4. Monroe

CHAPTER 4

MONROE

W hat a joke.

My face was pinched together as I stared at the asshole sitting across from me and I let out a long, exaggerated sigh as my toes tapped against the tile floor. I couldn't even fully reach the damn floor. A major downside to being short was my feet swung like I was a damn kid sitting at the adults' table.

"I think if she were to pay restitution for the cost of repairing the car that she damaged, we can close this." The prosecutor didn't look excited to be sitting at this table with us.

Dad had explained that things didn't move this quickly most of the time, but since we were looking for me to not make it to court, it should be a lot quicker. Now I was spending Monday morning across from the asshole I'd barely dated, tapping my fingers against the wooden table, trying not to say anything that would get me into more trouble.

"Perfect," I said, which brought a scowl from my dad. I'd forgotten. I wasn't supposed to talk. Besides that, Dad raised an eyebrow. Yeah, yeah. I knew I had to get a summer job, but school hadn't been out long.

I'd been told in no uncertain terms that I was not to do any talking unless my dad said to. Sitting there quietly was incredibly difficult. I wanted to burst from my skin. Owen was acting as if he'd done nothing wrong and I was the psycho who'd attacked for no reason.

But that was bullshit.

The corners of Owen's mouth turned up in a "cat who ate the canary" sort of way and I wasn't going to like what came out of his mouth next.

"I'm not sure I'll be happy with just reparations," he said, not taking his eyes off me.

Of course he wasn't. A dull ache began between my eyes and the heat that washed over me had me wanting to burst into flames.

"Would you rather twenty-five to life?" my father asked with the most sardonic tone. "Let's be serious. Even if we went to trial, she's likely to get off with probation."

"She has a record," Owen countered, making the biggest mistake of his life. There was zero chance he'd be able to hold his own against my father.

Dad chuckled. "For protesting. She has no record of violent or destructive behavior. It will be probation." As if brushing Owen off, Dad went back to speaking only to the prosecutor.

The prosecutor narrowed his eyes at the asshole also known as Owen. "I think paying restitution is the main thing here. We can enter that in. It would be a guilty plea, but she could petition to have it expunged in a year if she keeps her nose clean."

I bit my lips together. Was it likely I'd throw another brick through a car window in the next year? No. I'd make sure my anger didn't get away from me again.

Dad nodded. "I think we can agree to that."

"I'll get the agreement drawn up and send it over."

The prosecutor reached his hand out and Dad took it then motioned for me to stand up. We were leaving the office while the prosecutor was still talking to Owen. At least I wouldn't see him in the elevator, which was where I waited for us to be before asking any questions.

"So I just have to pay what it cost to fix his car?" I asked as soon as the doors closed. We were alone in this elevator.

"Yes. But you make that sound so easy." He turned to me. "You have to pay, Monroe. That doesn't mean you get to dip into your dads' accounts to make it happen."

"I know. I'll get a job. I was going to for the summer, anyway."

The doors opened with a ding , so the two of us stepped out and crossed the lobby.

Dad sighed. "Your papa has a friend who owns the coffee shop right there across the street. He's always looking for extra help. I'm sure he can make a call."

Did I want to work in a coffee shop as my long-term goal? No. But it was kind of perfect for the summer.

"I'll do whatever I have to do to pay for this."

Dad nodded and his face softened. "I know you will. Most likely, we'll pay it and have you pay it back because I don't want that fucker to have anything to hold over you."

I reached out and wrapped my arms around his waist. "Thank you, Dad."

My dads had money. They weren't uber wealthy that I knew of, but Papa's furniture sold well and was incredibly pricey and Dad's law practice was insanely busy. I'd heard how much he charged per hour for his services and had almost swallowed my tongue.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked once I'd released him.

"Probably go over there and get some coffee. Owen gave me a headache and caffeine is always good for that." Though that headache was subsiding now that I was away from Owen.

"Good idea. Get the lay of the land." He glanced at his watch then back to me. "I've got to get back to the office. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes."

"Go. Have a good day."

I stood there on the street watching him as he hurried around the corner until I couldn't see him anymore then waited for traffic to clear so that I could hurry across the street.

The coffee shop was so busy, which if I worked here would be good and bad. Good because the day would go by fast. Bad because I'd be dead at the end of my shift. But what did I expect of a coffee shop across the street from the courthouse where everyone who went in or out was stressed to the max and likely need a jolt to stay awake or calm down?

But I was patient now. Without the asshat around, I could wait for my iced coffee all day if I needed to. OK. That might've been an overstatement. Still, I was patiently waiting, trying to let the meeting that morning slide off my back so that Owen didn't take up any more of my time.

