20. Riggs

TWENTY

RIGGS

I turn off the shower, stepping out and taking a towel from the warmer before drying myself off. We don't have a game today, but it's Friends & Family Appreciation Day, so the whole team will be bringing their loved ones to the stadium for a bunch of organized activities. Then, the gates open to the fans so we can all interact with them. In the past, I've usually begged my parents and Grace to come so I wouldn't be alone, but this year, I decided that it's another good opportunity for the team to see how much I've changed now that Monroe is in my life.

I woke up the morning after our phone conversation feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Although it was only business related, it felt good to know that she trusted me enough to tell me what was on her mind so I could help her through it. Not that I did much, but it was nice to be a part of it.

When I got home, she seemed happy to see me. She didn't run and jump into my arms or anything, but she returned the hug I gave her, and I didn't miss the way she melted into me when I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind. When bedtime rolled around and I asked her if she wanted to sleep in my bed, she said yes, surprising the shit out of me since she was in her own the night before. Nothing happened, but I got to hold her until morning, which felt better than I expected after being away for a couple of days.

Everything just feels so… domestic . And as much as I thought I'd never want anything like this, I'll admit I don't hate it.

I make my way to the closet, opening a drawer and taking out a pair of black boxer briefs. I pull them on before reaching for my black track pants with the Fury logo. I finish off the outfit with a teal t-shirt—because team spirit— and turn to head downstairs, where Monroe was busy making breakfast when I came up here to shower. I don't even hit the bottom stair before she hurries through the room like a woman on a mission. She runs straight into me, staring down at her phone with a look of panic on her face.

"Whoa, Mayhem," I say, grabbing her shoulders to steady her. "What's wrong?" I immediately think it's the worst-case scenario, that something bad has happened to one of her family members or something, but it doesn't take long for her to clear things up.

"You didn't tell me about the charity basket!" she screeches in a voice that only dogs can hear. "There's less than an hour before we have to be out of here, and I don't have anything prepared!"

"The what?" I ask, genuinely confused because I have absolutely no idea what charity basket she's talking about.

"The basket of stuff all the WAGs bring to Friends & Family Appreciation Day to auction off!" She's completely distraught, hands shaking at her sides as she looks around the room as if it has all the answers she's looking for, before training her eyes back on mine. "Taylor just called and said they do it every year. It's this big competition between all the wives and girlfriends of the players. Whoever's basket goes for the most money gets bragging rights for the whole year. I'm not letting those bitches beat me, Riggs! I have to win!"

I raise a brow. "That's what has you down here foaming at the mouth like a fucking bulldog? A charity basket?" I ask and immediately regret it, because by the look on her face, that was the wrong question. I can hear her back teeth grinding as one eye twitches, and I'm not sure I've ever been more scared of this woman since the day I met her. I put both hands up in surrender, hoping like hell that she doesn't rip my nutsack off in a fit of rage. "It's no big deal. We can stop on the way and pick some stuff up."

Apparently, that wasn't the right thing to say either. Because she scoffs as she shoves past me, running up the stairs like her ass is on fire. I exhale, rolling my eyes and letting her do her thing while I get something to eat. No matter what I say, I have a feeling it'll be wrong in this situation, so I'm staying out of it.

Thankfully, there's some food left over for me when I get to the kitchen. I take my time plating some eggs and bacon, adding a little extra salt and pepper because no matter how much Monroe has been telling me I need to chill on the sodium, she'll have to pry these shakers from my cold, dead fingers.

Just as I sit down at the table, a white jersey and permanent marker are shoved into my face. "Sign this," she demands, popping one hip out in a spectacular show of attitude. I want to say something smart to rile her up more, but I think better of it, uncapping the marker and scribbling my autograph across the front of the garment.

"Thank you," she says, leaving the room again while I get back to my food. I make quick work of eating because I'm still not ready to go, setting my plate and fork in the sink and heading back upstairs. I can hear her rustling around in my room before I even get there, and to be honest, I'm a little nervous about what I'm going to find. Sure enough, the place has been ransacked, and in the middle of it is my Mayhem, digging through the drawers of my dresser.

I step into the closet doorway, leaning against the frame and crossing my arms over my chest. I watch her for a few seconds, unable to stop a silly smile from pulling at the corners of my lips. I'd never say it out loud, mainly because it would probably piss her off, but she's adorable like this. She's standing there in one of my shirts that barely reaches her thighs, and a pair of panties. Her messy bun still hangs lopsided on her head because she hasn't showered yet. Monroe is a knockout, seven days a week. But first thing in the morning, when she's all mussed from sleeping? That's when she's the most beautiful. I love the way she does her makeup for a night out, but there's something about her bare face and wild hair that drives me crazy.

