Page 3

CHAPTER 3

PAXTON

I’m meeting Monroe at her apartment in an hour, so I take the solo time to get the house cleaned up. I usually keep a pretty tidy place, but I can't resist the urge to recheck everything in the guest bedroom that’s now officially Monroe’s. I want everything to be comfortable for her.

The rest of the house is easy enough to straighten up, but I make a point to head to one of my drop station zones in the entryway, and open the small drawer of the table that rests against the wall.

I easily spot the slightly dusty velvet jewelry box and grab it. I shut the drawer, and pop the lid on the box, looking at the ring I've had since I was sixteen years old. My grandmother gave it to me before she passed, saying it was meant for my future wife. I run my finger over the solitaire diamond set amongst a dozen sapphires, the band itself made of white gold.

I can't help but picture it on Monroe’s hand because she’s the only woman I’ve ever imagined spending the rest of my life with.

I know better than anyone that Monroe doesn't want to get married, and besides that, we've never even hinted at a relationship beyond our deep friendship. I know her reasoning for never getting into serious relationships, and she’s well within her rights to fear everything that comes with commitment and trust. Her mother’s profession had done that naturally—she’s seen too many people ripped apart by divorce.

I close the box, taking the ring into my room and depositing it in the top drawer of my dresser, moving it to make room in my drop station for Monroe’s keys.

A few hours later, we've made our last trip from Monroe’s apartment to my house. It took several to get all of her stuff, not to mention the side stops to donate the furniture she no longer wanted or needed.

I shuffle the last box inside now, Monroe holding the door open for me, the two of us looking like quite a pair, exhausted yet satisfied with the progress. Tomorrow the cleaners will tackle her apartment and then after that, she'll be free.

She'll officially be living with me until she finds her next suitable place to live.

Luckily, we hadn't run into Liam, but I saw his car in the parking lot. Maybe he’s being smart and listening to my earlier warnings, or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit. Either way, it was a bonus.

“I ordered dinner,” Monroe says after I put another box in her room, this one labeled massage lotions that belongs to her work supply.

“Thanks,” I say. “I'm starving. Do I have time to take a quick shower?”

“Oh, I was going to take one,” she says. “But you can totally go first.”

I laugh. “It's okay, we can take one at the same time.”

Monroe's eyes flare wide, and she visibly swallows, her mouth opening and shutting a few times.

A bolt of heat sears straight down my spine at the way she's looking at me…like she’s seriously contemplating the two of us showering together.

“I have two showers,” I hurry to say, my voice rough.

A heaved breath rushes from her lungs, and she laughs the way she does whenever she finds something awkward or uncomfortable.

Jesus, did she really think I was suggesting she hop in the shower with me?

Wait…she didn't say no immediately.

Was it shock or was she actually entertaining the idea?

Fuck me, just the thought of getting her body soaking wet, my hands soaping up her skin, has me growing hard in seconds flat.

“Right,” she says. “And you have a house with an awesome water heater, so you don't lose hot water quickly like I did in my apartment. Sorry, it’s going to take me some time to adjust.”

“All good,” I say and point toward her bedroom. “I put fresh towels in your bathroom and stocked it with that shampoo and conditioner you like. There’s also that shower oil you always use too.”

I hurry to turn around, barely acknowledging her quick thank you as I rush into my room and shut the door. I look down at myself, shaking my head.

I'm not a fucking teenager, but with the way my body is reacting to my wildest fantasies of my best friend, you’d think so.

I rush through my routine, doing my best to not think about Monroe doing the same thing in the next room. We're so close and yet separated by so much. I need to get a lock on these racing thoughts. If I can't, it's going to be hard as hell to hide my real feelings for her. She doesn't deserve to have a bomb like that dropped on her, not to mention how much it’ll hurt when she inevitably rejects me.

We want different things despite how great our friendship is. And that's fair. She doesn't owe me anything.

By the time I've changed into some sweats and a T-shirt, Monroe has dinner spread across the dining room table, that scent of hers—all rose and jasmine—driving me absolutely wild.

I take a seat across from her, digging into my food at the same time she does. “Thanks for ordering this,” I say, indicating my regular sandwich from our favorite bistro.

“Are you kidding?” she says around a big bite. “I can buy you dinner every day for the next year, and it won’t make up for all that you've done for me today,” she continues after she swallows.

