41. Monroe
FORTY-ONE
MONROE
THE MAN’S ABOUT TO SNAP.
I’d had lots of stolen moments with Graciella.
Of mornings in my kitchen while Goldie got ready for daycare or Nana’s house.
Of her sitting with her feet tucked under her on my couch, scrolling on her phone and swearing she was actually working, even though half the time it was her showing me something she thought was funny, and being pissed when I didn’t laugh.
Of her painting Goldie’s nails as many times as she repainted her own. Of her toothbrush lying next to mine in the bathroom. All these small things that felt like something big.
And now it was over.
Well, at least for a portion of tonight, it was over.
I adjusted my tie in the glitzy mirror, trying not to think about Itzel joining me soon so we could play our agreed roles. And Graciella playing one that didn’t match what she really was to me.
Chandeliers threw warm light across the ballroom in every direction. Clinks of champagne flutes sounded, mixing with the low hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter.
My jaw clenched.
The Bay Area Sports Achievement Awards happened every year, but this was my first time attending—first year receiving something like this.
I wiped my clammy hands down the sides of my suit pants.
Didn’t matter how many times I’d faced down a press room full of reporters firing questions. Tension still settled in my shoulders the second a room full of eyes was on me.
Which was exactly what was going to happen when I accepted this award.
Prominent figures from the Bay Area sports teams milled about the ballroom, shaking hands and making small talk. None of them were who I was looking for.
I went rigid when I spotted her near the far end of the cocktail tables. José Gil was laughing at something she’d said, and it pissed me off.
“I’m pretty sure you’re this close to setting her dress on fire,” Itzel said, holding her thumb and forefinger together in front of my face.
“What?” I blinked, trying to make sense of when she’d arrived.
“You’re glaring like you want to incinerate her.” She took a slow sip of her champagne, hiding her smile behind the rim. “Or maybe it’s the man she’s talking to.”
Across the room, José tilted his head back and laughed again.
Graciella’s face lit up in response, nearly as bright as the dress that hugged her silhouette so perfectly. She looked like she’d been dipped in liquid gold.
She was gorgeous, breathtakingly so.
Something possessive and sharp curled through my gut. The urge to walk across the ballroom and physically insert myself between them was so strong that my feet actually shifted.
But she’d lectured me that morning while lying in my arms. Told me tonight was business, and I needed to behave. I hated that I’d told her yes.
“What’s he even doing here?” I growled.
“Well.” Itzel tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’d say he’s here because all the sports are getting recognized tonight. Baseball included.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side? I thought you didn’t like that guy.” I tossed an arm in their direction.
She gave me an amused look. “I am on your side. That’s why I’m telling you to stop glaring at them.”
I exhaled through my nose before draining what was left in my glass. “Let’s go find our table.”
We were stopped by players and coaches alike, all congratulating me on our win and the award, so Graciella was already there when we arrived, sitting with a glass of wine in her hand, deep in conversation with Ariella.
She glanced up when I pulled out Itzel’s chair, leaving the one between them for me, lingering just a second before she dropped her eyes away.
I rested my arm along the back of her chair.
She stiffened slightly.
“You look tense,” I said in her ear, noting how the tablecloth covered the slit that ran up the side of her thigh.
She glanced at me. “Be a good boy, Monroe.”
“I’m always a good boy for you, Trouble.” I shifted my knee under the curtain of fabric until it pressed against the outside of her thigh.
The conversation at the table swelled around us. Dalton’s voice rose over Jimenez’s. Itzel laughed at something Ariella said, but none of it really registered.
I turned toward her a bit more, dropping my voice. “I’ve been thinking about that dress since you walked in.”
She kept her eyes forward, shaking her head. “This is not being good...”
“Specifically,” I continued, like she hadn’t said anything, “about takin’ it off you.”
The hand on her wine glass tightened.
“There’s a slit right here.” I found where the fabric parted over her thigh, grazing my knuckles against her warm skin. “Been thinkin’ about that, too.”
Her breath caught, the pulse at the base of her throat thumping.
“You want me to stop, baby?” The smile was clear in my voice.
She reached for her wine again. “I want you to behave.”
“I am behaving.” I traced one slow line up the inside of the slit, dipping in toward her inner thighs, loving how the column of her throat moved as she swallowed. “You want to know what I’m going to do later?”
“No.”
“I’m going to peel this dress off you.” I kept my voice even, like I was talking about the weather. “Take my time with it. And then I’m going to put my mouth on that pretty cunt of yours and not come up until you’ve come on my tongue.”
The wine glass made a small, sharp sound as she set it down.
Across the table, Ariella glanced over. Graciella smiled at her.
The second she looked away, Graciella turned to me, flames dancing.
“Now who’s the brat? Quit teasing me, Monroe, we cannot get caught fucking in the storage closet,” she said under her breath.
Says who?
But I chose the other thought running through my mind. “You look beautiful tonight.”
Her expression softened at the edges, mouth falling open.
“Coach Monroe.” One of the event staff appeared at my elbow, leaning down. “They’re ready for you.”
I nodded, pushing back from my chair.
Graciella’s hand found my wrist under the table. “You deserve this. They’re honoring a worthy man tonight.”
Her words sat warm and tender on my chest. I nodded, aware that if I’d tried to speak, it would be thick with emotion.
I stood, straightened my jacket, and left her warmth to cross the ballroom toward the stage.