Graciella
SIXTEEN
APPARENTLY THOSE SLUTTY HIP V THINGS ARE ALSO CALLED “CUM DUMPSTERS.” AND I THINK THAT’S BEAUTIFUL.
Goldie claimed she couldn’t sleep without freshly baked cookies. Sounded reasonable enough to me, which was why I was pushing the most güerita-looking child around a store.
That, and I needed a distraction so I’d stop checking my phone every two seconds.
“Okay, now spell it for me,” I said, dropping another tub of birthday cake icing into the cart.
“G-o-l-d-i-e.”
“Way to go, girl!”
Her little hand hit mine, those blue eyes that matched her father’s beaming up at me from the shopping cart seat, just as proud of herself as I was.
“Hey, I can spell my name,” she called out to the lady pushing past us. The woman gave her a, “Good job!” before moving on, a smile on her face.
Little kids, man.
It was comical how different Goldie was from her dad when it came to talking to strangers.
The Stars literally forced him to work with someone to help him refrain from growling at people like a rabid animal.
Meanwhile, his angel of a daughter talked to anyone she came across.
What I would give to go on an outing with the two of them, just so I could count the number of times his jaw ticked as she struck up a conversation.
Speaking of which.
I shot off a text to Itzel asking how it was going. I’d sent four to Monroe, but all he sent back was a middle finger emoji.
“Whas that say?”
“What’s what sa—” I nearly choked on a laugh when I saw what her little finger pointed to. “That says daddy.”
Her face lit up. “Like my daddy! Can we get it for him please, Gracie?” Goldie clasped her little fingers together and held them in front of her chest. “I know he will lobe it.” She tacked on pouty lips and puppy dog eyes.
I very much doubted he would “lobe” the cropped women’s tee. But there was no way in hell I was explaining the difference between “Daddy” and daddy to her.
“No,” was on the tip of my tongue, but then the part of my brain that thought up all the ideas that usually led to trouble reminded me of what a pain in the ass Monroe could be.
“You know what?” I searched through the sizes for the largest one. “You’re so right, girl, he will totally love this.”
The fact that little kids couldn’t pick up on sarcasm was the best, because she had no clue I thought her plan was brilliant for very different reasons.
Thankfully, the style and sizing were more unisex, despite being in the women’s section. There was a real chance Monroe could shove the tiny bit of fabric over his broad shoulders and muscular chest. The sleeves could probably encircle his biceps, and the hemline would show off hi—
“Gracie?”
I snapped back to reality, cheeks heating a bit from being caught fantasizing about her dad in front of her.
“Just looking for his size.”
The smile I gave her was so guilty, but she didn’t seem to notice as I tossed the goods into the cart.
“Gracie, can we have a birfday party?” she asked as we passed an aisle with party supplies.
“Like for your birthday?”
Blonde waves went flying. “No. I already had my birfday.”
Sarcasm wasn’t the only thing little kids didn’t understand—their ability to provide important information was also sketchy.
“Well then, what do you mean?”
“Like for you,” Goldie said, reaching a hand out toward a tinsel garland.
“Can I come to your birfday party? You can have those because they are so cute.” She pointed to a tiara banner that said Birthday Princess.
“I want to go to a princess party. Daria said she was going to a princess party, but I couldn’t come because it was for her cousin and her mom doesn’t like people. ” Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.
Okay. So, kids also give way too much information.
“You know what?” I grabbed the banner and a pack of invites dotted with pink glittery crowns, tossing them on top of the “daddy” crop top, tub of icing, and seventeen types of sprinkles. “What the hel—heck. What the heck. You can totally come to my princess party.”
Goldie’s ear-piercing squeal and clapping made up for the fact that I had no clue how I was accomplishing this event. Part of me was banking on her forgetting about it when the sugar rush kicked in.
I’d scrubbed every inch of the counters about five times. Who knew I’d need twelve arms to keep up with the mess spreading icing produced? Round six was underway when the door leading from the kitchen to the garage opened.