“You've got to cut that shit out,” I say, shaking my head. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

Her eyes meet mine across the table, something churning there I can't quite read. That's a rarity for me. Usually, I can pick up on her mood in a heartbeat—something that's natural after all these years—but this one is a mystery.

A blink, and it's gone.

“You know me,” she says. “The last thing I want is to get in the way of your off-season plans.”

“I don't really have any plans,” I say after taking another bite. “I do have one trip booked, but it’s not for a few weeks.”

I think about the trip in question, wondering if she might want to go. I originally booked it during a late night after running into her and Liam again at The Queen’s Rum where all my friends had been hanging out. She’d been laughing at something he said, and I’d been struck with a fit of unmerited jealousy, thinking about how somebody as awful as him didn’t deserve to make her smile like that.

It's not like I’d ever offered myself up as an option, so I only had myself to blame. But in a moment of weakness, I'd booked a trip in an effort to get away from accidentally bumping into them again.

But now she’s living with me...

“Okay,” she says, taking a few more bites. “And if you ever need me to leave because you’re bringing a date home, I totally will. You just have to give me a heads-up.”

Shock makes me swallow my bite a little too hard, and I clear my throat “I don't bring women here, so you don't need to worry about that,” I say, unable to keep some of the seriousness out of my tone.

If I ever did indulge in a night of consensual, no-strings fun, I always went back to their place.

It wouldn’t be fair to bring a woman to my house when I have no intention of having a real relationship with them. Not when the only woman I've ever imagined making love to in my bed is currently sitting across from me.

“Do you think you’re going to want to bring dates back here?” I ask, the words scraping their way out of my throat in an obligatory way.

I don’t know if I’ll survive it if she does?—

“Absolutely not,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m pretty sure I’m done dating for a while,” she says. “Again, it wasn’t serious with him. I don’t know why he wouldn’t listen when I said that up front. And you were right,” she continues. “I should’ve known that. You almost always are, but he wasn’t the same person he showed me in the very beginning, and I feel like a real idiot for not noticing, especially when you tried to warn me. But the way he just ignored me saying I didn’t want to be tied down and yet he kept joking about proposing to me...” She shakes her head, staring down at her half-eaten sandwich a little too long before she looks back at me. “Do you think that makes me a terrible person?”

“You’re the best person I know,” I say. “Sure, if you hid your intentions and let him believe you wanted to marry him, that would suck. But you never hide it. Everyone who truly knows you understands your stance on marriage and commitment. Every single reason you have for those feelings are justified.”

“And it wasn’t just the marriage stuff,” she continues. “He definitely changed after…” Her words trail off and she shakes her head.

“Changed after?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

She presses her lips together, like she’s silencing herself. After a few moments, she blows out a breath. “He just changed,” she finally says.

I don’t push her for clarity, my mind coming up with plenty of scenarios why a guy like him would drop the fake nice-guy act he adopted.

“Fuck him,” I say.

Monroe’s laugh is loud and raw and sinks beneath my skin in a way that makes my entire chest fill with pride. I love making her laugh like that.

She covers her mouth as if that will hide the boisterous sound.

“Right, fuck him,” she says through her laughter. “I love you,” she continues.

“Love you too.” The phrase is natural between us, even if the meaning behind it is totally different for me than it is for her, but I’m okay with that. I accept it.

And I’ll keep accepting it.

Because not only is she my best friend, the one person I never want to lose…

She needs this. Needs the safe space my home offers in order to breathe.

And while it may be hard to live with her and keep my feelings a secret, her happiness is way more important than any of that.

I’ll just have to do a better job at hiding it.

The Queen’s Rum is a little slow tonight, and my friends and I are occupying a few tables near the miniature golf setup. There’s a comforting sort of quiet hum in the place that only adds to the lazy night we’re enjoying, and I can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief at the easier pace.

During the season these get-togethers are always squeezed in between practices and games and workout sessions, the downtime a forced situation to help keep up morale. But in the off-season? There isn’t a rush. Sure, we’re all still staying in shape, Baylor more than any of us because he practically lives in the gym, but there aren’t as many restrictions as during the season.

Plus, watching Monroe laugh with Blakely, Reese, and Hadley where they lean against the bar definitely adds to the vibe. Fuck, she’s gorgeous, her black sparkly one-piece shorts and T-shirt thing showing off her long legs and smooth skin. Her smile is the real show-stopper, enough to have my breath catching. I’m just glad she’s having a good time after everything she’s been through, but she’s resilient, something I’ve always admired about her.

