24. Monroe
TWENTY-FOUR
MONROE
THIS IS PEAK ROMANCING.
“Graciella, food’s here,” I called out over my shoulder, trying to compete with the full-blown concert happening in the bathroom. The knock could be for the room service or a noise complaint.
The scent of sautéed garlic and onions leaked through the door frame, answering the question before I pulled the handle.
“Yeah, I’ve got room service for—” The kid’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit, you’re Josh Monroe.” The excitement morphed into a wince. “Please don’t tell them I said that. We’re supposed to act normal if we run into any NHL people today.”
I waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. And a little word of advice, no one else will give a shit either if you geek out a bit.”
“Thanks, man,” he said, full-fledged smile back, making his already baby face look even younger.
“I hope they’re all as cool as you. Uh…” He scratched at the back of his head, eyes darting toward the hallway.
“Uh, they sent me with like seventeen items, but that can’t be right.
Are there other rooms you want me to take these to? ”
I kicked down the doorstop and stepped out to see what we were dealing with. Three carts lined the wall, each stacked with silver-domed dishes.
“Nah, they got it right. All of those are for in here.” I motioned him in.
“Oh, are like a bunch of people from the team coming over before the Draft starts?”
“Nope.” I followed him in with the second cart, hating the idea of standing around. “Just me and a woman who ordered one of everything on the menu. Thankfully, y’all aren’t The Cheesecake Factory.”
“Wow, and you let her do that?” he asked, rolling in the final cart.
I huffed out a laugh. “You must not have a girlfriend, kid, because otherwise you’d know you don’t let a woman do anything. They do whatever the fuck they want.”
The smile he cut me as I took the tablet to sign was sheepish. “Oh, that’s right. I read about how you’re seeing someone now. She looked real pretty from those pictures of you two. That’s cool you brought her with you.”
Shit.
“Um. Yeah…” My tongue felt too big for my mouth. Correcting him would dig me deeper, so I let him think the woman humming on the other side of the frosted door was my girlfriend instead of my publicist.
“Well, here you go. Thanks for bringing it by.” I shoved a few hundred dollars in his hand and had him out the door before Graciella walked out.
“Monr—”
Her voice cut off.
Silence.
No music, running water, or commentary from one very opinionated woman. It was so abnormal, I nearly ran down the short hallway that led to the main part of the room to make sure she hadn’t passed out. Graciella’s face whipped to me, the towel perched on the top of her head nearly toppling over.
“What’s all this?” She flicked a hand toward the carts. The move made her robe gap at the top, giving a glimpse of the soft curve of her breast.
My throat tightened, heat coursing to my dick.
I cleared my throat, dragging my eyes to the silver domes instead of the skin peeking through. “You said one of everything.”
“Wait—you actually went through with it? I was joking.”
“Were you, though?” My lips twitched, and I shrugged a shoulder. “Figured this was safer than guessing.”
The smile she shot me was blinding, and damn if it didn’t do something to my chest. “Monroe. Dare I say, for an old man, you’ve got some game.”
“When you hit thirty-three, I’m going to remind you of how old that is.”
“Yeah, whatever. Come on, I’m starving,” she said, tugging at the barricade of pillows she’d built.
My brows lifted. “Eating on the bed? The very white bed?”
“Do you see a dining room table in here?” she shot back, tossing the last pillow at me and climbing up. “All right, surprise me, Coach.”
I picked two random trays and set them between us. She tucked her legs under her, the robe slipping enough to make it hard not to notice, but I focused on the screen as the broadcast flickered to life.
Within minutes, her questions started. “Okay, the sport of hockey, I get. The Draft.” —she waved a breadstick around— “I never bothered to learn. I know you and Tommy go up last in the rounds the next two days, but why are the Stars getting last picks if you won the Cup? Shouldn’t the champions get first choice? Like, why bother winning then?”
A chuckle slipped out. “We both know you’re competitive enough to get why we’d want to win. Even if it was purely for the bragging rights.”
“Okay, fair. But still, I’d be pissed I didn’t get to pick first.”
“Depends on how you look at it. Theory is our team is already stacked since we won, and we don’t require as much franchise building.
” I popped another bite of steak into my mouth.
“The worse your season, the higher your chances of picking earlier in the draft. Those teams hopefully improve their rosters with priority picks of new additions.”
She hummed, standing to trade out the focaccia she’d downed for something else.
The edge of her robe crept up the back of her legs, taunting me.
Fuck me.
“Is there cake here somewhere?” she asked from where she was bent over, rifling through the lids.
I was about to hop up and help her find it, just to get the torture to stop, when she straightened, holding a plate above her head like a prize. “Found it.”
