Page 40 of Face Off With Fate

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “But you’re a lot of fucking trouble.”

“Well you’re a pain in the ass, Monroe.” I smirked. “But I like you, too.”

Something shifted between us. It wasn’t big or monumental. But something felt…different. We stood there for a moment.

“Uhh.” He looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s all fixed now. Want to try out the key, make sure it works?”

I shook my head, trying to recover from whatever that was.

“Yes, Coach.” I gave him a little salute, earning a strangled grunt.

Everything in me wanted to tease him, but there was something sweet about a flustered Monroe.

And I didn’t want to push our tentative friendship.

Acquaintance? Reformed rivalry?

I stepped onto the porch, balancing on the balls of my feet, careful to avoid some of the rougher boards.

“Really?” Monroe said under his breath, along with what sounded a lot like another thing for the fridge list.

I’d barely closed the security door before he was back to barking out instructions like I was four.

“Okay, just put the key⁠—”

“I know how to use a door.”

I slid the key into the new lock…and cursed when it refused to move.

Warm breath danced along the back of my neck, and my eyelids fluttered shut. All the noise drifting from the street a few feet away faded into the background, my heartbeat overtaking it.

“If you had let me finish,” he murmured, too close.

God, would I let you finish.

“Then you’d have heard me tell you that sometimes the key sticks on a new lock.” Monroe’s low timbre and calloused hand set off a swarm of butterflies low in my stomach as he reached around me to jiggle the lock. “Come on, open up for me.”

“You need to stop talking,” I bit out, gripping the key, painfully aware of my stiffened nipples and the silver barbells threatening to cut through my shirt.

“I find words of encouragement tend to help.”

For fuck’s sake. Someone take me out back.

Clearly, the universe hated me. It was the only explanation for the torture I was forced to endure.

What did you mean I had a hot, six-foot-something man hunched over me, whispering things like, “Open up for me” into my ear while the heat of his body seeped into mine.

And he was utterly oblivious to the fact that I stood there with damp fucking panties because of his “words of encouragement.”

“There,” he said when the bolt slid home and then smoothly retracted back. “You should be good now.”

He stepped away, taking his hand and heat with him.

“Oh, thank god,” I breathed, turning to see him pulling at his jeans as he cleaned up his tools. I swore the sunlight shifted in the sky just to shine a spotlight on his bulge, and little cherubs sang a chorus of praise about how it was big enough to leave an imprint.

“It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” he said, making his way down the steps toward where his truck spilled out into the sidewalk, too big for the narrow patch of cement.

“Wait.” I chased down the steps after him, my brain finally coming back online. “It kind of is a big deal.”