23. Monroe
TWENTY-THREE
MONROE
SHE WANTS YOU TO FEED HER ALL RIGHT. FEED HER THAT DICK.
I hadn’t shared a room with anyone besides Goldie since I was a player. A perk of being the head coach was that I always had a room to myself.
But even back in the day, it wasn’t sharing one king-sized bed.
To be fair, the four-poster looked comfy as hell, with the cloud-like comforter and absurd amount of pillows. Pillows that were currently piled high, splitting the middle.
“There.” Gracie patted the top of pillow number six. “Now we can both sleep in peace and not touch each other.”
She’d gone on a full-blown rant when we first made it in, most of which I didn’t understand since it was in Spanish, but “pinche pendejo” was thrown around about as many times as her hands were—so, a lot.
“I can’t believe you knew there was only one bed.”
“As I’ve said for the hundredth time since you threatened my life, I thought there’d be a pullout.”
“Ah, yes.” I wasn’t sure if she was glaring at me or the chair I was parked in that ideally would have been a sleeper sofa. “Because relying on a pullout has always worked so well.”
Coffee lodged itself in my throat, and I choked. I fought for my life not to shower the carpet with it.
“What would it’ve changed?” I asked between coughs, refusing to address the pullout part.
“You’re in here because there are no more rooms available.
Plus, it looks like you’ve solved our problem with your fort.
” I motioned to the monstrosity. “Which, by the way, what are we supposed to put our heads on? And who gets the comforter? Do we split that through the night?”
Her eyes narrowed with every word.
I shouldn’t taunt her. To say she was a little high-strung at the moment would be an understatement.
Not two minutes earlier, she’d covered her face with a pillow and screamed.
Then followed it up by looking me dead in the eyes, head cocked to the side in a creepy horror movie tilt, and said, “It’s fine. I’ll just smother you in your sleep.”
When I asked her if she was joking, she’d winked and disappeared into the bathroom.
Knowing all that did nothing to stop my mouth from moving. It was like I was addicted to every withering glare and retort she threw my way.
“We’re not sharing the blanket, Monroe. I’ll turn the heat up so you don’t get cold.” The lacy trim of her bra peeked out over the top of her tank top, thanks to her crossed arms acting as a makeshift shelf.
“Fine. I’ll take my clothes off,” I said with a shrug, loving how her lips parted, her brown eyes widening.
“That’s so not appropriate.”
I tucked my hands behind my head, stretching my legs out in front of me like I didn’t have a damn care in the world, when really my heart was beating like a racehorse over the thought of sleeping in the same bed as her in a few short hours.
“Since when have you given a damn about being appropriate or not?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits and her mouth twisted up, waiting for the green light to unleash whatever ridiculous comeback she’d worked out.
And that sick part of me craved her lashing, so I drawled, “Will feedin’ you help with this attitude problem?”
“Attitude problem?” she scoffed, swiveling her head from side to side like she was looking for witnesses. Not sure if it was a witness to my insult or my murder.
I tried keeping the corners of my mouth rooted in a straight line, but they tipped upward with every stomp toward me.
Graciella stepped between my sprawled thighs, and I fisted my hands to keep from yanking her onto my lap.
“The only problem I have is you.” She paused. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve got a shit ton of problems at the moment, but none of them are as annoying as you are, Joshua Monroe.”
“Still not my name.”
Her frustrated growl echoed off the polished walls. “Would you stop smiling like an idiot? I hate that you look happy. No one is allowed to be happy right now. We all need to be miserable, complain, and be self-aware that we sound ridiculous.”
Laughing was definitely not the correct response—it went directly against the first few lines of her rant—but when she stomped her foot with an honest-to-god pout on her lips…I couldn’t keep it in.
It was so loud I barely caught the, “I hate you!” she threw my way, but her eyes got the message across perfectly.
“Trouble.” I barely got the word out, fighting for my life to pull it together so I could speak without cracking up again.
My thumbs found the peaks of her collarbone, her skin soft beneath them as I rubbed along that ridge, attempting to get her to relax, or at the very least, not bite my head off.
“I think you need food and a soak in that tub. So why don’t you look through that room service menu and tell me what you want? ”
I’d used the same tone with Goldie when explaining why I couldn’t put the orange peel she’d just asked me to take off back on.
It was a fifty-fifty chance she would take the suggestion or swing at my balls.
“Are you paying?”
Thank god, my balls are safe…for now.
“Yeah.” I smiled, turning her around and giving a slight push toward where I knew a soaker tub called her name. “I’m paying, so get whatever you want.”
“One of everything,” she called over her shoulder, before slamming the bathroom door shut.
“Wait, are you serious?”
My answer came in the form of rushing water.