“Finally, you’re back,” I said, a little too quick.
Monroe paused in the doorway, the yellow glow from the garage light creating a halo. He blinked a few times before looking down at his watch. “It’s barely nine-forty.”
I knew that, but I’d been antsy from the moment he’d left to pick Itzel up. In fact, I’d been so full of pent-up energy, I let Goldie pretend I was a unicorn for close to an hour after our cookie project.
“Where’s Golds?” he asked, before calling out, “Gol—”
“Shh,” I leaped across the kitchen, colliding with his chest—his warm, hard, delicious chest—nearly forgetting why I’d launched myself at him. “What is wrong with you? She’s sleeping, tonto.”
Monroe’s surprise morphed to confusion. Calloused fingers circled my wrist and pulled my hand away, but he didn’t drop his hold—or step back. “She actually went down for you?”
Something soft was in his tone, and it had my stomach flip-flopping.
“Yeah…you said her bedtime was eight, remember? It was part of the dissertation you gave on watching her?” I flicked a brow up. “And yes, we brushed her teeth, washed her face, put lotion on her legs, put pajamas on, and, after a fifth of tequila, she went down. No problem.”
He let out an exasperated sigh, his breath carrying a hint of whiskey. “Is she really asleep, or are you messing with me?”
“Yes, she’s really asleep.” Tingles started at my fingertips. “Is this what you do with all your babysitters to get them to tell you what you want to know? Hold their arm above their head so they lose circulation?”
He looked over at my hand, as if he’d completely forgotten he was holding it. “Sorry.” He lowered it, fingers lingering for a few beats. Long enough he probably felt my pulse pounding under his thumb.
I cleared my throat, taking several steps back so he could actually come inside. Monroe hung his keys and kicked off his shoes.
“So,” I crossed my arms. “How did it go?”
“Fine.”
Fine? I wanted to shake him.
He fumbled with the buttons on his cuff.
I knocked his hands away. The small pearlescent button was smooth against my shaking fingers. “Let me. Your thick fingers aren’t good for this.”
“Yeah? What are they good for?” he rasped in my ear. The rough growl shot straight between my thighs.
We were wading into murky waters, toeing the line.
“It went fine? That’s all you’re going to give me?” I asked, changing the subject.
He held out his other arm and shrugged. His shirt pulled at the waist, taunting me with a flash of skin. “I don’t know what more you want me to say.”
“More than one word would be nice.”
I should step away. Make my way to the front door. I didn’t.
I might not have dived headfirst into whatever was happening, but I was doing a shit job of retreating.
“I didn’t know I’d have to give a debrief after every date.”
“That’s exactly what you’ll have to do, Monroe. How am I supposed to plan and adjust our strategy if you don’t tell me what’s going on?”
“Guess you’ll have to come on ’em from now on,” he said nonchalantly, pulling the rest of his shirt out of his dress pants.
“What are you doing?” I locked my hands at my sides, fingers itching to trace the ridges of his abdomen and the dusting of hair trailing from his navel to his cock. At least that was the picture my mind conjured up.
“Untucking my shirt, Graciella.” The words were rough. “I’m tired and want to change out of the dress clothes you made me wear. Now…” He undid a button, followed by another, and my eyes tracked his movements. “Unless you want to stay and watch me undress, I think we’re all good here. Don’t you?”
His eyes were dark in the dim light, steady and unblinking as he watched me.
“Yeah…” I managed to rasp, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth.
Those deft fingers paused at the fourth button. “‘Yeah’ to which part, Trouble? You going to stay and watch me undress?”
I couldn’t look away.
Hints of skin peeked between the two sides of his shirt. I wanted to look farther down, see if his cock strained against his dress pants.
You work together. He’s dating your friend.
I moved closer.
He’s everything you actually want in a man, and the heartbreak when he leaves…
That did it.
