Page 145 of The Rookie

The girl I wasn’t supposed to touch.

The girl I haven’t stopped wanting since that damn trip to Mexico.

And then—my phone buzzes.

I pull it out, glancing at the screen.

Cassie Calling.

Perfect timing.

I press the phone to my ear, leaning back in my seat. "Two calls in one night? I didn’t know you loved me that much, Cass."

Her laugh comes through the line, loud and unbothered. "Wow, hilarious. Listen—where are you right now?"

I frown, glancing around the club. "Out."

"Helpful." Her sarcasm is almost palpable. "Seriously, where are you? I’m with Avery, and we’re coming to meet you."

"Wait—what?" My stomach drops, my grip tightening on the phone.

"We’re at this cute little tapas place, and I told her you were out. She said she hasn’t seen you in forever, so I figured—why not? Where are you? I’ll put it in the GPS."

My chest tightens, my brain scrambling for an excuse—any excuse—to stop this train wreck before it happens.

"Cass, I don’t think?—"

"Don’t think, little brother," she interrupts, her tone irritatingly cheerful. "Just tell me where you are. We’ll be there in twenty."

I grit my teeth, glancing back at the table. Peyton and the guys are still in full celebration mode, and Brielle—or Brooke—I really need to get that straight—is staring at me like she’s wondering why I’m not paying attention to her.

And now?

Now Avery fucking Sinclair is about to walk into my night like it’s no big deal.

"Cantina Azul," I mutter, the words bitter on my tongue.

"Perfect! See you soon!"

The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone like it’s betrayed me.

Brielle—or whoever she is—sidles closer, her hand sliding up my arm, her perfume sharp enough to make my head spin.

"Everything okay?" she asks, her voice dripping with feigned concern, her eyes glinting like she sees an opening.

I shrug her off, brushing past her as I make my way back to the table.

The guys are still in full celebration mode, clinking glasses and throwing back shots like it’s the greatest night of their lives.

I drop into my seat, grabbing my drink, trying to shake off the heat crawling up the back of my neck.

But it’s no use.

Because she’s coming.

Avery Sinclair is coming, and I’m not ready.

"Yo, Knox," Peyton says, nudging me with his elbow. "What’s up with you, man? You look flushed. You ‘aight?”