29. Graciella
TWENTY-NINE
GRACIELLA
“I APOLOGIZE WHEN I’M WRONG. NOT WHEN PROVOKED.”
He’d kissed my hair in an arena with thousands of witnesses.
A thrill shot down my spine, followed by regret and confusion.
I swiveled to check if anyone was looking my way. Most eyes were on the stage, but that didn’t mean someone hadn’t seen.
Monroe’s booming voice halted my search. My eyes moved to find him instead.
“I remember what it was like to sit where you all sit, the nerves racing through your system. It feels like your future rides on this moment. On when you get picked…if you get picked.” He paused, commanding the crowd’s attention as he looked around. His face shone with pride.
“I want you to hear me when I tell you, you should all be very proud of the hard work, dedication, and sacrifice you’ve put in. And your futures are bright because of those qualities, regardless of the outcome tonight, a year from now, five years from now.”
His voice was confident—proud. Same way he’d spoken to the women’s team.
“And while I wish all of you the best in your careers, there’s one player in particular whose career I look forward to helping shape.
The San Jose Stars, this year’s Stanley Cup winners, select out of Chicago, Illinois, Alejandro García,” Monroe said, eyes finding Tommy, who had a smile plastered on his face, beaming at his head coach.
The nod of approval he gave Monroe had my heart soaring.
The crowd erupted, the section where Alejandro sat louder than all the rest with their whistles and gritos. My Mexican heart swelled with joy, and I joined in, letting out a whistle my tíos would be proud of.
I swiped at my cheek, trying to clear my vision. My mascara was putting in work, with how I was waterboarding my lashes.
The young kid made his way up to the stage, embracing his new coach, who handed him his jersey and hat. Monroe smiled at his new player the way he did with Goldie.
The way he did with me…
“I still cannot believe you can whistle like that,” Monroe chuckled, pulling me back to the present.
“You think that’s impressive, you should hear my cousin Ricky do it,” I said, trying to ignore the heat from his hand on my back as he navigated us through the crowd of people loitering around. He escorted me like he was my bodyguard.
“Excuse me, Mr. Monroe, sir?”
The little voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Could you sign this for me?”
“Of course.” Monroe flashed another sincere smile. A weird feeling looped through me as I watched him kneel and sign the jersey the kid carried. “Here, have your parent or guardian send my assistant an email. I’ll get you a jersey signed by all the guys.”
The boy’s little face lit up.
The entire exchange shattered the pathetically weak walls I’d erected to pretend I wasn’t falling head over fuckin’ heels for the hot, grumpy single dad who the world believed was dating my friend.
“I’m impressed. You didn’t totally suck at interacting with humans today,” I said quietly as we walked into the teams-only lounge.
It was quieter here, with only a handful of people mingling or catching a moment of peace before heading back out into the chaos.
Monroe’s stupid crooked grin made an appearance, setting off a flurry of butterflies. “Wow. Such high praise from my PR handler.”
“What can I say? I’m great at giving praise.”
“Are you now?” His eyes heated, and he guided us back into a semi-hidden corner. His shoulders dropped from his ears when we were alone.
I smiled. “Of course, it’s basically my job to tell you what you’re doing well,” I sassed, knowing I was playing with fire, but not finding I cared if I got burned.
Monroe pulled me closer, his warm breath grazing my ear. “So you like givin’ it, but do you like being praised, Trouble? Like hearin’ what a good girl you are? You sure seemed to like it earlier…”
My lids fluttered closed, and I squeezed my legs together, hoping for some relief.
“Josh…”
His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Yes?”
“What about me has led you to believe I’m a good girl?” I asked, tipping my face up to see him. We were close. Too close for in public, regardless of whether we seemed to be the only ones around. But my feet were cemented in place, refusing to take even one step back.
His tongue popped out, running along his lip, and I wanted so badly for him to run it along mine, too. To tease the seam of my mouth with it—my pussy with it.
Those blue eyes flared, like he could read my thoughts. Maybe he could. Maybe they were written on my face like the lust written on his.
He traveled the length of my body with his gaze, so intense it felt like a physical caress.
“Well, Josh. What a surprise it is to see you here.”
We jumped apart, turning to see who’d snuck up on us.
