Chapter Fourteen
Rhodes
Well, I was planning to spend my morning running errands alone. Now, apparently, I’m dragging Monroe along with me.
I think she needs it—needs something that isn’t tied to skating, to the weight of expectation, to whatever hell she’s been clawing her way out of for the past two years.
I’ve stopped trying to fight the attraction I have to her, and the need to be close to her.
I’m embracing it now. She can fight it, but I’m patient.
I pull into the parking lot in front of the address she sent me, tapping my fingers against the wheel as I glance up at her building.
When was the last time Monroe actually had fun?
I hop out of my car, jog up to her door, and rap my knuckles against it. Before I can knock a second time, it swings open.
Swaths of auburn curls and scowling, hazel eyes hit me like a truck. A ten-ton semitruck full of concrete or bricks. I clear my throat and try to collect my thoughts so I can speak somewhat coherently when she bites up at me.
“It’s nine a.m., Rhodes. Why are you dragging me out of my apartment?”
I snort. Fucking hell, Monroe off the ice is cute, like an angry fox. Annoyed at me, but I’m quickly discovering that that is obviously my type.
I lean against the porch railing of her apartment and smirk at her, crossing my arms across my chest.
I watch her eyes slowly trail the curve of my biceps and I flex. Monroe quickly glances away, caught, before narrowing her eyes at me again. Heat flares in my chest. I almost call her out, but decide not to risk her going back inside and slamming the door in my face. Baby steps and all that.
“We are going to grab coffee, because it looks like you need one.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“And then we’re going to go get our asses whooped at pickleball by a bunch of old people.”
“I’m sorry.” Monroe blinks up at me, grinning at her. “What?”
I push off the railing and walk toward my car, tossing a wink over my shoulder.
“Get in the car, Abrams.”
I hear the stomp of her footsteps behind me, her muttering under her breath as she follows. I pull open the passenger door of my Land Rover, catching the flicker of surprise in her face at the gesture. She hesitates for a second.
But then, with an exaggerated sigh, she climbs in.
I slam the door behind her, shaking my head. It almost feels like a date. She would probably argue about that, but, depending on how it goes, I might count it anyway.
* * * *
“I’m gonna need more details, Rhodes,” Monroe says from my passenger seat, arms crossed like she’s seconds away from demanding I turn the car around. I wouldn’t. She’s effectively kidnapped now. She hasn’t stopped scowling since I picked her up, and I’m dying to get her to smile at me.
“Coffee order, sweetheart.” I tap her thigh to get her attention as I pull into the coffee shop drive-through.
I know I’m not the only one affected by the friction between our skin, because her leg erupts in tiny goosebumps.
There is a self-satisfied feeling in my chest at the idea of her being as attracted to me as I am to her.
“What can I get you?” A tinny voice crackles through the speaker.
“Grande dirty chai, hot,” I say, barely finishing before Monroe snorts. I shoot her a glare.
“I had you pegged as a black coffee guy.” Her lips quirk up. It’s so close to the smile I want.
“I do have a soul, Abrams. Your order, please.”
“Iced Americano with vanilla and oat milk,” she says evenly. I relay the order, pull forward, and give her a look.
“Iced in January?”
She shrugs. “Hot coffee is disgusting.” Noted. Don’t bring Monroe hot coffee. I make a mental note of her order and store that information away for later. Did I have ulterior motives for bringing her with me to order a drink today? Maybe. I am desperate for as many Monroe-facts as I can get.
I hand over my credit card, grab our drinks, and slide hers toward her.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “Now will you tell me where we’re going?” she asks as she takes a sip, lips wrapping around the green straw.
“Hartford Senior Center,” I say casually.
She chokes on her drink.
“Oh—” She coughs, wiping her mouth. “I’m sorry, I thought you were joking about pickleball with old people.”
“I volunteer there a few times a month, help their sports activity committee out. The team is a donor, so I like to go do more than just throw money at them. Plus, it’s fun and way more physical than you think it’s going to be.
Totally counts as my workout for the day.
” I flex my arms again just for good measure. She snorts.
“That’s really great.” She seems sincere in her reply. “It also seems very on-brand for you to actually go and play with them.”
“Oh yeah? It doesn’t surprise you?”
“Not really. You’re a nice guy, Rhodes. Maybe a little quick to the punch when people piss you off, but maybe people should just piss you off less.” She’s teasing me, and it’s a refreshing change from her usual snarkiness—though I like that version of Monroe, too.
I park the car, cut the engine, and turn to face her. “I’m not always nice,” I say. Getting friend-zoned is the last thing I want to happen here, and suddenly I fear I’m treading dangerously close to it.
She just rolls her eyes. “Okay, tough guy. Let’s go.”
I let it go for now, but we’ll need to come back to this.
“Ready to get your ass handed to you by a bunch of seventy-year-olds?”
She gives me a long look over the rim of her cup. “Guess so.”
I hold the door open for her and usher her into the lobby.
“Hello, Mr. McKnight!” a friendly voice calls from the front desk.
