Page 111 of The Rookie

“I still can’t believe you told him if he knew me he’d know he lost,” I mutter, though my lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “That was a dick thing to say. I’m pretty sure you destroyed him.”

“I like to think I’m charming,” he counters, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. The position makes his T-shirt ride up just enough to show a sliver of tan, toned stomach, and I quickly look away, focusing on the foam in my cup. “Besides, what else are we going to say? He had to know, one way or another. I’d rather be direct than beat around the bush. Thankfully, he chose not getting the crap beat out of him. It wasn’t going to be a fair fight. Everyone hasthatgirl. The one they go a little insane over.”

“Oh? And who isthat girlfor you?”

“I’m different. I’m Griffin Knox. It won’t be happening to me.”

I laugh. “I still can’t believe I took your freakingvirginity. Like, what?!”

He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, I’m glad I waited. That was fucking amazing. Was that…was it good? Seriously. You can be honest. How many orgasms did you fake? If so, great job. I didn’t notice, but I appreciated you stoking my ego.”

“Well,” I joke. “Guess we’ll have to practice more this week.”

Griffin’s smirk is so smug it’s practically a work of art. “I mean, seriously,” he continues, lowering his voice to a mock-conspiratorial tone. “If you faked anything, you deserve an Oscar. Best Actress in a Leading Role: Avery Sinclair.”

I’m laughing so hard at this point that I’m doubled over, clutching my stomach. “Stop! You’re ridiculous!”

That’s when Dr. Peterson walks by, her sandals crunching softly on the sand. “What’s so funny?” she asks, pausing and raising an eyebrow.

Griffin and I exchange a panicked glance before his quick grin takes over. “Oh, we were just…uh…”

I jump in, grasping at straws. “We were reminiscing about—uh—when Griffin tried to order tacos in Spanish last night.”

Dr. Peterson’s curiosity only deepens. “Really? That doesn’t soundthatfunny.”

“Oh, but itwas,” Griffin says, leaning in with fake seriousness. “See, I accidentally told the waiter I wanted ‘two shoes’ instead of two tacos. ‘Dos zapatos.’”

“And then,” I add, catching on to the ridiculous improv scenario we’re vibing on, “the waiter actually brought out a pair of sandals! It was so random!”

Griffin nods solemnly. “Bright pink ones, too. Looked great with my outfit, though.”

Dr. Peterson’s lips twitch, like she’s not entirely sure if we’re serious. “Well, that does sound…memorable. You two certainly seem to be having fun. Surprising, to say the least. I thought you two hated each other.”

“Oh, we had the best time,” Griffin says with a straight face. “You can’t beat tacos and accidental footwear. That’s kind of Avery and my thing now.”

She gives us one last skeptical look before continuing down the beach, shaking her head.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, I elbow him in the ribs, still giggling. “Tacos and shoes? Really?”

He grins, not remotely apologetic. “What? It worked, didn’t it? What, are we going to tell her about your fake orgasms?”

I reach my hand across the table and grip his forearm. “I wasn’t faking it. I didn’t have to.”

“Did you…with Gavin?”

“Okay you know what?” I laugh. “Let’s be done talking about Gavin. Forever. Deal?”

“Alright, Princess. Deal. No more referring to how you had to fake orgasms with Gavin but not with me.”

I lift my hand off his forearm and glance back at Griffin, meaning to keep things casual, but the way he’s lounging in his chair, his bright green eyes fixed lazily on the horizon, does something to me. My body lights up, a spark flickering to life low in my belly. It’s stupid, really—how one look at him can flip a switch I didn’t even know I had.

He shifts slightly, his muscles moving beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and I press my thighs together, my breath catching. It’s insane how turned on I feel just sitting here, watching him do absolutely nothing. I’ve never felt this way before—this raw, unrelenting pull that makes my skin flush and my heart race.

He glances at me then, catching me staring, and his lips quirk into that maddeningly cocky grin. “See something you like, Sinclair?”

I snap my eyes back to my cup, my face flaming. “Don’t flatter yourself. Plus, we need to take a break.”

He chuckles, low and warm, and the sound sends another ripple of heat through me. “Too late.” He leans in, lowering his voice so only I can hear him. “I’m already thinking about the other positions we’re going to do it in on this trip.”

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