“Please tell me you’re wearing clothes under that,” I ground out, eyes squeezing shut.
“What’s the problem, Monroe? Never seen a naked woman before?”
The bed dipped as she climbed back on.
“I’ve seen a naked woman. That’s not the problem…” I’ve never seen you naked. “What are you doing?” I asked, catching a flash of something as I opened my eyes.
“Keep ’em closed, unless you want to see skin.”
Now I wanted nothing more than to reopen them.
“Okay, you’re good.”
She’d traded the robe for a San Jose Stars shirt so oversized she was swimming in it, the hem brushing dangerously high on her thighs.
“Whose shirt is that? Did one of my players give it to you?”
Who the hell was I?
She gave me a flat look. “Yes. In fact, I have one from every member of your team. Making my rounds through the roster, actually.” I deserved the middle finger she flipped me.
“They sell loads of these at the flea market, asshole. Though sometimes the quality is questionable.” She motioned to the tagline under the green star outlined in blue with a giant ‘S’.
San Jose Starts.
“Guy let me buy it for five dollars, given the typo.”
I shook my head, fighting against the pull to smile. “You know you could ask me for a shirt, and I’d get you one for free.”
“Fine. Get me a shirt, Coach. Next question.” She tucked a damp lock behind her ear. She looked bare-faced and innocent, the complete opposite of what was swirling in my mind.
My eyes—and apparently my brain—wanted to travel south. I forced a blink, trying not to imagine what was underneath that shirt.
Tiny shorts? Underwear?
Every possibility made my chest tighten and my pulse race. I gritted my teeth and forced my attention on the TV instead.
Focus on the screen. That’s all you’re allowed to look at.
“What’s your beef with the NHL?”
I stiffened.
That was one way to kill the mood.
Normally I’d dodge the question. For some reason, I found myself answering.
“The organization threw me under the bus back when I was a player. Had a career-ending injury in the middle of the season, and instead of backing me, they painted me as a problem.” I let out a humorless laugh.
“A troubled player who couldn’t handle it, that’s what they said about me in the press.
As if I didn’t just lose everything I’d worked for since I could skate. ”
Her eyes softened, making me want to keep talking.
“I was angry. I was lost. But instead of helping me figure it out, they hung me out to dry.” I pushed the steak around my plate, letting another confession slip out.
“When I came back as a coach, I decided I wouldn’t play their game.
That I didn’t care if they liked me or not since they’d proven I couldn’t trust them.
And now, I have to fix the very fucking thing they created. ”
There was a beat of silence before she broke it by shoving her fork in my face. “Cheesecake. You need a bite of cheesecake.” The tines press against my lips. Her brow ticked up in challenge when I didn’t immediately open.
I sighed. Relenting.
“Good boy.”
I choked on the bite, graham cracker crust scattering across the towel I’d thankfully put down.
“I find I always feel better after a mouthful of something.”
Graciella’s smile was innocent, but it was bullshit. She knew exactly what she was doing with that comment.
“Trouble. Perfect fucking nickname,” I said, wiping a hand across my mouth.
She shrugged. “You love it.”
“No, I don’t.”
She smiled at the lie.
“Hey, Monroe…”
My eyes flicked back up to hers. The playfulness had morphed into something more vulnerable.
“Fuck them.”
“Huh? What do yo—”
“Fuck the League.” She lifted onto her knees, that damn hem playing with my emotions, and gripped my shoulders. As if I could look anywhere other than into those expressive eyes of hers. “You’re an amazing coach. We are going to make those assholes and the fans fall in love with you.”
Shit, that word coming from her mouth made my stomach dip.
“Because it turns out under all that grunting, and scowling, and yelling, and—”
“You got a point comin’ sometime soon?”
She winked, plopping back down to finish her cake. “You’re not that bad.”
I bit back a smile. “Wow, a glowing review.”
“By the way, you’re a good dad, too,” she said sheepishly.
Blood whooshed in my ears, the words hitting harder than I’d expected. I’d never been told that from anyone besides my mom, not straight to my face, and I did not know how badly I needed to hear those words. Especially from her.
Graciella was a complication I was ill-prepared to deal with. She managed to press every button I had while simultaneously coming along and repairing years’ worth of damage.
“I didn’t have a dad,” I admitted, voice rougher than I wanted. “My mom raised me and did a damn good job. So most of it is following her example.”
She nodded slowly, gaze locked on where her fingers played with the blanket between us. “Well, as a member of the shitty dad club, I may not be an expert in good dads. But from what I’ve seen, Goldie is lucky.”
The confession made me look at her—really look.
There was something raw there, hidden under her humor and fire.
Something I wanted more of.