19. Graciella
NINETEEN
GRACIELLA
DENIAL IS A RIVER IN THE RECESSES OF GRACIELLA’S MIND.
“You’re sadistic,” I wheezed. “And on the Lord’s day too.”
“Your ass will thank me.”
Ari pushed down on my sweaty shoulders, her palms flat and firm.
The hoe was trying to press me straight through the rubber mat.
The mirror on the wall threw back a reflection that was not cute—sweat-drenched hair plastered to my head, looking like I had a bowl cut, with legs shaking like a newborn giraffe.
“I want both knees at ninety degrees for this split squat,” she said, moving behind Itzel, who was a hell of a lot closer to ninety than I was. “And we’re going to pulse. One inch up, one inch down for five…four…three…”
“Pinche pendeja.” I grabbed at where my ass cheek cramped. “Count faster!”
Ari rolled her eyes. “Two…one.”
“Oh, thank god.” I dropped to the mat. The rubber was cool against my cheek as I tried catching my breath.
“Okay. Two-minute break. Then we go again,” Ari said, clapping once.
I groaned. Why had I agreed to come to her morning torture session?
Oh, that was right, because I was trying to avoid thinking about a certain grumpy coach. But now I was sprawled out on the floor thinking about Monroe’s annoyingly handsome face and how every inch of my body ached.
Perfect.
Sweat and eucalyptus from whatever spray Ari used on the equipment wafted through the home gym. Warm golden light came in through the arched window above the weight rack, bouncing off the cream plaster walls and the dark wooden beams overhead.
At least I’d die of rhabdomyolysis somewhere that looked like a spread in Architectural Digest.
“You’re doing great, Chella.”
I glared up at Itzel, who wasn’t even breathing hard as she smiled at me. Her soft curls were pulled up out of her face in a ponytail, and she had a dewy glow to her that I resented.
My only response was a grunt as I crawled over and grabbed my bottle off the Saltillo tile, drinking half of it in one pull.
“So.” Ari dropped down onto a bench, looking between Itzel and me. “How’s your PR plan working out with Monroe?”
I pushed myself up to sit and wiped my face with the towel Ari’d handed me before the workout. “It’s going. We’ve got the next date set up.”
Ari snorted. “So weird thinking about Monroe on a date.”
My stomach tightened.
“Fake date,” I corrected, then turned to Itzel. “It’s just lunch at a little place in Willow Glen. I’ve got a photographer lined up to catch you guys leaving.”
“What do you need from me?” Itzel asked, as she sat cross-legged on the floor.
My forefinger found the edge of the teal polish on my thumb. What I wanted and what I needed seemed to be at odds as of late.
“Uh, yeah, I need you to look comfortable with him. So, stay close and if he touches you—” I paused. Something pulled tight in my chest. “Don’t flinch or move away from him. You’re supposed to look like you’re…together.”
I practically had to force out the words. I looked up when silence had stretched a few beats too long. Ari and Itzel both stared at me before locking eyes with one another.
“What?” An annoyed edge coated the word.
“Nothing. Just sounded like you weren’t too happy about the idea of Monroe touching her.” Ari quirked a manicured brow, daring me to argue. Or maybe daring me to elaborate.
I flipped her off. “Fatigue is messing with your ears, prima. All I am saying is Itze needs to act comfortable with him. Like she likes him.”
Act the way I do around him…
Another tug in my chest.
It had been easier when Monroe was difficult. When he crossed his arms and barked out that he didn’t need a PR consultant. That version of Monroe I could work with.
That version I could keep at arm’s length...
Clearly, that’s bullshit.
“Chella.”
I blinked. Itzel watched me, her brows pinched together. “You okay?”
“I’m great.” The response came out high and squeaky. “Just thinking through logistics.”
Ari snorted. “You went quiet for like thirty seconds.”
“It’s a lot of logistics.”
“For a lunch date?”
Was this how she felt when I was on her ass about Dalton? Like she sat at an interrogation table, a single light hanging from above threatening to expose every little tell?
