11. Graciella #2
“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.”
“It’s not.” It wasn’t clear whether he was convincing himself or me. “I just didn’t want you staying somewhere unsafe.”
“But why? Why do you care?”
I’d never wanted to shove a question back in my mouth more than that one. And I’d asked a lot of questionable things.
He stopped mid-step, his hand gripping the black handle of his truck. The window tint was dark enough to reflect him running his tongue along his full lips.
“I thought you were used to men doing shit like this for you?” There was an edge to his tone, but his eyes held no hostility when they met mine in our reflection. “What’s the difference when I do ’em?”
You’re not expecting anything from me.
The thought stayed locked behind closed lips. I’d given enough tell-all confessions for one day.
“You’re right, it’s basically the same.”
Lie.
He gave a curt nod, mouth pulling down at the edges.
Fuck.
I reached for his turned back, hand dropping before it ever made contact.
“We need to talk about this weekend,” I said, changing the subject.
Monroe yanked his door open, and the tool bag landed on the floor of the truck with a thump. “What about this weekend?”
“The Cup dinner.”
He swiped his hand over his face, turning around. “Fuck, I forgot. I can’t make it.”
“What are you talking about? You can absolutely make it.” I snapped, jabbing his chest, regretting it when the tip of my finger bent backward against his solid muscle. “You gave your word you’d work with me on this, Monroe. It’s not enough to say you two are dating. You need to be seen together.”
“First of all, ow.” He rubbed the spot where I’d poked. “And I meant it, but I still can’t do Friday.” He shut the rear passenger door, leaning against the glossy onyx paint. His boots crossed at the ankles.
You could take the country boy out of Texas, but not the Texas out of the boy…or however that saying went.
“That’s not good enough,” I said, crossing my arms.
His gaze dipped to my chest, zeroing in on my nipples. The pink staining his cheeks and the way he licked his lips distracted me from what we were arguing about.
“My mom’s off in Europe, so I’ve got Golds, and the babysitter I use is out of town, too,” he said, eyes returning to mine, his words jogging my memory.
“I’ll watch her.” The offer was out before I could stop it.
Those turbulent eyes of his narrowed on me and he rolled his lips inward.
“Watching a child is a lot of responsibility.”
“And here I thought I could just lay out some food and water for her in a bowl and call it good.”
His jaw ticked.
“No shit, Monroe. I have like twenty-something younger cousins, and I’ve been watching kids since I was a kid. Besides, I like Golden Girl. We’ll have a blast.”
I didn’t know why I pushed the matter. Should have said he was right and walked my ass back in the house.
There was a long pause. Finally, he spat out, “Fine. You can watch her.”
“Really?” My back straightened. “Just like that? You don’t need to hire a PI to check into me? Or demand a blood sample?” I gasped, earning an eye roll. “A blood sacrifice?”
He shook his head and pushed off the truck, closing the distance between us. But I swore there was a hint of a smile.
Well, like a slight pull at the corner of his mouth if you squinted really hard.
“You really are trouble, you know that?”
I peered up, heart beating a little faster.
“Seems I’ve heard you say that a time or two.
” The stupid butterflies were back, and I needed them gone, so I brought up the one thing I figured would kill the moment.
“Either you’re really good at keeping your personal life from the media, or it’s been a long time since you’ve been out with a woman.
Because I couldn’t find a single thing about your love life online. ”
Monroe’s face blanked, his entire body going still.
“You didn’t look up Goldie’s mom, did you?” The question was quiet—strained.
I swallowed. “Yes, and no. I did a general search for women you’ve been linked to, assuming at some point something would mention her and your daughter, but nothing did.”
It was my job to know all Monroe’s dirty laundry, but with this…
I couldn’t bring myself to uncover it. Some stupid part of me wanted him to tell me, and not out of obligation.
“I stopped looking.”
He nodded, but didn’t say a thing.
I shifted under the weight of his attention, focusing on my feet and the sensation of sand and dirt clinging to the soles. Anything to avoid his stare. It felt like being dissected, pulled apart to unlock every secret.
But I didn’t think he was searching for my secrets—only his.
He wanted to see if I’d found them.
The rough pad of his finger hooked under my chin, tilting it up. “I’d appreciate it if you kept it that way, Graciella.”
How could I say no to that?