Page 31 of Face Off With Fate

Oh.

“You do that because you want to? Not because she expects you to take care of her?” I asked, fingers stilling on the phone before I thought better of my prying and refocused on the screen. “Never mind, here. Now you can see all the events you’re scheduled for.”

“And Lauren will go with me to these things,” he asked, scowl deepening the longer he looked at his phone.

“Well, we don’t know if she’ll be the one⁠—”

“She’s the last option.”

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with his glare.

“I am not going for someone my mom’s age or someone whose ex can off me. We could just not do this whole relationship thing,” he said, sounding hopeful.

The tug in my chest to agree wasn’t helpful. “No, the whole point is for you to look in lo—” For some odd reason, the word lodged in my throat. I coughed to clear it. “Excuse me. You need to look in love.”

Monroe worked his jaw in a tight circle and gave a noncommittal grunt.

Did the word taste as bad in his mouth as it did in mine?

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, and my fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and touch his muscled forearm, to assure him it’d be fine. To assure myself.

But my lips stayed sealed.

Truth was, I had no fucking clue if this thing would work. In theory and on paper, it would, but I needed Monroe’s buy-in. For him to realize letting people in past his shark-infested moat wasn’t such a bad thing.

“I won’t force you to share more than you want.” The promise came out softer than intended.

Blue eyes snapped to me. “You sure about that?” he asked, with an edge to his voice.

The question shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

“I said I won’t.”

I picked at my polish.

He searched my face, like he was looking for the lie. I winced at the distrust staring back at me.

Fuck, I’d really put myself in the red with his trust. A confession danced on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to tell him that, in my attempt to take control of my life decisions, I sometimes forgot to consider how they’d affect others—like him.

But that felt too raw.

I cleared my throat. “We won’t need to use anything personal, since this plan lets us control where you’re seen, what’s photographed, what gets posted⁠—”

“I’m not posting her on social media,” he barked.

“Oh, you’re opposed to something else I’ve said. Shocking.” I dragged in a slow breath through my nose. God, he was exhausting. “You won’t have to on yours, but she’s going to post about you two. Social media is a massive part of marketing, whether you like it or not.”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face, body coiled tight, like at any moment he’d leap out of that tiny chair and sprint for the exit.

“Hey.” My hand landed on his warm, muscled forearm. “We’re a team, Monroe, I’m not going to let you down.”

His eyes dropped to where we touched and then back to my face, and something in his expression flickered—softened.

A knock echoed through the room, and I dropped my hand like I’d been burned.

“Come in,” I called out, falling into work mode.

“Thank yo— Oh my gosh, Coach Monroe?” a woman’s voice chimed.