Mine To Love

Monster

CHAPTER SIX

Eloise

God, I miss him. More than I’ve missed anything in my life, and this aching won’t stop. I made a mistake—that’s all there is to it. I never should have ended things with Easton and definitely not as coldly as I did.

And I’m going to get him back.

It’s late and I probably shouldn’t be here right now, but I don’t even care if I look desperate. I am desperate. Desperate to have him back and mend what I broke. I turn the corner in the little breezeway of his apartment complex and freeze. There he is…Easton. My chest tightens just from the sight of him. My mind drinks up the image of his broad shoulders. Shoulders I used to run my hands across, but never will be able to again if I

don’t mend this break.

I’m one step from emerging out of the shadows when I realize Easton isn’t alone. He shifts slightly and there’s a woman standing there with him. Her little black dress barely covers her underwear and her long tan legs go on for miles. She is…opposite of me. I watch with a knife in my stomach as she angles her face up to Easton and plants her hands against his chest—blond wavy hair sliding off her shoulders down her back. Nausea builds in my stomach as I realize they’re going to kiss. No. We only broke up a week ago…how could he move on so quickly? How could he—

I open my mouth to yell his name as the woman rises on her tiptoes to kiss him. He bends his head to accommodate her, but no words will come out of my mouth. Nothing but hot air releases as I try again and again to yell his name.

And now he sinks his hand into the back of her hair, and I want more than anything to say something or run to him, but heavy sand is growing over my feet and legs, keeping me from moving. My voice is still a whisper

no matter how hard I yell his—

BURRRR. BURRRR.

My head shoots up from my pillow, hair curtaining my face.

“Easton!” I yell into my dark room, clutching my arms protectively around myself until I register the soft, fabric of the sweatshirt I’m wearing. I’m not in my bed. I sit up in shock as I take in my surroundings I till I remember I’m in Easton’s house.…and the sound is coming from my phone about to buzz off my nightstand.

I sag a bit and wipe my eyes with my hands, wishing I could wipe that dream out too. The dream that continues to slice me in two every time I experience it again.

Finally, I slap my hand onto my phone and drag it to my face. “What?

Hello?”

“Easton.”

It’s Easton—calling almost as if he knew I was dreaming about him. Please tell me this man isn’t calling in the dead of night to ask me for

something.

“It’s not the dead of night,” he says, because apparently I said that out loud.

I roll over onto my back. “I can’t be held responsible for anything I say at the hour of”—I pull my phone away to look at the time—“four a.m.? Are you freaking kidding me? Why are you even calling? You could’ve just knocked on my door like a sane person.”

I swear I hear a devious smile his voice when he says, “We both know that you usually sleep like the dead. Anyways, need you to meet me outside in an hour so that we could go to the rink.”

I want to cry. In fact, I might be already. Tears are quite possibly melting down my cheeks. “It’s too early! What could you possibly need me to do for you at the rink?”

“There’s a lot of complaining coming from the team’s journalist who’s needed to film our activities for social media.”

Okay, I’m torn. Because so far, the last few days Easton has had me doing nothing but running back-to-back errands for him a. Not a Thank you or Good job in sight. So the prospect of doing something that actually pertains to his career is tempting. Easton desperately needs to be focusing on building a strong positive narrative around his name for the upcoming season. He needs to be giving interviews, taking endorsement deals, and showing up to the events he’s invited to. And he needs a good PR officer to be leading the parade of his success, but I’ll never to to that if I’m running around doing less meaningful tasks for him.

“Eloise?”

I breathe in sharply through my nose. “Hm?”

“You went back to sleep, didn’t you?”

“No,” I whimper pitifully. My eye sockets hurt. I want to slip right back into dreamland. The dreamland where I get to go to work at a normal hour.

Work with a normal athlete who lets me do normal sports-related work instead of this monster who seems hell-bent on making my life a living nightmare. Or maybe not a nightmare, but definitely on an annoying loop where my talents are wasted, and I’m made to do chores 24/7 like Cinderella before she became fabulous.

