9. Riggs

NINE

RIGGS

I pace the floor of the living room, waiting for Monroe to be ready for tonight's team event. We usually don't have a lot going on during the season, but there's a new charity in Daytona that Mr. Durst holds close to his heart, so he's made it mandatory for all players to attend. Generally, this is something I would drag my feet to and complain the entire way, but I feel like it's a good opportunity to show off my new persona as the chill, cool guy of the team.

I nervously run my hands through my hair, checking the clock on my phone to see how much time we have left. She went up there hours ago to start getting ready, and she's still not done. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she hopped right back into bed with her snacks and laptop and is watching some reality dating show on her streaming app.

"C'mon, Mayhem! You're going to make us late!" I yell up the stairs, resuming my pacing as I wait. Seconds later, I hear her heels clicking along the marble floor at the top of the staircase.

"Keep your pants on, Val," she says flatly, prompting me to turn around with a scowl. The insult that was rolling around on my tongue disappears without a trace as I take her in, her hips swaying from side to side as she descends toward me. It's like she's moving in slow motion as her long, formfitting black dress drags behind her.

Her dark hair falls in large curls over one shoulder, accenting the delicious column of her neck. A high slit runs up her toned thigh, and I swear I stop breathing as I watch it peek out with every step. Her full tits are pushed up, making me want to sink my teeth into the creamy flesh of her cleavage. She's absolutely breathtaking, and even though our relationship is fake, it's crystal clear that I've outkicked my coverage by a fucking mile. I feel like I've swallowed an entire bag of cotton balls as she finally hits the bottom stair and stops in front of me.

Clearing my throat, I try my best to play it cool, as if I'm not thinking a million degenerate thoughts about what it would be like to tear the luxurious fabric from her body. I may be able to convince myself that I hate this woman, but fuck. My dick damn sure isn't falling for it.

I need to get this shit under control.

"You ready?" I grunt, refusing to make eye contact with her. I know if I lock onto those blue pools, there's a possibility that I'll throw her over my shoulder and we won't make it to this event. She may fight me all the way, but the joke would be on her because I'm into that shit. Especially knowing that she'd definitely want everything I'd be giving her. I don't miss the way Monroe looks at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention. She can tell herself she can't stand me all she wants. But I can smell it.

"Yeah," she replies, and I can't help but notice that she looks a little deflated. Is she disappointed that I didn't compliment the way she looks? Trust me, I want to. But I also need to make sure I keep enough distance between us that we don't end up blurring the lines of this arrangement. If I'm reading her all wrong, that would be even worse, because being nice to her would make things more awkward than they already have been since she moved in. I need to stay within the lines of our agreement because I can't lose my job. Hopefully, after tonight, some of the heat will be taken off me, and I'll have a little room to breathe.

I reluctantly put space between us, turning on my heel and walking toward the door as Monroe follows, her stilettos clicking against the floor as she does. I pull the door open, letting her walk out, and she keeps her eyes glued to her feet as she passes me.

Fuck. I've definitely upset her.

I pull the door shut behind me, waiting for the faint click of the lock engaging before we walk side by side to the elevator. I motion for her to step in first, following her and settling toward the back of the metal box right before we're enclosed inside, all alone. I try my best not to focus on the scent of her perfume as we lower down to the parking garage. I can't put my finger on what she smells like, but it's definitely a mixture of something and her. It's the same scent I remember from the night I spent with her. The one that turned me into a feral beast that could barely control himself.

I wish I could stop those memories from flooding my mind every time I'm near her, but it's getting harder and harder to do the more we're in close proximity to each other. Part of me wishes I could erase it from my mind forever, but it was easily the best sex I've ever had, so the other part of me never wants to forget.

The ride to the event is quiet, and I notice that Monroe has made herself small in the passenger seat of my car. Her knees are angled toward the door, and her head is facing away from me as she looks out the window, watching as the city passes by. Her hands are fisted in her lap, and I have the urge to reach over and pull them apart.

When I can't take knowing I've hurt her feelings any longer, I twist the knob on the radio, turning the music down.

"You look really pretty tonight," I say softly, hoping that she can hear the sincerity in my words.

She slowly turns her head in my direction, lifting her eyes to me while she fidgets with the fabric of her dress. "Thank you," she says as a visible blush spreads across her cheeks. The tension in her shoulders dissipates and she lets out a quiet sigh as she sinks back into the seat.

I return my eyes to the road, but my mind is swirling with thoughts about why Monroe, who is generally so hard and confident, reacted that way to my dismissal of the way she looks. It makes me want to rewind everything and tell her the truth—that I have to tear my eyes away from her sometimes so I don't give in to the urges I've had since she moved here. I know I'm supposed to hate her. It's easier that way, especially since I know she hates me right back. But that doesn't mean I can't see how stunning she is. I have perfect vision, and she seems to get more beautiful every time I blink .

I pull into the valet area of the event center and step out, handing my keys to the attendant before rounding the hood to open Monroe's door. But before I even make my way to the passenger side, she's out on her own. She rises from the seat, smoothing her floor-length dress over her thighs before walking toward the staircase that leads to the entrance of the building. I quickly swing the car door shut and run behind her until we're side by side.

"Remember, you're supposed to be my girlfriend," I say quietly. "You have to at least act like you can stand to be around me."