Mine.

"What?" She says, looking up at me from where she's leaned over into one of the drawers. I didn't realize I had been staring for so long, but apparently she did because she's looking at me like she's waiting for an answer. One that I absolutely can't give her right now.

I love the way you look in my clothes.

I love the way you look in my house.

You make me want more.

"Nothing," I say, pushing the heavy thoughts from my mind. Just a couple of months ago, I was sleeping my way around Daytona, thinking I was living the high life. But now I know that I was just trying to fill an empty space while attempting to protect myself from people with bad intentions. There was never a doubt in my mind that I could trust Monroe. Even though we started this thing as enemies, I don't think either one of us is feeling that anymore. And now that it's been stripped away, we're left with the exact thing I wanted the very first night I met her. I felt it then, and it's even stronger now.

She's the piece I've been missing my whole life.

I swallow thickly, clearing my throat. I don't know if she'll ever want to hear the things that are going on in my head, but now is definitely not a good time to discuss them. "Is there a reason you're rifling through my shit?" I ask, attempting to lighten the mood. For myself, because my mind is going in a million different directions that I never expected it to, and for her, because she looks like she's about to come unglued over an auction prize.

"Don't you worry about me, Val," she says confidently. "I'm about to make the best basket any of those bitches have ever seen. They'll be sorry they ever stepped into the ring with Monroe Decker."

I bark a laugh, proud of her competitive spirit. "Atta girl, baby," I reply. "I'll leave you to it so I can finish getting ready. Let me know if you need anything else from me."

"I will," she sing-songs, digging her hand into the bottom of the drawer and pulling out a random t-shirt.

I turn away, heading toward the bathroom to shave and brush my teeth. I know I need to deal with all the feelings I'm having for her right now, but I really want to have a good time today, so I do my best to compartmentalize them. It doesn't have to be that serious. We're having fun, and that might be all this is. Monroe has made it very obvious that she loves being on her own, and there's a good chance that she isn't having the same thoughts as me. It wouldn't be the first time, but I'm hoping that the shift I've felt between us has at least made her think twice about how good we could be together.

I quickly shave, rinse the razor, and set it back on the counter before loading my toothbrush with toothpaste. I hear more rustling around as I continue getting ready, spitting into the sink and rinsing my mouth with water. Just as I put the brush back into the holder, another piece of clothing and the marker are thrust into my hand.

"Sign, please," she says, and I start to obey but stop when I realize what I'm holding.

"This is my shirt," I say, slightly confused. "My used shirt."

"Uhhh, yeah. Your used Bella Simon concert tee. These things were going for like, eight-hundred dollars on the internet at one point. Why do you even have this?" she asks, tilting her head in question.

"First of all," I say, "I don't love your judgmental tone. Bella Simon is the voice of our generation. And don't even get me started on her songwriting. Plus, she's my sister's friend. I wanted to be supportive."

She quirks a brow. "Then you won't mind if I auction it off. For charity, of course."

Little brat. I know she isn't doing this because of the charity. Monroe loves helping people, but I can tell when my girl wants a competitive edge. I fucking love this shirt. But I love seeing her happy even more.

I roll my eyes playfully, scribbling my signature onto the fabric before handing it back to her. An ear-to-ear grin splits her face, and she stretches up onto her tippy toes, pressing her lips to mine in a chaste kiss. "Thank you!"

"Mhmmm," I reply, pretending to be annoyed as I pick up my bottle of mouthwash and unscrew the top. I've barely taken a swig before her hand reaches back out and snags it from my grip.

"Okay, byeeeee!" she sings, leaving the room with half my shit as I stare in shock. This girl is a literal storm, and I couldn't be happier to be standing in the middle of it.

Two hours later, we walk through the player entrance at the stadium, Monroe vibrating with giddiness as she clutches onto her offering for the charity auction. I stopped paying attention after she tried making me autograph a little league participation trophy from when I was in third grade, so God only knows what else she put in there.

Poor girl. There's no way she's winning this competition.

"Hey, you two!" Taylor says, walking our way. The mask Monroe normally wears at these things is nowhere to be seen, but that's because she seems genuinely happy today. I've seen her in all her forms—pissed off, annoyed, indifferent, sad, defiant. But this? This is my favorite. I still can't believe I get to experience her like this, and it's not something I'll ever forget.