“So,” Nash says from where he sits to my left. “Are you really okay?”

I furrow my brow, tearing my eyes away from Monroe across the bar, glancing at my friends. Nash, Lawson, and Baylor are looking at me with raised brows.

“What do you mean?” I ask, utterly confused.

Nash rolls his eyes, glancing at Lawson.

“With Monroe living with you?” Lawson clarifies.

“Yeah,” Baylor adds. “Isn’t that hard since you’re like in lov?—”

“She’s just my?—”

“ Friend ,” the three say in unison, cutting over me.

“We know,” Nash says. “Doesn’t mean we aren’t going to check in with you.”

“Awww,” I say dramatically. “You guys.” I roll my eyes, laughing with the rest of them at my mocking.

“Seriously though,” Lawson presses. “Isn’t it torture? If Blakely had needed to move in with me for any reason when we were ‘just friends’ I would’ve been in fucking agony.”

“I’m not you,” I say, even though I’m certain they can see through my bullshit. But what do they want me to say? It’s not like I’m going to sit here and wax poetic about something that can never happen. If I keep the truth locked up tight, I’m the only one who has to deal with the pain it causes. And I want to keep it that way, for both our sakes.

“All right,” Nash says, taking a sip of his beer before glancing at the bar where Reese is saying something to Monroe. “I have about five minutes left in me, then I’m going to break up that girls party if they’ll let me.”

Lawson laughs. “Five? I’m drifting toward two.”

“Fuck it,” Nash says, setting down his drink. “Let’s just go now and see if we can steal them away.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Baylor says, shaking his head. “But I respect it.”

Lawson and Nash scoot back from the table, and Nash claps a hand on Baylor’s shoulder. “Just you wait,” he says. “You’ll look just as desperate whenever you fall for someone.”

“Becoming totally wrapped up in someone else isn’t on my agenda,” Baylor says, laughing as he takes a drink of his soda water.

“What have I missed?” Hadley, Nash’s little sister, asks as she heads over to our table, looking more refreshed than usual. Before she graduated a month ago, she’d always been exhausted, busting her ass in college to graduate early, while we’d been busy busting it on the ice. It’s nice to see her getting a break.

“Half the night, kid,” Nash says, giving his sister a quick hug. “You staying for a while?”

“Yeah,” she says, claiming the seat next to Baylor that Nash just vacated. “I’m starving, and I don’t have research papers or essays taking up all my time anymore. I’m free.”

“Still can’t believe you’ve graduated,” Nash says, nothing but pride in his eyes. “I’m excited to get to see more of you.”

“Same,” Hadley says, sighing contentedly.

“Here.” Baylor shoves his half-eaten basket of fries toward her. “I’m done.”

“You actually eat fries, Torrington?” Hadley asks, picking up a fry and crunching on it. “I would’ve guessed it was nothing but carrot sticks and protein shakes from the incredible shape you’re in.”

I laugh, but Nash—who lingers by the table despite Lawson abandoning him to talk to Blakely—furrows his brow at his sister.

Baylor chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m all about indulgence in moderation,” he explains. “Honestly, building muscle isn’t as strict as people assume.”

Hadley nods and eats another fry. “Well, either way, I’m grateful. I’m going to need more.”

“I’ll put in an order for you,” Nash says, looking at Hadley, then Baylor skeptically for a few seconds, before he shakes his head and goes to the bar.

I fall into some easy small talk with Hadley, fascinated by the way she talks about her career aspirations after graduating with a doctorate in sports medicine. Baylor is just as interested, asking her questions before I can even get a word in.

After a few minutes, I feel like a third wheel, even though everything is innocent enough, but decide to leave them to their debate about neurological impacts and protein compounds and head over to where Monroe is sitting solo, Nash and Lawson having successfully stolen their girls away.

“You good?” I ask, leaning against the bar next to her.

She nods, a soft smile on her lips. “I am, actually,” she says. “You’d think I’d be a ball of stress, seeing as how I had to vacate my apartment, but…I don’t know. I needed tonight. Thanks for setting it up.”

“Always,” I say.

“I think I’m ready for sweatpants though,” she adds.

“I’m always ready for sweatpants,” I say, offering a wave to Baylor and Hadley who are still chatting at the table before I leave the bar with Monroe.

As we make our way back to my house, I can’t deny how damn right it feels holding the front door open for her, watching her drop her things at the entryway table and heading straight to her room to change into comfier clothes. My mind spins a fantasy I’ve had way too many times—a future where we come home together, only we have one room instead of two.

