Page 62 of Face Off With Fate

And that was a fucking problem.

NINETEEN

GRACIELLA

DENIAL IS A RIVER IN THE RECESSES OF GRACIELLA’S MIND.

“You’re sadistic,” I wheezed. “And on the Lord’s day too.”

“Your ass will thank me.”

Ari pushed down on my sweaty shoulders, her palms flat and firm. The hoe was trying to press me straight through the rubber mat. The mirror on the wall threw back a reflection that was not cute—sweat-drenched hair plastered to my head, looking like I had a bowl cut, with legs shaking like a newborn giraffe.

“I want both knees at ninety degrees for this split squat,” she said, moving behind Itzel, who was a hell of a lot closer to ninety than I was. “And we’re going to pulse. One inch up, one inch down for five…four…three…”

“Pinche pendeja.” I grabbed at where my ass cheek cramped. “Count faster!”

Ari rolled her eyes. “Two…one.”

“Oh, thank god.” I dropped to the mat. The rubber was cool against my cheek as I tried catching my breath.

“Okay. Two-minute break. Then we go again,” Ari said, clapping once.

I groaned. Why had I agreed to come to her morning torture session?

Oh, that was right, because I was trying to avoid thinking about a certain grumpy coach. But now I was sprawled out on the floor thinking about Monroe’s annoyingly handsome face and how every inch of my body ached.

Perfect.

Sweat and eucalyptus from whatever spray Ari used on the equipment wafted through the home gym. Warm golden light came in through the arched window above the weight rack, bouncing off the cream plaster walls and the dark wooden beams overhead.

At least I’d die of rhabdomyolysis somewhere that looked like a spread in Architectural Digest.

“You’re doing great, Chella.”

I glared up at Itzel, who wasn’t even breathing hard as she smiled at me. Her soft curls were pulled up out of her face in a ponytail, and she had a dewy glow to her that I resented.

My only response was a grunt as I crawled over and grabbed my bottle off the Saltillo tile, drinking half of it in one pull.

“So.” Ari dropped down onto a bench, looking between Itzel and me. “How’s your PR plan working out with Monroe?”

I pushed myself up to sit and wiped my face with the towel Ari’d handed me before the workout. “It’s going. We’ve got the next date set up.”

Ari snorted. “So weird thinking about Monroe on a date.”

My stomach tightened.

“Fake date,” I corrected, then turned to Itzel. “It’s just lunch at a little place in Willow Glen. I’ve got a photographer lined up to catch you guys leaving.”

“What do you need from me?” Itzel asked, as she sat cross-legged on the floor.

My forefinger found the edge of the teal polish on my thumb. What I wanted and what I needed seemed to be at odds as of late.

“Uh, yeah, I need you to look comfortable with him. So, stay close and if he touches you—” I paused. Something pulled tight in my chest. “Don’t flinch or move away from him. You’re supposed to look like you’re…together.”

I practically had to force out the words. I looked up when silence had stretched a few beats too long. Ari and Itzel both stared at me before locking eyes with one another.

“What?” An annoyed edge coated the word.