“Hey, Sharyl.” I smile warmly. “Hope it’s okay, I brought a friend today.”
Sharyl glances at Monroe, her grin widening. Don’t make this weird, Sharyl.
“Of course, honey! No problem,” she says, sliding the sign-in sheet toward us. “Both of you add your names here and grab a visitor badge. You can head straight back to the courts when you’re done.”
We sign in, slap on our badges, and I grab two water bottles from the mini fridge near the desk before nudging Monroe toward the courts.
The place is big, clean, and way too competitive for a senior center. These guys have latched onto the pickleball phenomenon like it’s their job, and it’s been both heartwarming and hilarious to watch. They’re good.
“Rhodes!” Carl Beady’s voice booms across the court as soon as we walk in. His eyes immediately land on Monroe. “And who’s this beauty?” He slides me a look, then winks at her.
“This is Monroe,” I say, grinning. “She’s off-limits, Carl.”
I lean toward Monroe and whisper, “Watch out for him. He’s handsy.” She lets out a small laugh, and fuck me, I want to hear that again.
“I want her on my team,” Carl declares, pointing at Monroe. “I’m tired of your ass always making us lose.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re on, old man.”
Paulie Hammond, another regular, strolls up, eyeing Carl like he just lost a poker bet.
“Carl, why the hell do I have to be stuck with Rhodes while you get the pretty lady?” He’s cranky a good ninety percent of the time.
Monroe is actually laughing now, and I feel it in my chest.
“You snooze, you lose, Paulie,” Carl yells back.
Across the net, Monroe catches my eye. I grin at her.
And she grins back.
It’s quick. Effortless. And dangerous as hell. I can’t keep my eyes off her.
“Rhodes!” Paulie snaps his fingers in my face. “Quit making eyes at your girl and get your ass in the game.”
Heat creeps up my neck. Busted.
Monroe smirks from across the court. “Yeah, Rhodes,” she teases, tilting her head. Auburn waves fall around her face, the rest of it pulled up into a ponytail. “Get your head in the game.”
Oh, it’s on.
We play for the next two hours, and Monroe absolutely wipes the floor with me.
She and Carl have developed their own handshake by the end, whooping and hollering at the end of each win.
I don’t know if it’s more infuriating or attractive.
I land on attractive, though I hide it so I don’t get smacked by Paulie.
He and I glare across the net at the two fast friends. “I’m never playing on your team again, McKnight,” Paulie gripes. “I want to be on her team next time.”
“Yeah, buddy,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “I want to be on her team, too.”
By the time we finish, we’re sweaty, laughing, and I’m already scheming a way to get her back here with me in a few weeks for a rematch. The old guys are gonna have to fight me for the spot on the court next to her.
I pinch her arm lightly as we walk back to the car. “What the hell?” I tease. “You didn’t think to mention you’re a world-class pickleball player before humiliating me in front of Connecticut’s senior elite?”
“Nah.” She grins, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “It was so much more fun letting that be a little surprise.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, shaking my head as I unlock the car.
“You,” I murmur, watching her slide into the passenger seat, “are full of surprises, Abrams.”
There is a comfortable silence the rest of the way back.
Once we get to her place, I park and jog around to open her door, walking her up the short steps to her apartment.
She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me.
“All right, Rhodes.” The way she says my name is somewhere between exasperation and amusement.
I raise a brow. “That’s all I get?”
She exhales through her nose, lips pressing together like she’s forcing the words out. “Today was fun.”
I smirk. “Did it hurt you a little to admit that?”
“Yes,” she deadpans.
I huff a quiet laugh, watching the way her fingers tighten around her key. She hesitates, and something about it makes my stomach turn over.
“I haven’t actually been out to do something…fun in a long time,” she finally says. The words feel like a confession, even though she plays them off like they’re nothing.
I nod like my chest isn’t tightening at the thought.
“Well, looks like Carl’s expecting you next time. Might have to come back with me.”
She unlocks her door, stepping inside. I shift, peering over her shoulder—not nosy, just curious—but she catches me and raises an eyebrow. I shrug.
“Yeah, I might,” she says softly.
Progress.
“Bye, Rhodes.”
She starts to close the door, but I press my palm flat against the wood, stopping her.
“Want to skate tonight?” My voice comes out rougher than I meant it to. “We can run some drills. I can help you with your lesson plan.”
The truth is obvious. I just want to see her again. We went too long in between the last few times, and I hated it. If she isn’t working at the rink anymore, I won’t have an excuse to see her every morning.
She studies me, something unreadable in her expression. “I’m not a charity case, Rhodes.”
“I don’t think you are,” I say flatly.
For a second, I think she’s going to say no. That this thing between us—whatever it is—is going to snap shut before I can grab onto it.
Then she hums, quiet, considering. “Okay. Ten o’clock.”
The door clicks shut a second later.
I don’t move, just stand there like an absolute idiot, grinning at the wood like it might give me another glimpse of her. It’s only after I get to my car that I wonder if she could see me through the peephole in her door.
The smile doesn’t fade for the rest of the day.