"Hi, Tay! Where should I put this?" Monroe asks, holding up her basket. I didn't realize these two were at the stage of their relationship where nicknames were involved, but then again, she slid right in and won the entire organization over just like I knew she would. I'm beyond grateful to her for setting aside her hatred for me to do this. I know it was beneficial to her since I offered to help her start her business, but she could've easily told me to eat a dick and gotten a job somewhere else. She and I both know she would've achieved her goals with or without me. All I did was put her on a faster track.

"Over here on the table," Taylor says, leading us across the room. She moves an oversized crate containing a pair of brand-new cleats, several gift cards, and a signed Fury throwback jersey. I drag my eyes down the table seeing several more, each one fuller than the last. There's some pretty stiff competition, but anything's possible. Maybe people will want my random used shit.

Honestly, I'd spend a fortune buying it all back if it made her smile, so that's always an option.

Monroe sets her basket down and rearranges the contents so everything can be seen better. She carefully fans out every item, and I can't take my eyes off her as she stares at it triumphantly.

She turns toward me, her expression filled with pride, and I don't stop myself from stepping into her and wrapping my arms around her waist. She slings hers around my neck, and I lift her off her feet, pressing my mouth to hers. "Good job, Mayhem," I murmur against her lips, causing her to smile against mine.

Fuck. There's no way she doesn't feel this. The chemistry between us is explosive, even in the most ordinary moments.

"Monroe!" a familiar voice says from beside us, breaking us from our moment. "How's my favorite girl doing?"

"Randy! It's so nice to see you again!" she says excitedly, breaking out of my arms and moving into his for a hug. I'm shocked at first because she's on a first-name basis with the owner of the team, but again, what's not to love about this girl? Anyone who's blessed with a chance to spend five minutes with the real Monroe Decker doesn't stand a chance at getting away without feeling something . Least of all, me. She's everything I never expected her to be when I asked her to be my fake girlfriend.

"Riggs," he says with a smile, extending a hand in greeting. I take it, shaking firmly as he brings his other arm over Monroe's shoulder and squeezes. She eats it up as if she's starved of this type of attention, which makes me wonder even more if her parents or other family members ever made her feel as special as I know she is. "You taking care of this one or do I have to trade you to Detroit?" he says playfully, but it makes my balls shrivel a little bit. I know I'm still not completely in the clear after all my fuck-ups, but I hope I've at least cleaned up my image in his eyes a little bit.

I swallow thickly, pasting on a smile. "Yes, sir," I reply. "I'm doing my best." She must be able to sense my unease, because she slides back over to me, wrapping her small hands around my bicep and leaning her head onto my shoulder.

"I can confirm that he's been a model boyfriend," she says, looking up at me. "I'm a very happy girl." Her eyes sparkle and she gently presses her nails into my skin, sending warmth flowing through my entire body. I lean down, inhaling her scent, a sense of calm washing over me almost immediately.

When we started all of this, I told them that I wanted Monroe here to chill me out. When I said it, I was just trying to excuse my wild behavior, but the truth is that that's exactly what she does. She makes me want to be someone that this organization can be proud of. That she can be proud of. This relationship may not be real, but there are pictures of us out in the world as a couple now, and I don't want her to look back at them someday and be embarrassed. Before, I would've never cared what others thought. But my instinct to protect and care for her extends far further than just being a physical thing. I refuse to let her look like a fool for being my girlfriend.

"That's what I like to hear," he says with a grin. "Glad to see you on the straight and narrow, Valentine." My chest pulls tight with emotion as I nod, unable to find the words to express how relieved I am without sounding like an idiot. "I have to make my rounds. Enjoy your day, lovebirds. "

I watch as he walks away, letting out a huge breath and bowing my head for a second before peeking over at Monroe, who's looking up at me with a satisfied smirk. "What?" I ask, raising a brow in question.

"I'm basically a miracle worker if that sweet old man thinks you're on the straight and narrow. I know a certain outdoor shower that would say otherwise."

I can't stop the cocky grin that blooms across my face as I turn and drop my mouth to her ear, speaking quietly enough so only she can hear. "I'm only a bad boy for you now, baby," I reply, nipping at her lobe as she lets out an almost inaudible gasp. It makes me want to drop to my knees right here and worship her until she explodes, marking every inch of my face with her cum. I look around, making sure nobody's looking before I press into her, showing her how my body reacts to her hot little sounds. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she slaps my shoulder, making me bark out a laugh.

"Ow!" I say, rubbing my hand over it, pretending she hurt me. "Why are you hitting me? It's your fault for being so sexy!"

"Oh my God, Riggs," she replies, rolling her eyes. "Can you at least control yourself until we get home?" That straightens me right up. I'll be the best boy she's ever seen if it means getting inside her again.

She may be the boss here, but tonight, I'm in charge.