Page 30 of The Rookie

She doesn’t even look up. “I’m good. Thanks.”

I grin, trying a different approach. “We’re going to dance.”

That gets her attention. Her eyes snap to mine, and for the first time tonight, I see a flicker of something other than exhaustion.

“Bailar, you say?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, vamos a bailar toda la noche,” I reply, throwing in a dramatic accent for good measure. “All night long, baby.”

And then—before she can roll her eyes, before she can shoot me down—I push off the bed, swipe my phone off the nightstand, and press play.

The opening beats of "Despacito" fill the room.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”

“Never been more serious in my life.”

I grab her hand and yank her up before she can protest, spinning her straight into my arms. She gasps, eyes going wide as I smoothly twirl her once, then again, pulling her close like we’re in the middle of a crowded dance floor instead of a tiny hotel room.

“Griffin!” she shrieks, already breathless.

“Shhh. Feel the music, Princess.”

I slide a hand to her waist and start swaying dramatically, singing along with absolute zero shame.

She loses it.

Full-on, hysterical laughter, her head tilting back as she nearly collapses against me, completely helpless. “Oh my God, you’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming.”

“Ridiculously off-beat.”

I gasp. “How dare you? I’m in my prime.”

I dip her suddenly, just to prove a point, and she yelps, gripping onto my shoulders as she laughs even harder. “Don’t drop me!”

Drop her? Oh, never. I grin down at her. “That’s the spirit.”

When I pull her back up, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes finally alive again.

She shakes her head, still giggling. “Okay, fine. Let me get ready.”

I release her with a grand flourish. “That’s what I thought.”

I watch as she disappears into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.

And for the first time tonight, I don’t wonder if she actually wants to go out.

Because right before she walked away—just for a second—she looked happy.

If cheering up Avery is all I’m meant to do this trip, then so be it.

Fifteen to twenty minutes later, the door creaks open, and she steps out.

She’s wearing a simple dress—soft and flowy, with thin straps that frame her shoulders and just enough curve to make my brain short-circuit for a second. Her hair falls loosely around her face, and her cheeks have the faintest flush, like she’s trying not to seem like she tried too hard.

She looks stunning.

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