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“It still had the little locky thing,” I huffed, leaning against the jam, waving to a passing group of students with their backpacks slung low who stared a little too long.

My eyes moved back to Monroe, running along his body while he wasn’t looking, and landing on where his Wranglers stretched across his thighs. I snorted.

Butt stuff made more sense now. A photo of his backside would make anyone smile.

“Do you know how easy those are to bust open?” he asked, oblivious to the fact that I was considering objectifying him for the sake of his reputation.

He’d probably lecture me about that, too.

“There’s a second door with a deadbolt, Monroe.” I hitched my thumb over my shoulder. “But yeah, I knew this needed to be fixed, which is why—” I straightened. “Wait, why are you fixing my door?”

This entire interaction had to be conjured by my imagination because I swore his ears held a tinge of pink.

“Because having no deadbolt is bad enough. I wasn’t going to let you have some random man fixing it,” he said, jaw tight under the dusting of dark hair. “Knowing you, you’d select some dude who’d make a copy of your key.”

I took it back. This wasn’t a dream. No way I could recreate that level of sass and annoyance in his tone.

He stood, wiping his hand off on a small towel stained with dirt and grease, eyeing his handiwork.

“There. That one’s done.” He dangled a gold key off the tip of his pinky. “Don’t go around handing this out to everyone, or it defeats the whole purpose of me being out here fixin’ the damn thing.”

I snatched it, smirking at his slight wince. He deserved it for the condescending tone he’d used. “Damn, and here I was planning on leaving a trail of keys all the way to my front door.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“Funny you should say that, Monroe. Want just the tip or to the knuckle?” I held up my pointer. He blinked a few times. “You get it? Like do you want just the tip of my finger in your as⁠—”

“Yeah, I got it, Graciella.” He shook his head. “Why am I trusting you with my image when you say shit like that?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I’m good at my job.”

His eye roll irked me.

I rarely cared about what people thought about me anymore. I’d worked through my people-pleasing issues with my therapist after going no-contact with my dad.

But for some reason, I cared about what Monroe thought.

“I’ll have you know, I’m an expert at morphing into what people want. Even if that version is nothing close to who I am...” My voice trailed off, caught up in memories I didn’t want to revisit. “Anyway, that skill set makes me good at my career.” I flashed Monroe a smile, hoping he didn’t catch the moment of vulnerability.

But those azure eyes had creased at the corners with what looked an awful lot like concern, and it had me gnawing on my lip.

“You morph into somethin’ you’re not around me?”

His deep rasp scraped across my skin like a caress, drawing out a flurry of goosebumps. I wanted to break the stare-off, but I was trapped in those pools of blue. Dark and turbulent like the ocean, tinged with something…vulnerable? Disappointed?

I swallowed down the lump of emotion.

I could’ve lied. I should’ve lied. The truth tumbled out.

“No, Monroe. I’m one hundred percent myself around you. You should know. You listed off all the traits that prove I’m everything you don’t like.”

I stared at my toes, stomach dropping at the silence.

Why did I say that? What good could come from⁠—

“I like you plenty, Graciella.”

My head whipped up, jaw nearly on the floor.