Page 52 of The Rookie

It’s a simple touch, but it knocks the wind out of me.

“Are you—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“Shh.”

“You did not just shush me,” she mutters, though there’s no bite to her voice.

I grin in the dark, the kind of stupid, uncontrollable smile I can’t seem to stop. “You’re the one who said ‘no funny business.’ I’m following orders.”

Her body shifts slightly, and I swear I feel her roll her eyes. “This is a bad idea.”

“You’re probably right,” I murmur, but I don’t move my hand.

She goes quiet after that, and for a while, I just lie there, a smile still tugging at the corners of my mouth. The bed is smaller than I expected—either that, or Avery takes up more space than she should—but I don’t mind.

I don’t know how I ended up here, wrapped up in her space, her warmth soaking into me, her soft breaths brushing against my skin. Her scent—something floral and a little sweet, like lavender and vanilla—lingers faintly in the air between us, and it’s doing things to me I don’t want to name.

I feel her shift slightly, her body settling closer, and I can’t help it: My heart stumbles like I’m standing under the stadium lights, thousands of people watching me, waiting for the snap.

And then, she sighs—a small, sleepy sound that fills the silence between us like she’s finally letting her guard down.

My grip on her waist softens instinctively, my thumb brushing the edge of her shirt where the fabric meets bare skin.

This feels nice.

Too nice.

It’s messing with my head, the way her presence is quieting the noise in my chest, replacing it with something softer. Something more dangerous.

That thought alone should terrify me. But it doesn’t.

“Mmm,” she moans softly, the sound rolling out of her like it belongs here. “I like your arms around me, Griffin.”

Her words hit me like a linebacker, straight to the chest.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks…for what?”

“For just…being you. You’re fun. I probably would be in a different headspace if you weren’t here.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“Just because it’s easy for you doesn’t mean it’s not a big deal. Night, Doofus,” she says, smiling.

“Night.”

My heart kicks into a sprint, faster than it should be—racing like I’m about to step onto the field for a playoff game. I try to take a breath, to steady myself, but her words settle deeper than I want them to.

I swallow hard. This makes no sense.

Because this is Avery.

Avery Sinclair, my sister’s best friend. The girl who’s been a thorn in my side for years. The girl I’m definitely not supposed to be thinking about like this.

And yet, here I am.

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