Page 35 of The Rookie

Griffin smirks.

Oh, hell.

Before I can process what’s happening, he steps closer, closing the space between us. His body moves in perfect sync with mine, and I feel the heat of him against my back as I grind my ass into him.

The circle dissolves, the crowd swallowing us whole. The noise around us fades into a hum, the bodies pressing in creating an almost unbearable intimacy. We’re no longer a spectacle.We’re just two people lost in the rhythm, the tension between us crackling like electricity.

His hand slides along my waist again, but this time, it lingers. His fingers trail upward, grazing the curve of my ribs before brushing the base of my throat. I suck in a sharp breath as his touch shifts lower, so close to the swell of my breasts that my skin feels like it’s on fire. I press backward, into him, and I can feel him.All of him.

Every move pulls us closer, the space between us non-existent. His hand stays where it is, steady but suggestive, while his hips press into mine, matching my every roll and sway.

His hands never push, never demand—just guide. And somehow, that makes it worse.

My breath catches as he dips me low, his grip strong and sure, his lips hovering just inches from mine.

I should be laughing. I should be brushing this off.

But I’m not.

Because when I meet his gaze, there’s no trace of humor, no trace of playfulness. Just heat. Raw, unrelenting heat.

The back-and-forth continues, each move daring the other to break. The tension between us is thick enough to cut, and I’m hyperaware of the way his eyes are fixed on me—like I’m the only person in the room.

And the worst part?

It sends an undeniable thrill rushing through me.

By the time the music slows to something softer, I’m breathless and flushed, my heart pounding in my chest.

Griffin steps closer, his grin softer now, almost genuine.

“I think you won,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Damn right I did.” But it lacks its usual bite.

For a moment, neither of us moves, the air between us crackling with something I can’t quite name.

Then—just when I think he might say something else, might do something else—Jake comes from nowhere and slaps a hand on my shoulder.

“That was incredible! You two need to take this act on the road.”

The spell shatters, and I laugh it off, stepping back, putting space between us.

But my body still hums from where he touched me.

And when I glance back at Griffin, his gaze is still on me.

Like he’s not quite ready to let go of whateverthatwas.

I should leave it. I should grab Jake, down another drink, throw myself into the crowd again until the heat in my chest fades into something manageable.

But I don’t.

Because Griffin is already moving.

His fingers brush my wrist—a barely-there touch that somehow lights me up—and then he tilts his head toward the empty back patio. A silent invitation.

I don’t question it.

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