Page 14 of The Rookie

four

. . .

Avery

I wakeup to the sound of someone singing.

Correction:screaming.

My eyes snap open, and for a moment, I’m disoriented. The unfamiliar queen sized bed, the pale stucco walls, the faint scent of sunscreen and disinfectant—oh, right. I’m not in at my university today. I’m in Mexico.

I bury my face in the pillow. The singing—if you can call it that—continues, muffled slightly by the sound of running water.

Griffin. Of course. My roommate for this lovely, lovely spring break trip for my university.

I throw back the covers and glance at the clock on the bedside table. It’s barely 7 a.m., and our group isn’t meeting until nine. I was hoping for a quiet morning to ease into the day, maybe even get in a few pages of reading before breakfast.

Instead, I’m greeted with the dulcet tones of Griffin Knox absolutely butcheringLivin’ on a Prayer.

I march over to the bathroom door, banging on it with the side of my fist. “Griffin! What are you doing in there?”

The singing cuts off, and a second later, his muffled voice replies, “Showering, obviously! I went for an early morning runso I had to rinse off. So I’m showering, unless you count rubbing one out, which I did a little earlier. Good morning!”

I freeze, my hand still mid-air, the heat crawling up my neck now reaching full inferno levels.Did he just say?—?

“You’ve been in there forever!” I stammer, doing my best to recover, even though my brain is screaming. “And have you ever heard of this concept of being considerate for your roommate when they’resleeping? At seven a.m., no less?”

There’s a pause, followed by a low chuckle that somehow feels like a slow stroke against my fraying nerves.

“Well, I’m very sorry,roommate,” he calls back, his tone smug and infuriating. “But these pipes don’t clean themselves. I’m just over here, making sure I stay nice and fresh—for all the people who actually appreciate me.”

“Oh, please,” I snap, trying not to think aboutanythingrelated to him being “fresh.” Or “rubbing one out.” Nope. Not going there. Not today. “Just hurry up! Some of us haveactualthings to do.”

“Don’t worry, Sinclair. I’m almost done,” he replies, his voice laced with amusement. “Unless you need to use the shower to...you know,clear your mind?”

My jaw drops, my face now so hot I’m positive it could melt steel. “You’re theworst! I cannot believe you just said that!”

His laughter echoes, annoyingly rich and warm. “What can I say? I live to brighten your mornings.”

I roll my eyes so hard they practically spin. “If I survive this trip without throttling you, it’ll be a miracle.”

Through the door, I hear the water turn off, and a beat later, his voice, low and teasing: “Oh, I think you like having me around too much to throttle me.”

I storm back to the bed, yanking the covers over my head with a huff.Two weeks. Just two weeks.

Yet I hate to admit that the heat I felt last night when I came back from the bathroom and saw my journal in his hands.

I shake my head, shoving the thought away.No. My journal has hundreds of pages. The chances that he’d opened up tothatpage are slim. One-in two-hundred.

But still. There was a chance.

He’d looked amused. Smug, even. But also a little different. Like something hadshiftedjust slightly behind his eyes.

I mean, it’s not like I’d detailed anything too scandalous in there. Just…thoughts. Fantasies. Stuff I’d written down ages ago and forgot about until I’d seen the look on his face and remembered that page.

Stuff that—if Griffindidsee—would make me want to dig a hole in these ruins and stay there forever.

I shake it off. I’m being ridiculous.

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