Page 16 of Paxton

CHAPTER 5

PAXTON

I finish assemblingthe last piece of the massage table I ordered last week, having somehow managed to sneak the giant box in without Monroe ever spotting it.

She’d been busy this past week traveling to her clients’ houses. Some of them were Badgers who hired her to help them with recovery from their workouts during the off-season, but some were non-athlete clients too. Either way, it’d given me a great opportunity to sneak all of this stuff in since I wanted to surprise her.

I gather up my tools, putting the screwdriver back in the toolbox as I step back and admire the table. It looks professional, and it certainly was the best one recommended to me by the company I contacted, but I couldn't stop the shot of nerves that hit me the second I'd finished prepping the room.

What if she didn't like it?

What if I'd gotten the wrong kind of table?

What if she would see this gesture astoo seriousand get scared?

I do my best to silence the racing thoughts, shoving them down as I move the table an inch to the left to ensure it’s centered in the spare room I have on the upper level of my home.

I’d previously used it for storage, but after Monroe moved in, I had the idea to turn it into a personal workspace for her, if the need ever arose. Not only did it now have a massage table, but also a wardrobe stocked with custom sheets for the table, the pillows she needed for positioning, and all the lotions she always stocked on a little cabinet tucked near the window across the room. I'd also bought new curtains for the windows to block out the sun, and installed a dimmer on the lights so she could adjust it how she wanted. A top-of-the-line sound machine rounded off the spare room now turned mini spa, and the pride I felt at a task accomplished helped ease the worry.

But of course, just like any time I'd stopped moving this past week, my thoughts immediately traveled right back to the Fourth of July and Clay's party. To that game that I’ll forever be grateful for. The one that tasked me and Monroe with a kiss that’s been a beautiful haunting every night since.

Fuck, I can’t even think about that kiss without getting hard.

Her lips had been as soft as I'd always imagined, and the way she'd fisted my shirt and drawn me closer made me think there was more behind it than just a challenge from a card game.

But thatcouldn'tbe right. She'd just gotten out of that terrible situation with Liam, and she was my best friend. She'd always been my best friend.

She's never seen me that way.

The breathy little gasp she released when my lips were on hers pleaded otherwise.

I groan, unable to get the kiss out of my head or the need that pulses through me for more. I do my best to distract myself, storing the toolbox in my garage, and finding Monroe heading through the front door when I return.

“How was work?” I ask, noting the black pants and top she wears when meeting clients, her sneakers black and yellow to support the Badgers.

She sets down her bag and keys at the drop station, sighing deeply as she heads toward the kitchen to grab a water. “Client was great,” she says. “But the commute is driving me crazy. I still need to get my travel table out of the trunk, but my arms feel like Jell-O. I worked on Marentrade, and he had knots I swear are as old as he is.”

I chuckle. “He isn't that old,” I say, and she cocks a brow at me, making me laugh.

“Fine,” she agrees. “But the knots definitely were.” She takes another drink of water.

I shift a little closer, motioning to the stairs. “Can I show you something I’ve been working on?”

“Definitely,” she says, leaving her water bottle on the counter and following me up the stairs.

Apprehension tightens my chest as I pause just outside the doorway to the spare room, fear zapping through me that she might see this as some sort of ploy for commitment. That's the last thing I want to do, especially knowing how much that kind of thing scares her, but I’m hoping she sees it for what it is—a gesture of support while she lives here.

“Do you need help opening the door?” she teases, looking up at me questioningly.

I bark out a harsh laugh, shaking my head as I turn the knob and open the door, gesturing for her to go inside first.

She gives me a curious glance before heading into the room, and then gasps.

I follow in after her, surveying her features and breathe a sigh of relief at the smile and shock that shapes her delicate face.

“Paxton,” she says, slowly walking around the room and taking everything in before turning toward me with wide eyes. “You didn't do all this,” she says with disbelief.

I slide my hands into my pockets, needing the action to ground me as I smile and nod. “It took me a hot minute,” I say,nodding toward the table. “I really hope that's a good brand. The guy at the company assured me it was the best.”

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