I swallowed. “Look at that, two minutes are up.” I stood and walked over to the rack of weights, attempting to act normal. The fact that I was hurrying to get back to a workout already put a tear in the facade.
The neoprene-coated dumbbell felt heavier than five pounds. But it was still lighter than the pressure sitting on my chest.
“The other thing, Itze,” I continued, like I wasn’t a mess of jumbled thoughts.
“When you two leave the restaurant, don’t rush because they’re going to need time to grab the photos.
So, like, linger by the car or something.
Try and look like…” The words “you’re in love” died on the tip of my tongue.
“Like he said something funny. Laugh or something. You know how to do that, right?” I looked at her, lifting a weight into a curl like I’d seen Ari do a million times. Only she did them with twenties.
Itzel had a soft smirk on her heart-shaped face. “Laugh? Yeah, I think I can do that, Chella.”
“She’ll definitely need to fake that, though. Monroe doesn’t ever say anything funny,” Ariella said. “He barely says anything at all. And god forbid you text him. All you’re getting back in a single word.”
I cut to where the mirror reflected my phone, face down on the tile next to my gym bag.
You want to satisfy me, Trouble?
My skin flushed, and it had nothing to do with the heated room. That text had been a hell of a lot more than one word.
I’d been in bed, the image of his happy trail and how I’d bolted out of his house playing on a loop in my head, when his text came through asking for photo evidence. I’d known he could see the outline of my piercings through the thin cotton tank in the picture.
I’d sent it anyway and watched those fucking typing bubbles appear and disappear twice before he finally replied.
Look how well you follow directions.
Fuck. Butterflies exploded low in my stomach, the same way they had two nights before.
“Graciella.” Ari’s voice cut through my thoughts. Her tone had that “we’re about to talk about our feelings” vibe.
“Don’t even start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
I caught her gaze in the mirror. She was still on the bench, one leg crossed over the other, turning her water bottle in slow circles against her knee.
“You were about to.”
“How would you even know?”
“You’re doing the face.” I circled mine with the hand weight, nearly knocking myself out. Itzel made a small sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “So are you, Itze. So don’t you start either. When I leave, y’all can start up with your chisme, but for now, we are all ignoring the subject.”
Ari stood, shaking her long hair that she wore hanging down her back. How did it not overstimulate her?
“And what subject is that? The way you stopped talking, got a glazed-over look in your eyes, and basically started drooling? And if I were to guess, it was over—”
“What did I say about embracing denial?” I cut her off, setting the weights back down and leaning against the rack, needing the support.
Itzel’s eyes bounced between us, a small smile splayed on her face. This was how it’d always been. Ariella and I sparring like sisters, and Itzel letting us go until she felt the need to step in. Ever the peacekeeper.
“And what are we denying? The way you flirt with Monroe?”
I rounded on my cousin. “How did you know I flirt with him—”
Shit.
A cocky smile graced her lips. “I didn’t until right now. Spill.”
“So what? It’s harmless. I’m good at flirting. It’s like a skill. It puts people at ease. I’ve done it a hundred times.” I crossed my arms, willing myself to believe my own bullshit excuses.
Ari tilted her head. “Ever done it with a client?”
Never.
I shrugged one shoulder. “I know where the line is. Just a little flirting here and there, and then we walk away as if nothing happened.”
The problem was that everyone else had been easy to walk away from. Gave me reasons to let them go.
Monroe kept drawing me in.
Itzel cleared her throat quietly. She’d pulled her knees up to her chest on the mat, chin resting on top of them, watching us. “Don’t worry, Chella, I won’t get any closer to him than I need to for a good photo.”
Some of the worry eased, and I cursed myself that what she said brought me relief.
I shouldn’t care.
“Thanks, Itze. But really, don’t worry about me.” I pushed off the rack. “So we’re agreed. The lunch, the exit, the photos. I’ll send you and Monroe a timeline tonight.”
Ari stood up and clapped once, slipping back into trainer mode. “Okay, since clearly you are going to live in denial-land, break’s over. Back to your spots.”
I dragged myself into position, glaring at the floor.
If this didn’t kill me, figuring out my jumbled feelings for Monroe just might.