Page 120 of Plays Well With Others

Yes, I am the fucking romance champion.

At my home, I slide into a spot out front, then bound up the steps, go inside, and take a quick shower. Once I’m out and dressed in—no surprise—shorts and a T-shirt, I take my ADHD pill, then fire up the bad boy of an espresso machine, singing as I go.I am the romance champion of the world.

As the machine hisses and the life-affirming brew fills a cup, Monroe knocks.

I yank open the door. “Talk about timing. Yours is sick,” I say, impressed.

He smirks. “Yes, son. My timing is indeed…sick.”

And I walked into that one, but whatever. “Fuck off,” I say, letting him in.

“But your timing? Let’s talk about that. My coffee shop’s been keeping weird hours lately,” he remarks. “You’re not here every morning.”

“That must be hard for you,” I say, finishing his cup and handing it to him.

“It is, admittedly, concerning.” Monroe takes a pull, chasing it with a contented sigh. When he sets the cup down, he studies me quizzically as my espresso goes down the hatch. “Seems like you’ve had a couple cups of coffee already today.”

I shake my head. “Just this one. But you know mornings and me,” I say, washing my cup now, moving through my routine at lightning speed. There’s so much to do.

He scoffs. “More like all day and you. You’re naturally caffeinated,” he says, but he looks pensive, unsatisfied with my answer. “So, your coffee shop hours. Are they going to return to normal after this fifth date with Rachel?”

I smile, a little cocky, but hopeful too. I’d like to keep him on his toes with mycoffee shop hours. I’d like to be at Rachel’s some mornings. I’d like her to be here some mornings. I’d like it all. “I hope not, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Some jackass told me to be honest with myself,” I say with a confident grin. “And so I was.”

“Well, that ought to make my podcast interesting,” he says.

Oh, shit. His fucking show. “When is that?” I ask, hunting for my phone to make a note.

With a warm smile, Monroe answers. “A couple weeks. I’ll send you a reminder.”

“Thanks,” I say, setting the phone down, relieved he’ll handle the reminder.

Once he’s gone, I grab my keys and head out, but I stop at the door. Something’s nagging at me. What the hell is it? Maybe it’ll come to me later. I head down the steps to my car. But before I turn it on, my phone serves up a slew of alerts like a Vegas slot machine.

I read through them all.

Pick up Beck.

Easy. I’m nearly on my way.

Find a restaurant for the fifth date.

I’ll ask Maddox. He’s good with that.

Don’t forget your meeting with Seductive in Las Vegas.

I snap my fingers. That’s what I was forgetting. My cologne sponsor. I’m seeing them next week after my game against the Vegas Pioneers.

So much to do, but I don’t want to lose track of my fifth date brainstorm this morning, so I add a new item to the calendar.

Get a mug.

I’ll order that tonight.

Oh!

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