Page 59 of The Rookie

A blush pink wrap dress with short sleeves and a neckline that dips just low enough to be dangerous. I didn’t even mean to pack it. I must’ve thrown it in last minute, thinking I wouldn’t need it.

But now, I hold it up to my chest, eyeing myself in the tiny mirror hanging on the closet door.

When I finally step out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, dressed and ready, the room goes quiet.

Griffin’s halfway through pulling on a T-shirt, but he freezes, his arms stuck halfway through the sleeves.

His eyes sweep over me—slowly, from my sandals to the blush pink fabric tied snugly at my waist and the dip of the neckline—and I pretend not to notice the way his mouth drops open for half a second.

“You’re staring,” I say flatly, smoothing the fabric over my hips.

Griffin blinks, pulling the shirt the rest of the way down and clearing his throat. “No, I’m not.”

“Youdefinitelyare,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

He drags a hand through his hair, his smirk reappearing. “Just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think you owned anything…pink.”

“What are you talking about? I literally wore a pink top already.” I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, smirk growing. “You look fine. Totally average.”

“Right,” I deadpan, grabbing my purse. “Keep telling yourself that, Knox.”

“Fine. That’s the one,” Griffin says immediately, his tone shifting from teasing to something softer. “I admit. It.”

I glance at him sharply. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, looking all too pleased with himself. “I mean, if you’re going for‘I’m gonna ruin Griffin’s night,’then yeah. That’s the dress. Congratulations.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the way my cheeks warm as I turn back to the mirror. “What do you like about it? Oh, let me guess. The cleavage.”

“Hmmm…didn’t even notice,” he shoots back, grinning, and scratching his head.

“The day I dress up for you, Knox, will be the day hell freezes over. This is my ‘girls wanna have fun’ dress. And yes, it has a plunging neckline.”

“Huh,” he drawls, stretching out on the bed like the human equivalent of a cat. “Well that’s, uh, interesting.”

As I turn to leave, I catch his reflection in the mirror—his gaze lingering just a little too long before he shakes himself out of it.

Serves him right.

I’m feeling pretty good in my blush pink wrap dress. The fabric is soft, the fit is perfect, and—despite myself—I know I look good. Not that it matters. Not forhim.

Griffin, however, seems to have lost the ability to speak.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, mid-sentence, when he freezes. His eyes widen for just a second—just long enough for me to catch—and then he clears his throat, dragging a hand through his messy hair.

“You’re staring,” I say, smoothing the dress over my hips as I fight to keep my voice casual.

“I amnotstaring,” he shoots back, but his tone lacks conviction. He shifts on the bed, suddenly looking like he’s trying very hard to remember how words work.

“You definitely were,” I tease, enjoying this far too much.

He shakes his head, recovering with a smirk. “Fine. And if I was?”

I don’t respond. For a moment, Griffin just watches me, his smirk fading into something quieter. It makes my stomach do a stupid little flip that I immediately try to squash.

“Well,” he says, standing up suddenly and rubbing his palms on his jeans, “if you’re going to make an effort, I guess I should return the favor.”

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