Page 45 of Face Off With Fate

GRACIELLA

“HE’S MAKING ME MISS MEN AND THAT DOESN’T SIT RIGHT WITH ME.”—@READWITH.ARI

Me:

The article is going out today

Monroe:

Okay.

Me:

God you’re like talking to a wall

Monroe:

This isn’t really talking by the way. You’re texting me.

Me:

Another tell that you’re geriatric

Monroe:

Is that all you had to tell me? That you’re doing your job and I’m old?

Monroe:

And I’m not old. I’m only 33…

Me:

You spelled out btw…

Monroe:

???

Me:

Exactly.

“You’re not wearing that to the dinner,” I said, pushing past Monroe when he opened the door to his home.

I’d stressed about this damned date—hell, this relationship—since Itzel agreed to the sham. Imagined all the ways it would epically fail and ruin both my career and a fifteen-plus-year friendship.

“No, please, Graciella, make yourself at home. Don’t let me stop you,” Monroe grumbled, massaging his temple.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I threw over my shoulder, already ten steps inside. Ignoring his irritated sigh and the thud of the door closing, too busy taking in his space.

The same frame from his place in Dallas sat on the entry table, a sweet photo of Goldie perched on his shoulders with a foam finger half her size. They both had wide smiles, and my heart clenched. I traced the smooth silver edge of the frame with my finger, resisting the urge to trace Monroe’s lips instead.

His Dallas house was modern, with polished surfaces. At least that was what it’d looked like from the doorway. This place had the older San Jose charm I loved. Cream-paneled walls with matching trim framing the doors and windows. Warm rugs lay in the entry and under the furniture in his living room. Even with moving boxes still stacked against the walls, the house felt settled—lived in.

The lingering notes of cardboard were overpowered by the crisp, airy scent of fresh laundry. Somewhere down the hall, the faint rumble of a washer or dryer sounded.

“If you’re done complaining, let’s get back to the issue at hand,” I said, giving Monroe an unimpressed look that was a complete lie. His outfit might not be date-appropriate, but he looked damn good in it. “You’re currently in athletic shorts smaller than my bank account. Like, I’m positive if you make any sudden movements, a ball will pop out.”