12. Monroe

TWELVE

MONROE

I wake up famished, feeling like I haven't eaten in weeks. I had some yogurt and a banana before bed, but the loud growl coming from under the comforter tells me my stomach didn't think that was nearly enough. I know that even if I attempt to go back to sleep, it wouldn't work. Maybe working on my business plan for a while this morning will make me tired enough for a nap this afternoon. Riggs has to leave for some away games later today, so the house will be quiet, and I can relax in peace.

I turn, swiping my phone from the nightstand and checking the time. It isn't horribly early, but I could've definitely caught an extra two hours of sleep if I wasn't so hungry. Sitting up, I raise my arms above my head in a stretch before standing and walking toward the dresser. I've been sleeping in just a tank top and panties while I've been here, so I open the bottom drawer and pull out a pair of shorts to put on before I go downstairs. Even though Riggs has seen me naked and in a bathing suit a few times during barbecues at his parents' house, I would feel weird walking around here without being fully clothed. I can't wait to get back home so I can wear nothing but my birthday suit when I get up to eat breakfast.

Hands down, it's the best thing about living alone.

I step into the cotton bike shorts, pulling them up my smooth legs. I decide to throw a gray crewneck sweatshirt over my tank since it's tight and my nipples can probably be seen through the thin fabric. The last thing I need is for them to react to Riggs' gravelly morning voice and reveal all my secrets—that, even though he annoys the fuck out of me, that sound elicits fantasies of what he could do to me if we didn't hate each other. He'd never let me live it down.

I toss my hair up into a messy bun, using one of the thick, black scrunchies I have lying out on the nightstand. Once I'm presentable enough, I open the door and walk down the hall, heading toward the stairs. I can hear the sounds of his shower through the wall, so I know he's awake and probably getting ready for work. I do my best to ignore the mental image of him naked, with suds lazily sliding down the ridges of his defined abs, but I fail miserably, internally smacking myself and vowing to get my shit together as I enter the kitchen.

I want to say living with Riggs has made it easier to be turned off by him. I've heard horror stories of couples moving in together after getting engaged and never making it to the altar because they couldn't handle each other's gross habits. Even after catching him clipping his toenails at the table the other day, I still have unwelcome dreams at night about him sneaking into my room and putting his mouth all over me. Don't get me wrong, it was disgusting, and I'll be eating my meals at the breakfast bar for the duration of my stay, but it didn't have the effect it probably should have.

I open the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of fresh strawberries that were delivered yesterday. As soon as I took them out of the bag to put them away, I knew they'd be delicious on top of some oatmeal. They're huge and perfectly ripe, which means they're probably so sweet and juicy.

There's a little extra pep in my step as I make my way to the sink, laying out a paper towel so I can dry the fruit after I wash it. As soon as I reach for the faucet handle, something black wrapped around the sprayer catches my eye.

Apparently, my text to Libby the other day struck a nerve, and I unknowingly started a prank war. Well, I would have if Riggs wasn't such an idiot. The rubber band on the sink sprayer trick is the oldest one in the book, and I've fallen victim to it more than once at the hands of his sister. It must be a family thing, because neither of them knows to use an elastic color that blends in with the hardware, which is why I'm not soaked from the chest up right now.

He wants to prank me? I'll prank him right back.

Uno reverse, motherfucker.

I wait, listening quietly as the shower turns off. I'm starting to memorize his morning routine, so I know I have about seven minutes before he moseys down the hallway, making his way to the kitchen for coffee and a bagel. I go over the details of my plan in my head until I hear his bedroom door open. Scrambling back to the sink, I angle the sprayer down so it doesn't hit my face before pulling the lever and letting the water soak my shirt. I turn it off, spinning around and slapping the counter loudly with an open hand. Crying out in fake pain, I dramatically fall to the floor, throwing both hands over my right eye.

"Monroe!" Riggs says, rushing toward me and kneeling down at my side. I tuck my head down because, as much as I wish it were, fake crying is not a skill I was ever able to master. "What happened?" he asks, panic gripping his words as he reaches out and pulls me to him. I immediately notice his still-damp skin pressing against me, and I have to focus on my plan to avoid being distracted by it.

"I—I," I stutter, sniffling to really drive things home. "The sink…it sprayed me and I slipped. I hit my face on the counter."

"Oh my God," he whispers, and I can feel his whole body shaking as he holds me tighter. "I was pranking you. Fuck . I'm so sorry. " He's in full panic mode, and now I feel kind of bad, but he brought this on himself, so I stay committed to the fake injury.

He pulls away, placing his trembling hands on the sides on my head, carefully turning it toward him. "Can I see it, sweetheart?" he asks, trying to remain calm but failing miserably. "I need to know if I should call an ambulance. Are you dizzy at all? Please be okay. I'm so sorry." His voice cracks with his apology, and I pull my hands down, exposing my perfectly untouched face to him. His expression, that was twisted in fear just moments ago, morphs into one of relief as he checks me like he's not sure if he's seeing things right. I laugh as he exhales a quiet breath, hanging his head for a moment before looking back up at me. As soon as I see his face, I grow serious .

"Riggs, I'm fine," I say, trying to reassure him as he brings his hands over his face. "It was a joke."

"A fucking joke , Monroe?" he says loudly, dropping his hands to the floor and pushing himself to stand. "Yeah, it's real funny to fake a head injury! I was scared out of my fucking mind that you were hurt!"

"Whoa," I reply, standing to join him. "You started this! I could've gotten hurt for real with this dumb shit if you actually knew how to pull it off without being caught!" I stab my finger into his chest. "Don't get pissed at me for turning it back around on you!"

He takes a few breaths before his angered expression softens. "I'm sorry," he says, pulling me into a hug. I stiffen at first because I definitely wasn't expecting this, but eventually, I melt into the embrace. He leans down, pressing his lips to the top of my head quickly before pulling back.

"It's okay," I reply quietly. "I'm sorry I scared you."

He huffs a forced laugh, shaking his head from side to side as if he can't believe the results of his little stunt. "Let's call a truce, alright? At least on the pranks. Before I have a heart attack."

"Hmmm," I say, tapping my lower lip as I pretend to mull it over. "I'll tell you what. You make my oatmeal, and I'll consider abandoning my plan for revenge."

He smiles, walking toward the sink. "You've got yourself a deal, you little shithead."