil was laughing at something she’d said, and it pissed me off.

“I’m pretty sure you’re this close to setting her dress on fire,” Itzel said, holding her thumb and forefinger together in front of my face.

“What?” I blinked, trying to make sense of when she’d arrived.

“You’re glaring like you want to incinerate her.” She took a slow sip of her champagne, hiding her smile behind the rim. “Or maybe it’s the man she’s talking to.”

Across the room, José tilted his head back and laughed again.

Graciella’s face lit up in response, nearly as bright as the dress that hugged her silhouette so perfectly. She looked like she’d been dipped in liquid gold.

She was gorgeous, breathtakingly so.

Something possessive and sharp curled through my gut. The urge to walk across the ballroom and physically insert myself between them was so strong that my feet actually shifted.

But she’d lectured me that morning while lying in my arms. Told me tonight was business, and I needed to behave. I hated that I’d told her yes.

“What’s he even doing here?” I growled.

“Well.” Itzel tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’d say he’s here because all the sports are getting recognized tonight. Baseball included.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side? I thought you didn’t like that guy.” I tossed an arm in their direction.

She gave me an amused look. “I am on your side. That’s why I’m telling you to stop glaring at them.”

I exhaled through my nose before draining what was left in my glass. “Let’s go find our table.”

We were stopped by players and coaches alike, all congratulating me on our win and the award, so Graciella was already there when we arrived, sitting with a glass of wine in her hand, deep in conversation with Ariella. She glanced up when I pulled out Itzel’s chair, leaving the one between them for me, lingering just a second before she dropped her eyes away.

I rested my arm along the back of her chair.

She stiffened slightly.

“You look tense,” I said in her ear, noting how the tablecloth covered the slit that ran up the side of her thigh.

She glanced at me. “Be a good boy, Monroe.”

“I’m always a good boy for you, Trouble.” I shifted my knee under the curtain of fabric until it pressed against the outside of her thigh.

The conversation at the table swelled around us. Dalton’s voice rose over Jimenez’s. Itzel laughed at something Ariella said, but none of it really registered.

I turned toward her a bit more, dropping my voice. “I’ve been thinking about that dress since you walked in.”

She kept her eyes forward, shaking her head. “This is not being good...”

“Specifically,” I continued, like she hadn’t said anything, “about takin’ it off you.”

The hand on her wine glass tightened.

“There’s a slit right here.” I found where the fabric parted over her thigh, grazing my knuckles against her warm skin. “Been thinkin’ about that, too.”

Her breath caught, the pulse at the base of her throat thumping.