Once I had the coffee in hand, I planned to have a seat for a few minutes and mindlessly scroll my phone. Except there weren't any seats. At first, I figured I'd take my coffee and go, but I had really just wanted to sit, enjoy the good stuff, while scrolling on my phone. Not to mention Owen would be leaving the courthouse, if he hadn't already, and the last thing I wanted was to run into that asshat on the street.

That was when I noticed a free chair at the long table in the middle and hurried over to it. But the jerk in the seat next to it had his bag on it. At first, I didn't know whose it was until the guy to my right reached into it for something.

"Can you move your bag?" I asked the man who'd just reached into the bag. Sure, I worded it as a question, but didn't actually mean it as a request. I just wanted to sit down and scroll on my damn phone, but this guy was either a jerk for taking up a second seat in a very busy coffee shop or he was oblivious to what was happening around him. Either way, I wanted him to move the bag.

"Excuse me?" he asked while looking me up and then down at the bag slowly, which made me want to kick him in the shins. Another asshole wasn't what I needed right now.

This guy was good-looking enough but was far too put-together for my taste. Perfectly styled blond hair and sparkling, brown eyes made me wonder if he had eye drops to create the sparkle. Even if I hadn't been in the mood I was currently in, I wouldn't have liked this. He looked at me as if his answer to my question was based on my looks.

"Move. Your. Bag." I didn't raise my voice. Honestly, I almost never raised my voice in anger unless the room around me was loud. Quiet rage seemed to work the best for me. "Bags don't get chairs. There's not another free one. I'd like to sit, so please move your bag."

The guy furrowed his brows but didn't move, which made me glance around again just to make sure something else hadn't opened up for me. It wasn't like I wanted to sit next to this guy, anyway. Then suddenly, he snatched the bag off the chair so I could sit down then mumbled under his breath and hopped up from the table. He hurried out the door like his ass was on fire.

I shrugged and took the open seat then pulled my phone out of my crossbody purse.

"Bad day?" the man on the other side of me asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I said without looking over at him. I hadn't gotten a good look at him because my focus had been on the bag in the chair and Mr. Perfect being hesitant to move it.

The deep voice said, "Try me."

I sighed again and looked up at him, fully intent on telling him to leave me alone so I could wallow in my shitty mood.

But what I found was a dark-haired, strong-armed man with a strong jaw. He was… chiseled by the great artists. He was tall… He looked tall sitting in the chair, with thick, dark hair—maybe not black, but so dark, I couldn't tell—and cocoa-colored eyes. He was… absolutely beautiful and I forgot what I'd been about to say to him.

"You all right?" he asked when I was staring for far too long.

My heart raced and my palms dampened like they hadn't since I'd been a freshman in high school and the guy I'd had a crush on had spoken to me.

"What?" I asked because whatever he'd said had gone straight out of my brain.

"I asked if you're all right."

Right. Was I? Yes. I was fine, but for some reason, with this man, who looked to be close to my age, beside me, I was a bumbling idiot.

I supposed, no. I wasn't fine, but I couldn't tell him that part of it.

"Yeah," I finally got out. "I'm fine. I just don't see why someone would take up a seat in a crowded shop for a bag. Like, have some consideration."

He chuckled quietly and the way he looked right at me was almost too much. Like I was staring into the sun. "You said I wouldn't believe your bad day?" he reminded me.

I shrugged and threw my hands in the air before letting them smack lightly onto the table. "I barely believe it."

"Try me," he said again.

For some reason, I took a deep breath and decided to spew it all out there for this stupidly hot stranger in the coffee shop.

"I just came from the courthouse, where I had to sit through a meeting with the prosecutor and my ex-dickhead. The prosecutor just wants me to pay reparations, but the ex-dickhead isn't happy with that. Oh, no. I can't just pay to repair what I damaged. He won't be happy until he sees me doing fifty years in a maximum security prison. But to pay the reparation, I have to get a summer job, so I'll probably be working in this very coffee house all summer, which is fine. I like it here, but fuck, I'm over this bullshit already."

I took in and let out a deep, cleansing breath.

Unloading all of that felt good. For some reason, talking to this stranger had lifted a weight off my shoulders. Maybe I was taller now. I felt taller. Also, this man I didn't know was really easy to talk to.

"Wow," was all he said in response to everything I'd just told him. I'd figured that a lot of people would be taken aback by the fact that I'd been arrested and all that. "Is this the first time you've been arrested?"

A laugh popped out of my mouth before I could help it. Of all the things he could've asked, this was what he'd gone with. "No," I told him honestly. "But in fairness, the other times were at protests and I don't regret them."

He turned his coffee slowly with the fingers of one large hand. "So those were for good reason."

I shrugged. "I thought so."

"What'd you do this time?'