She continues walking, forcing a smile. "Don't worry, Val ," she says. "I'm great at wearing a mask at these things." I cock an eyebrow in question because I have no idea what she means by that, but she just pushes her shoulders back and walks straight down the middle of the room. I settle a hand on her lower back as we make our way down the aisle, noticing that every guy stops what he's doing and stares as she passes by. I don't fucking blame them because she's a goddamn knockout. But if they keep it up while she's very clearly here with me, I'm going to add another fight to the long list of reasons I'm in deep shit with the team.

As we approach our table, Taylor turns away from the bar, catching my eye. I'm reminded of everything that was said in our meeting after I assaulted Friggle, and my mind starts going in a million different directions at once. As the panic starts to settle in, I grab Monroe by the arm and run to the nearest corner, spinning us so that her back is toward the room while I look beyond her shoulder nervously .

"What the hell are you doing?" she says, pulling away from me.

"I can't!" I whisper-yell, shaking my head rapidly. "They're going to know!"

Her brows pull together in confusion. "Know what? "

I force an annoyed exhale, although I'm not sure why. It's not like she can read my mind, especially when I was as cool as a cucumber ten seconds ago. I swallow, doing my best to stop the dry heaves that are threatening to make an appearance before I explain. "My dumb lie got us into this mess! What if they ask questions about our relationship and the word-vomit just starts coming out? I can't be trusted, Monroe! I'm a liability !"

I'm about to go into a full-blown panic attack when she grabs hold of my shoulders, giving me a stern shake. "Look at me, Riggs." As soon as she says it, I bring my eyes up to hers, and even though she looks annoyed with me, it's calming. My heart rate slows, and I take a deep breath in through my nose, exhaling through my mouth as her gaze stays on mine.

"It'll be fine, I promise. Just follow my lead, okay?" I nod my head as she takes my hand, weaving our fingers together and walking back toward the table full of Fury employees. Heat travels up my arm with every step, and I almost walk into several people because I can't stop staring at where we're connected. Even though I touched this woman on almost every inch of her body that night, for some reason, holding her hand feels more intimate than any of that.

"Valentine," our shortstop, Dante Cole says with a nod. I lift my chin in greeting as Monroe slides over so her side is pressed against mine before extending her hand .

"Hi," she says with a bright smile. I turn my head, taken aback because I've never actually seen this expression. I've seen her laugh like she does with my sister. Or the way she giggled at the baby she was playing with at my game the other day. I've obviously seen her pissed. I've even seen her cry via Facetime during Grace and Tanner's wedding. But this—whatever kind of smile this is—is new. "I'm Monroe Decker, Riggs' girlfriend." They exchange a handshake, and she moves on to each person sitting at the table, introducing herself and striking up an easy conversation. I watch in awe as she captivates everyone, outwardly showing how interested she is in what they have to say.

While I love the way she's leaning into her role, it's unsettling how comfortable she is in what would otherwise be a very uncomfortable situation. We came in here fifteen minutes ago and she didn't know anybody. Like it was something she'd been doing all her life, a mask of positivity slipped over her face as she initiated introductions with my colleagues and teammates before I even had a chance to tell them who she was. How did she get so good at faking the woman I'm watching right now? Because in the time I've known her and all the situations I've seen her in, this isn't Monroe.

Just as she's wrapping up her conversation with my centerfielder, José Maiello, Taylor makes her way over to the table. "This must be the girlfriend," she says, a kind smile blooming across her face. "I've been dying to meet the woman that managed to tame this wildcard." She motions to me, and I smile nervously. I'm just hoping I can get through this conversation without blurting out that none of this is real and that I'm not tamed. That Monroe is only here because I bribed her by offering to help her start her business.

Thankfully, my new girlfriend once again takes the reins and does her own introduction. "Well, I don't know if I've tamed him, but I'm certainly working on it," she replies with a grin, wrapping her small hands around my arm and leaning into me. My muscle flexes under her touch, and I wish I could will away the sparks that are firing off under the taut sleeve of my dress shirt. "Monroe Decker," she says, putting her hand out for Taylor to shake. She does, and then looks up at me with an expression of approval.

"It's very nice to meet you," Taylor replies. "I'm sure I'll see you around at the stadium. Have a great night, you guys," she says to the table, and they all wave as she turns and moves on to the next group of people awaiting her. I breathe a sigh of relief, internally patting myself on the back for keeping all my nervous words inside my body.

Now that one of the people I need to convince is out of the way, I relax a little, pulling out a chair for Monroe to sit in. Playing the part, she gives me a sweet smile before moving to lower herself into it. But before she gets there, Taylor calls for her.

"Monroe!" She says, waving her hand. "Come over here and meet some of the ladies!" The overly happy expression that had fallen from her face goes right back on as she stands to her full height, kisses me on the cheek, and walks toward the group of women. I recognize some of them as the wives of my teammates, but I think some of the others are probably just here because it's a charity event and they have a lot of money. I let her go, sitting in the seat that was waiting for her .

"She seems like a good one, Val," José says, jutting his chin out to where Monroe is now waving her hands animatedly in conversation. "I guess your luck never runs out, huh?"

"She is," I reply, unable to take my eyes off her. "I think I'll keep her."