I head to mine, changing quickly and filling up our water bottles before moving to the couch in my living room. “Want me to queue up that documentary we’ve been watching?” I call out toward her room.

“Yes, please!” she answers before she comes around the corner, looking like a freaking knockout in a pair of purple sweats with a few holes in them and an oversized white T-shirt.

I swallow hard, doing my best to quell the fire in my veins as I grab the remote and pull up the documentary we started before going out tonight. Fuck me, it’s hard as hell to concentrate when she settles right next to me, leaning against me with all the comfort and ease we’ve always shared.

Physical touch has been a staple of our friendship for years—all innocent and all comforting—but this feels…fuck me, it just feels so damn good.

“See,” Monroe says as she gestures to the screen a few minutes into the third episode of the documentary. Her head is against my shoulder as she shakes it. “Marriage ruins everything.”

I chuckle softly, glancing down at her. “You can’t blame that situation on marriage,” I say.

“Why not?” she fires back, a tease in her voice.

“Because,” I say, pausing the show. “That guy loved her. They had kids together. He had no idea she was going to flip a switch and pull a scheme on him.”

Monroe shrugs. “Maybe,” she says. “But, if they hadn’t gotten married, he’d never be in that situation.”

I laugh again. “Even if he was just dating her, this could’ve happened.”

“Ugh, fine,” she says. “In this case, sure. But in real life? Name one marriage that actually has worked out.”

I part my lips?—

“Don’t say our parents,” she says before I can answer, placing a finger over my lips playfully. “They’re like…unicorns. They don’t count.”

I cock a brow at her as she shifts to face me, her finger still on my lips. Heat blazes in my blood, and it’s all I can do to not suck her finger in my mouth.

“That’s not fair,” I mumble against her.

“It’s so fair,” she says, finally dropping her hand. “Your parents are amazing. And yeah, mine have been together since high school. If anyone could make me believe in true love, it’s probably them. But they’re the exception, not the rule.”

I whistle. “Damn, is this from your past or did Liam really do that much damage?”

She scrunches up her face, the faux offended look so damn adorable. “Liam is an asshole,” she says. “He wasn’t close enough to me to do any damage. We weren’t serious enough for that. You know me. I saw way too many of Mom’s clients go through divorces.” Her eyes go distant, and she shivers. “They were like shells . Empty, broken shells.”

“I know.” I nod, stretching my arm over the back of the couch. “But you’ve never really been serious enough with anyone to let any real damage happen anyway,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Liam abandoning me at that concert sure as hell came close.” She glances down at her nails, not meeting my eyes. “If you hadn’t showed up…if you hadn’t found me…”

“Hey,” I say, gently tipping her chin up to meet my eyes. “I’m always here for you,” I say, swallowing hard at the grateful look in her eyes. “And I would never leave you stranded like that. I’ll always find you whenever you need me to.”

Monroe visibly swallows, all laughter and playfulness draining from her eyes, and the energy feels tight between us. Her eyes flash to my mouth for the briefest of seconds and she leans closer?—

And falls against my chest, hugging me tight.

Something inside me deflates, and I mentally chide myself for thinking she’d been about to kiss me. I need to get my shit together, quick .

I wrap an arm around her, pressing my cheek atop her head.

“I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve a friend like you,” she says, still clinging to me. “But whatever it was, it must’ve been big.” She situates herself against my chest, releasing the hug but staying close. “Probably saved a bunch of puppies from a burning building or something.”

I laugh, my arm curling around her shoulders. “I’m definitely not a prize for all that.”

She shifts to look up at me, a scowl on her face. “Don’t you dare talk about my best friend like that,” she teases. “You’re amazing. And legitimately the reason I’m not homeless right now. You’re worth way more than even a mansion full of puppies.”

I do my best to breathe around the emotion filling my chest.

“Do you want to finish the show?” she asks after I’ve been quiet for a few moments too long. “Or do you want to go to bed?”

Fucking hell, did I want to go bed…with her .

“I’m game to finish it if you are,” I force out the words.

“I’m into it,” she says, shifting back to look at the TV. “Let’s do it.”

“Whatever you want,” I say, scooping up the remote with my free hand and pressing play on the show, relishing the way she feels tucked safely against me, and doing my best to ignore how my dreams feel a hell of a lot more real than they should.