“Better sit up so you don’t fall asleep again.”

“You’re mean,” I say, reluctantly tossing off the covers and throwing my legs over the side of the bed. The sun is not even close to perky yet. It’s still snug as a bug in a rug.

“If you’re so miserable, feel free to quit. Or would you rather go back to sleep and have me fire you? I’m content with either option.” He’s enjoying this way too much.

“Monster,” I say.

“What’s that?” He definitely heard me the first time.

“It’s nothing”

Later that day, The Huskies' team bus rolls into the underground entrance of the arena, disappearing beneath the roar of fans gathered outside and camera flashes explode against the tinted windows.

My first official game as the Huskies’ journalist.

Not Easton's PR nor his babysitter.

A journalist.

The players file off the bus one after another, dressed in tailored suits with headphones hanging around their necks. Easton steps off ahead of everyone else but doesn't spare me a glance.

Typical.

I follow the rest of the team through the private entrance and into the media corridor.

The arena is already alive. This... This is exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Oscar catches my eye.

"Fifteen minutes before warm-ups. Grab whoever you need."

I flip open my notebook. Time to work.

The first person I spot is Axel. He's halfway through tying his tie when he notices me.

"There she is." He smiles. "The journalist who's too important to answer my texts."

"I answered."

"Three days later." He says. "I was busy."

"You hurt my feelings."

I deadpan.

"I'll send flowers."

He laughs.

"There she is."

I raise my recorder.

"You ready?"

"Fire away."

"My article is about expectations for the season . What changed between last year and this one?"

"We stopped relying on talent and started relying on each other."

I scribble the quote.

"Who surprised you most during preseason?"

"Logan."

"The rookie?"

"He listens more than he talks."

"A rare quality?"

"In this locker room?" He laughs. "Very." I grin despite myself.

"What would you say is the biggest challenge this season?"

"The pressure from ourselves." I write the answer down before lowering my recorder.

"Thanks."

"You owe me coffee for this interview."

"I'll add it to your invoice."

He clutches his chest dramatically. "So cold."

"I learned from the best."

"Impossible. You've spent too much time around Easton already."

I laugh and walk away before he can say anything else.

From across the corridor, I feel someone's eyes on me.

I don't have to look because I already know it's Easton.

I move to another teammate. Connor is already waiting outside the medical room.

"Connor can I ask you some questions?."

He nods, “Yh sure ”

"What are the expectations for this season?"

" To win the Championship."

"No hesitation?"

"If you're aiming lower than that, you're on the wrong team."

"What makes this group different?"

He folds his arms. "We've got enough talent."

"Okay, what would you say is missing?"

He glances toward the players walking toward the ice. " I’d say consistency.”

As I finish writing, applause erupts from the tunnel. The players are being announced. So quickly pack up my notes and take out my camera to go join the other journalists on the field.

After the game, the team goes for drink but I opt out and decide to go home because I’m already feeling really tired then my phone starts ringing. Easton’s name flashes across my screen and I growl before answering.

“Hello, Easton Greys personal minion, how may I be of service?”

“Why do you keep answering like this?” By this he means in a cutesy way. I’ve been changing the tagline each time, but the gist of it is always the same. “Because it annoys you, and it’s the only way I can fight back against your malicious hazing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says deadpan. “I’m going out tonight. I need you to pick up my suit from the dry cleaners and bring it to my room.”

I drag in one deep breath through my nose and release it slowly. “Don’t you have lots of suits in your closets? Why don’t you just pick one from there? And why exactly do you keep calling me when we’re literally living in the same house?”

He doesn’t reply. “I need my dry cleaning by six.”

“By six…?” I draw out the word and then let it dangle in a question.

“Yes. By six.”

“No, I’m saying, by six what?”

“Six on the dot. Not before, not after.”

I groan and refrain from banging my head on my desk. “No, Easton! You’re missing the word please! I need for you to at least say the word please when you’re being a demeaning ass.”

“Feel free to quit if—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the speech. I’ll have your suit to you by six.”

I hang up before he has a chance to not say thank you.