Many South Americans are disgusted that an American will play the role of Gabriel Mendoza. Demonstrations have been in full force all over Hollywood today. Recent American immigration reforms have exacerbated the anti-American sentiments brewing with our neighbors down south.

It was a quiet morning. No sounds of blenders anywhere. Instead, Rocco woke up to hair splayed across his chest, his face, and in his mouth. Annie felt small and warm against his body and he didn’t want to let go. The story she told him last night was heavy and more than he bargained for when he’d originally hoped for a little four-month fling.

He gently moved her arm aside and rolled out of bed. The woman had had a hell of a day yesterday and deserved to sleep. After finishing his morning routine, he decided to go to his home gym and work out to clear his mind.

Sweat dripped down his face an hour later. He’d made a decision. He didn’t give a shit how complicated things would be. He wanted—needed—her. It was so new and fragile, their relationship, if that was even the proper word for it—but it felt important. She made him feel like he’d lost something at some point in his life and now he’d found it. It was an odd feeling and something he couldn’t shake off. Walking away from her just was not an option.

It was ten in the morning by the time he went back up the stairs. He was surprised to see she was still asleep—her body balled up in the middle of the bed, her hands tucked under her cheek, her hair all over his pillows. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He took a quick shower, and once he was done and dressed, he softly sat on the edge of the bed. “Annabelle?”

She didn’t even stir.

“Wake up, Tiger.” He leaned closer, stirring her gently. With a yawn she lifted her arms over her head and stretched her legs with a loud moan. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven.”

She sat up abruptly, almost clonking him on the head. “Eleven! What?”

She looked around, confused. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Relax. It’s fine. You slept in. But we have to leave soon for the Boy and Girls Club, unless you want to stay.”

She jumped out of bed frantically, and ran to the bathroom. “No. No. Give me five minutes.” He heard the shower turn on. “I don’t think I’ve slept past six for ten years. I can’t believe I overslept,” she hollered from the shower.

“It’s fine. You needed a rest.”

“No. It’s not fine. What if there had been an emergency? I’m supposed to be protecting you, not sleeping in.”

He walked into the bathroom and leaned against the vanity. “You’re here for more than that, I hope. After the conversation from last night, I hope I’m not alone in that feeling.”

She pushed back the curtain and stuck her head out. “Yes. Fine. But still. I have to do both. Work is still important. You’re still in danger.”

“Multitask,” he said, opening the curtain a little and giving her a loud wet kiss right on the lips causing her to yelp and . . . was that a giggle? “We leave in ten.”

* * *

He downshifted when he got to the traffic light, Annabelle immersed in her phone. “Do you ever not work?” he asked.

“Actually, this isn’t work this time. It’s my mom and brothers. They’re giving me a hard time about missing another Sunday dinner.”

“You guys do Sunday dinners?”

“My mom tries, but it’s hard for us all to be there. My brothers are dispersed all over the place. But it just so happens they’re all actually in town this Sunday.”

“This is only a couple of hours—we can make it to your mom’s if you want to go.”

She looked up from her phone and her eyes shone as if he’d just offered her the sun and moon. “Really? You wouldn’t mind? I can have someone else from ICS stay with you while I’m gone.”

“No, I’ll come with you. I mean, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course. Oh God, my mother will love that. She’s a huge fan.” Annie typed on the phone as she spoke. “I should warn you. We’re a loud and overwhelming bunch.”

“I look forward to meeting everyone.” He parked the car. “I’ve been wondering something since I saw you pull up at my house on Monday.”

“What’s that?”

“What car do you drive? I picture you in a sleek red corvette or something equally sexy but badass.”

She snorted out a laugh. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I think I’m going to let you keep guessing.”

“Seriously? Why?”

“I have a love affair with my vehicle, which is why I never drive it. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Is that why I’m giving you rides left and right instead of the other way around? I always pictured a bodyguard would be doing the driving.”

She held out her palm. “Give me the keys and I’ll drive from now on.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not letting you drive this baby.”

“That’s what I thought. I feel the same way about Bob.”

“Bob?”

“My car. I named it Bob.” She shrugged.

“Bob? What a generic name.”

She shrugged as they parked in front of the club. “So what exactly happens here?”

“Depends. Today I promised we’d play a game of kickball. By the way, Paul should be here too.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

“Yeah. He loves being here too.”

“So kickball, huh? Oh, I can’t wait. I’m good at kickball.”

He snorted. “Relax yourself there, crazy. These are kids. I can picture you getting competitive.”

“I’ll be good. I promise.” She jumped out of the car and practically skipped to the entrance. He had on a hat and casual clothes, he felt safe here. No one knew he came to the club and it was in a bad part of town. The paps would never linger around. As soon as he walked in, twenty kids from five years old to fifteen, came barreling toward Rocco as Paul stood behind the mob watching.

She walked toward him and watched how excited the kids were to see him there.

“I’ve been making sock puppets for the last hour and no one even knows my name.” Paul laughed.

She snorted and gave him a smile. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Can’t complain. And you?”

Pretty good, thanks. So you guys come here every Sunday?”

“Pretty much. He only misses when he’s on location shooting. But I could stop coming and no one would notice. Rocco, on the other hand . . .”

“I doubt that’s true,” she said, and he shrugged. He was being humble; the kids surely loved him too. “And anyway, he does have a Ken doll made after him and you don’t. Makes him more noticeable.”

“Oh, he hates that, you should totally bring that up to him,” Paul teased as they stood on the sidelines watching Rocco greet all the kids. Her heart melted at how sweet he was with them. “He’s good with them.”

“He is. Always has been,” Paul said.

“How long have you guys been coming here?”

“Seven, eight years?”

“Wow. This would be great publicity for him.”

“Tell me about it. But he refuses. That’s not why he does it.”

One of the employees of the center stood on a chair and clapped her hands. “Okay, kids. Let Mr. Monroe go. Kids! Outside. The field’s ready.”

A chorus of happy cheers roared.

“Ready to get your kickball game on, crazy?”

“Ready to get your ass kicked, Monroe?”

“Always.” He winked, took her hand, and led them outside where they played on opposing teams for the next two hours. Girls versus boys.

“This is BS, Mr. Monroe. The boys won!” A little boy whined.

“It was a tie,” Paul said.

“It wasn’t a tie!” It really wasn’t a tie; the girls were terrible, mostly because they were for the most part younger than the boys.

Rocco kneeled down in front of the little boy. “I’ll tell you a secret, Jake. Your life will be a lot better if you let the girls win. Make them happy.”

“What? Why?” he asked, dirt all over his face and his hair falling over his eyes.

“Because if they’re happy, you’ll be happy. Trust me.”

The boy pouted and rolled his eyes as he stomped off. Paul and Annabelle snorted.

“I gotta run. I’ll swing by the set this week. Later guys.”

“Bye, Paul.”

“Bye, brother.”

“This was fun,” Annabelle said.

“I love it here. These kids don’t have much. They do their homework, eat hot meals, and play games. I used to love coming here when I was a kid.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his lips to hers for a simple kiss. “You’re a good man, Mr. Monroe.”

He smiled coyly. “Well, thank you, Ms. Clad. Come on, we have a Sunday dinner to get to.”

“A white Tesla!” he said abruptly as they got into the car.

“What?”

“Your car. It’s a Tesla.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Not even a little close.”

“Come on, give me a hint.”

“If you show me where you keep your Rocco Monroe Ken dolls, I’ll tell you what car I drive.”

He groaned and narrowed his eyes. “It’s an action figure. A badass action figure, not a Barbie. And I will never show you. Not ever.”

She threw her head back and laughed all the way to her mother’s house.