I turned, practically sprinting across the white oak floors spanning between his kitchen and living room. The steady thumps of his steps echoed behind me as he followed. The distance I was trying to create didn’t feel like it was growing. No, it was like he hovered right over my shoulder.
The heat of his chest seared into my back.
“‘Yeah’ to me leaving. I’m gonna go find someone to buy me a drink,” I said, grabbing my bag and phone off the little metal table tucked between two chairs.
“Don’t you think you should be getting home and going to bed?” There was an edge to his tone.
“Monroe, you might be geriatric—”
“I’m thirty-three.”
I turned, jumping at how close he was despite sensing him there the entire time. “But I’m only twenty-six, and these are prime flirting hours.”
Obviously. It’s what we’ve been doing for the past ten minutes.
“Graciella.”
“Monroe?” I asked casually, as if my knees didn’t nearly buckle at his growl, fingers flying across my screen. “Check your phone, please.”
He furrowed his brows, pulling it out of his pocket. “Did you just send a request for a hundred dollars?”
“Yup.” I popped the p. “That’s my childcare fee. It includes the cost of supplies I had to get, too.” I sent through another request. “And that’s for being a pain in my ass.”
He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Oh, come on.” I pushed the strap of my bag up. “Dalton sent Ari two grand just to talk to her. The least you can do is pay me for watching your kid. Oh, and I didn’t even charge you for the gift we got you.” I pointed at the gift bag sitting on the couch.
“Gift?” He asked, pulling at the pink and blue tissue.
I should’ve stopped him, told him to wait for Goldie to see him open it, but I deserved a laugh after getting five million sprinkles back in a bottle, and then dealing with the sexual frustration he caused.
“The hell?” He frowned, holding the shirt up by the collar.
The thing was comically small in his hands.
My laugh was loud in the quiet home, and I pressed my hands to my mouth to try to silence it.
“Goldie said you needed it because you were a daddy.” The explanation was barely decipherable over my laughter. I closed my eyes, attempting to bat away the tears pouring out.
My damned eyes leaked for any reason.
“And what do you think, Graciella?” Monroe’s voice sounded slightly muffled. “You think daddy works for me?”
I peeled my eyes open…and froze.
Fuck. I just had to buy him that…
I shot off another request, needing to do something with my hands before they ended up sliding under the white hem, exploring his muscled chest. “I think you owe me for subjecting me to this sight.”
Back to lying through my teeth.
“Oh, come on. I think it looks pretty good.” Monroe held his arms out to the sides, the cropped shirt riding up. The trellis twinkle lights and lamp in the kitchen highlighted the cocky smile that was plastered on his face.
This would haunt me. I was supposed to witness this wet dream and what?
Go about my life?
His slutty happy trail called my name, begging me to run my tongue along it and those fuck-ass hip-V things hot people used to lure others to bad decisions.
That was what we’d be—a bad decision.
My pussy vehemently disagreed. I squeezed my thighs, hoping to relieve the ache and get her to think clearly.
Monroe didn’t miss the move. His attention slid down my body, and I swore it was as tantalizing as a physical touch. “I think you like me in it, too, Trouble.”
“Nope. Now, if you’re done making me laugh, I’m gonna go enjoy my evening…with someone,” I rushed out the last part, hoping the lie was believable.
He took two steps forward. The opposite of what I needed from him when my restraint was paper-thin.
“If I send you more, will you go home?” He typed something out on his phone, eyes finding mine as he tucked it back into his pocket. “Alone.”
My phone vibrated.
Cashpay Payment:
$4,000 from CoachMonroe
My stomach dipped.
“Double what Thatcher paid.” His calloused finger lifted my chin, forcing my eyes away from the notification. “Can you follow directions, Trouble?”
Alarms blared in my head, warning me against leaning into his touch. Or blurting out how willing I was to follow directions—especially ones to the nearest horizontal surface.
“Yup,” was all I managed to strangle out before I darted out his front door like my ass was on fire.
My heartbeat didn’t slow down the entire drive home.