I sighed. In reality, all things considered, what I had done wasn't so bad. I mean, it wasn't good. I had damaged someone else's property, but I hadn't gone on a killing spree or even physically assaulted Owen, which was what I'd really wanted to do.

"Threw a brick through my ex-dickhead's car window."

His eyebrows raised and he bit into his bottom lip, as if he were keeping from laughing. "Seriously?"

I nodded. "I know it was a bad idea and honestly, I didn't think it through. Of course he'd jump at the chance to have me arrested for it."

"No. I meant seriously, he called the cops for that ? Not seriously, you did that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, most guys I know would've just replaced the window and moved on. Most wouldn't call the cops unless the woman got really psycho. Did you get really psycho?"

"I don't think so." Then I realized that I probably wouldn't know if I had. That night, anger had gotten the better of me, so did that mean I didn't remember it all? "How about I tell you exactly what happened and you tell me if I went psycho?"

"Deal."

He sat up in his chair and leaned closer so I wouldn't have to talk louder. I wanted that to be on purpose. Like he was concerned for me and what everyone else might hear. Though having him closer sent a tingle up my spine and made other things happen inside my body that I didn't want to talk about.

"First," he said quieter than he had been. Some of the crowd had left the coffee shop, like they'd all been here on break or before a court time, so there was no reason to try to be heard over the noise. "Ex-boyfriend or ex-husband? And did you recently break up?"

I scoffed. "Boyfriend and no. It was months ago and we'd barely dated. I don't know that I'd call it a breakup, either. More like we just didn't go out anymore because I said no ."

"Then why do you call him ‘the ex-dickhead'?"

I shrugged. "What else should I call him? Guy I dated for a few months is too many words in the moment."

He chuckled deep in his chest, which made me want to see him really laugh. Like a full, belly laugh. Alas, I never would, given that we were basically two ships passing in the night… or rather two people who needed a jolt in the middle of the day in a coffee shop.

"OK," he said. "Tell me."

"We were out the other night—"

"This just happened?" I nodded. "Doesn't court usually take longer than that? I mean, to get to it if you just were arrested the other night?" He held his hands up and said, "I wouldn't know. I've never been arrested."

I snorted. "I don't know what usually happens. When I've been arrested before it was for protesting, like I said. They usually drop those charges unless you've done damage. I only disturbed the peace."

"So this time's different because you did damage?"

"You know what? I don't know. I could ask my dad."

"He's been arrested a lot?"

My eyes widened. If only he knew how ridiculous that question was when it came to my dad. "No! He's a defense lawyer, though, so he's familiar with the process."

He chuckled and I realized I didn't know his name and was now in a debate with myself as to whether I should ask it or not. It might be easier to never know. "You were saying?"

"Right." He snapped me completely out of the debate. "I was out with friends—not drinking myself because that seems to be an important point to this entire story—and we came across the ex-dickhead harassing a couple of friends of mine."

"You got mad?"

I nodded. "He pissed me off and he's way bigger than me, so it wasn't like I could physically step in, so I grabbed a brick from the alley and threw it through his car window. The harassment stopped. The friends could get out of there to avoid his wrath."

His eyes narrowed. "But you couldn't avoid it."

"He didn't do anything but yell and tower over me like he was trying to be intimidating, but since I don't intimidate—or at least not easily—it didn't work. Then he called the police."

He sighed and ran his hand over his face. "What was he harassing your friends about?"

"Being gay. It was a friend out on a date with a new guy he'd just met."

The man groaned. "That's so fucked up." The tension in my shoulders released at his response. "Seriously? It's so fucked up that homophobes are still out there."

"It is and I'm particularly sensitive to the subject and I just… saw red, I guess."

"‘Particularly sensitive'?"

"I have two dads." It was the best way to explain my entire situation and my feelings on the subject. "They grew up in a different time and faced a lot of bigotry. I'm not going to stand by and watch someone else go through it and not do something."

He sighed again. "I get that. The ex-dickhead deserves a lot more than a brick through a window, but he could've hurt you. You said it was at night and you were with other friends—women, I assume from your story." I nodded. "You could've been hurt or worse. He doesn't sound all that reasonable."

"He isn't."

"So was it worth it?" he asked. I furrowed my brows because I wasn't sure which part he meant. "Getting arrested."

"Absolutely," I told him immediately. "Dad and Papa aren't all that happy about it, but I wouldn't change a thing."

He nodded. "Then working here for the summer will be worth it too."

This man was right. If the crime had been worth it, then the penalty would be too.

Talking to this stranger gave me a whole new outlook on my situation. I'd never regretted it, but I'd been pissed when I'd left the courthouse and now I wasn't.

My only regret now was that this man was going to leave the coffee shop and I'd probably never see him again.