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“Nothing. Just sounded like you weren’t too happy about the idea of Monroe touching her.” Ari quirked a manicured brow, daring me to argue. Or maybe daring me to elaborate.

I flipped her off. “Fatigue is messing with your ears, prima. All I am saying is Itze needs to act comfortable with him. Like she likes him.”

Act the way I do around him…

Another tug in my chest.

It had been easier when Monroe was difficult. When he crossed his arms and barked out that he didn’t need a PR consultant. That version of Monroe I could work with.

That version I could keep at arm’s length...

Clearly, that’s bullshit.

“Chella.”

I blinked. Itzel watched me, her brows pinched together. “You okay?”

“I’m great.” The response came out high and squeaky. “Just thinking through logistics.”

Ari snorted. “You went quiet for like thirty seconds.”

“It’s a lot of logistics.”

“For a lunch date?”

Was this how she felt when I was on her ass about Dalton? Like she sat at an interrogation table, a single light hanging from above threatening to expose every little tell?

I swallowed. “Look at that, two minutes are up.” I stood and walked over to the rack of weights, attempting to act normal. The fact that I was hurrying to get back to a workout already put a tear in the facade.

The neoprene-coated dumbbell felt heavier than five pounds. But it was still lighter than the pressure sitting on my chest.

“The other thing, Itze,” I continued, like I wasn’t a mess of jumbled thoughts. “When you two leave the restaurant, don’t rush because they’re going to need time to grab the photos. So, like, linger by the car or something. Try and look like…” The words “you’re in love” died on the tip of my tongue. “Like he said something funny. Laugh or something. You know how to do that, right?” I looked at her, lifting a weight into a curl like I’d seen Ari do a million times. Only she did them with twenties.

Itzel had a soft smirk on her heart-shaped face. “Laugh? Yeah, I think I can do that, Chella.”

“She’ll definitely need to fake that, though. Monroe doesn’t ever say anything funny,” Ariella said. “He barely says anything at all. And god forbid you text him. All you’re getting back in a single word.”

I cut to where the mirror reflected my phone, face down on the tile next to my gym bag.

You want to satisfy me, Trouble?

My skin flushed, and it had nothing to do with the heated room. That text had been a hell of a lot more than one word.

I’d been in bed, the image of his happy trail and how I’d bolted out of his house playing on a loop in my head, when his text came through asking for photo evidence. I’d known he could see the outline of my piercings through the thin cotton tank in the picture.

I’d sent it anyway and watched those fucking typing bubbles appear and disappear twice before he finally replied.

Look how well you follow directions.

Fuck. Butterflies exploded low in my stomach, the same way they had two nights before.

“Graciella.” Ari’s voice cut through my thoughts. Her tone had that “we’re about to talk about our feelings” vibe.

“Don’t even start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

I caught her gaze in the mirror. She was still on the bench, one leg crossed over the other, turning her water bottle in slow circles against her knee.