Page 19 of Face Off With Fate

I bit my tongue, holding in my sigh.

“Ama, we both know living there wouldn’t be good—” A knock at the front door saved me from rehashing that conversation.

I glanced at the stove clock. Of course, Monroe was early.

“Hold on,” I yelled, holding my hand over the phone. “Madresita, I’ve got to go,” I said, and hung up before she asked who was there.

Fifteen steps were all it took to get back to the front, and he still banged three more times, rattling the frame of the outer security door.

I yanked the deep purple interior one open. “What the hell is your prob⁠—”

“Your door is missing the deadbolt,” Monroe said, cutting me off, scowl directed at the admittedly shoddy-looking lock. “What’s the point of the thing without that?”

“Aesthetics, obviously.” The deadpan response earned me the same glare he’d given the newspaper-stuffed hole where the bolt should have been. I turned the knob and pushed the metal door toward him. “Are you going to stand out there and judge, or come inside and judge?”

He huffed, shoulder brushing mine in the narrow entry as he moved past me into my temporary living room, office, and bedroom.

“So happy to have you.” I stuck my tongue out at his back. “I see we’re in a good mood today. Perfect.”

“Are you ready to go?” He shuffled from one foot to another, looking massive in the small space with his hands shoved into his pockets. It felt like he was glaring, but I couldn’t tell.

“How do you even see? That thing is basically on the bridge of your nose.”

“With my eyes, Graciella.” He crossed his arms, testing the fabric of his shirt with his chest and biceps. And my ability not to drool. “It makes it so people don’t recognize me.”

I snorted a laugh, waiting for him to tell me the real reason.

Silence.

“Wait, are you being serious? You think that people won’t recognize you because you have a hat on?”

“Yup.”

Had the man never looked in a mirror? There was no way for Josh Monroe to go unnoticed. He was a wet dream walking. Effortlessly messy brunette hair, matching facial hair dusting his jaw, and, retired or not, he had the body of a professional athlete.

“So inconspicuous.” I rolled my eyes. “You realize your hat literally has the San Jose Stars logo on it, right?”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Can we get going already? We’ve got to get to Tommy’s.”

The reminder of why he was here had my pulse picking up.

“Let me just grab my things and we can go.” I scooped up all printouts, pens, and, of course, my trusty diary off the glass top of the table, shoving them into the canvas tote.

“What is all that?”

I whipped around. “Do you—Ah!”

Centimeters separated my nose and his chest. Laundry soap and pine enveloped me. Why did every hot man smell like they’d been out chopping a tree?

“Sorry…” He gripped my bare shoulders to steady me, rough pads of his thumbs hot against my skin. His brim no longer shielded his eyes.

All that broody intensity was on me.

He didn’t move. Didn’t stop touching me.

My mouth was the Sahara Desert, every drop of moisture gone.

“Do you intentionally sound pissed off every time you speak?” I managed. “Or is that like your factory setting?”