“Vincent,” Monroe said, deadpan, ignoring the extended hand. “I’d say it’s nice to see you, but…”
If he’d spoken that way to anyone else, I’d have elbowed him as a reminder that we were supposed to be improving his people skills. But this asshole didn’t deserve any politeness.
Vincent’s shrewd eyes bounced between the two of us, an arrogant grin growing on his face as he dropped his arm back to his side.
“And I don’t believe I’ve met your beautiful girlfriend here,” Monroe’s former boss said with a smirk that raised my hackles.
He was a damn snake in the grass.
“So sorry to disappoint, but you still haven’t. I work for the Stars,” I said. Figured a narcissist like him wouldn’t remember seeing me last year in Dallas on his team’s media day.
He’d probably been too focused on the little reporter he’d planted to make Ariella look bad.
Vincent’s thin lips twisted before he offered a blinding smile.
“Hmm. Apologies. With all the press surrounding Josh’s newfound relationship, and then seeing you two on the floor during the picks and then again all alone over here…
” He let out a stupid huff of laughter. “I just assumed you were the lovely lady.”
The ache in my jaw increased. Bullshit. Everything out of his mouth felt like there was a double meaning, and it had me on edge.
“Interesting that you’d think that, Vincent,” Monroe cut in.
“If you’ve seen the photos, then you’d know they look nothing alike.
” He paused, shrugging a single shoulder nonchalantly.
If it weren’t for the white knuckles, I’d believe he was unfazed by this exchange.
“But maybe you think every Latina looks the same.”
I hid my laugh with a cough.
Vincent didn’t find it as funny. He puffed out his chest, hands fisting at his sides. Something in my gut told me this conversation would not end well if we didn’t leave—immediately.
The lie that women were too emotional and therefore unable to handle themselves was such bullshit. I should have a damn award, a punch card for a free facial at minimum, for how many times I bit my tongue instead of humbling a man.
Monroe’s suit jacket was silky under my hand. I gave his forearm a squeeze, trying to draw him away from the stare-off.
“I think we have a few people looking for quotes from you. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” I tilted my head in what I hoped was the opposite direction of wherever Vincent was headed before he stopped.
A condescending laugh sounded. “Oh, I would cancel those if I were you, Grace.”
“Ms. Barrera.”
He ignored my correction. “Josh is shit with the press. It’s why I never let him get in front of the cameras. In fact, he should thank me for giving him a second chance at a career.”
Monroe stiffened.
“No one wanted the hothead of the league, but I took him in out of the goodness of my heart. Isn’t that right, Josh?”
“Watch it, Vincent,” he warned, voice low and threatening, the tension in the space ratcheting higher. “We both know my going to Dallas had nothing to do with you.”
I stepped between the two. “Okay, I think—”
“No?” Vincent said, ignoring me. “That the story you’ve been telling yourself? What you’ve told Grace here?” He swiveled his attention to me. “You see the level of hostility toward me? When all I’ve ever done is offer him a career and an amazing team to coach. A way of providing for his daughter.”
“Don’t you talk about her,” Monroe growled, running into my back.
“What kind of example are you to her when you act so out of control? What would the media think?” The bastard smiled.
“I heard your new team isn’t as understanding of your bad attitude as I was.
There’s talk about last season being your first and only year with the team.
Tell me, Josh, do you think you’ll ever get hired again? ”
Every smug word out of his mouth reminded me of why I’d hit his car with Monroe’s hockey stick.
Asshole deserved to be taken down a peg.
“You’re right. Let’s have a discussion about being a father, shall we, Vincent?” I said, and his eyes flickered with surprise, like he’d forgotten I was there. “If memory serves, you’re also a father. And rumor has it your son doesn’t want a damn thing to do with you.”
Red splotches peppered his face, nostrils flaring.
“Didn’t he leave and join another team?” I asked, laying the condescending tone on as thick as he had.
He whipped his head around, seeing if anyone had heard my comment. “Listen, here you bi—” He cut himself off, lips snapping into a tight line. “Apologize right now, and I’m willing to let this incident slide. Otherwise…” His words came between clenched teeth, his facade of control deteriorating.
“Otherwise, what, Vincent?” Monroe asked, pushing at my back again. But I held up a hand to stop him, eyes never leaving Dalton’s dad.