Page 13

twelve

. . .

Avery

The faint sound of the shower running drifts through the room as I tie my hair back and try to focus on the Spanish vocab sheet in front of me. It’s not working.

Griffin’s been in there for fifteen minutes, and I already know he’s going to come out doing something infuriating. It’s like his life’s mission to find new ways to get under my skin.

Sure enough, the bathroom door creaks open, and steam billows out like some dramatic stage entrance.

Griffin steps into the room, a towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping from his hair onto his stupidly defined chest. Really? He couldn’t be one of those guys that just skips a shower every once in a while?

Actually, I appreciate that he’s so hygienic.

I glance down at my vocab sheet, pretending not to notice the way his muscles move as he walks over to his bag.

“You’re shirtless,” I say flatly, keeping my eyes fixed on the paper.

“You’re observant,” he replies, smirking as he rummages through his stuff.

“We agreed on rules, remember? One of them was wearing clothes.”

He straightens up, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he grabs a clean shirt. “I don’t do rules. Especially after we obliterated them last night. Not sure if you remember the—not one, but two make out sessions we had?”

When I finally look up, Griffin is staring straight at me.

“What, you just gonna stare?” Griffin asks, his grin widening.

I snap my gaze back to my paper, my cheeks burning. “I wasn’t staring. It was a glance!”

“Sure you weren’t,” he says, pulling on his shirt at a deliberately slow pace.

Alright. Two can play this game.

I grab my toiletries and head to the bathroom, ignoring his teasing as I shut the door behind me.

The hot water helps clear my head, though I can’t stop replaying that stupid smirk of his. He’s so cocky, so infuriatingly sure of himself—and maybe it’s time someone gave him a taste of his own medicine.

When I step back into the room, a towel wrapped securely around me, I catch Griffin lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone like he owns the place.

“Hey,” I say, my tone casual. “Can you pass me my bra and panties? They’re right there on the chair.”

His head snaps up, and for once, he’s caught off guard.

“Uh, what?” he asks, blinking.

“You heard me,” I say, pointing to the chair where my clothes are neatly folded. “Bra and panties. I totally forgot them. Thanks.”

He grabs them, his expression somewhere between amused and shocked as he holds them out.

I take them with a sweet smile, turning back toward the bathroom—but not before slipping my underwear on beneath my towel.

When I turn back, I catch his gaze in the mirror, and before he can say a word, I let the towel drop.

Griffin freezes, his eyes locked on mine in the reflection.

“What,” I say, biting my lip as I pull on my bra, “you just gonna stare?”

He doesn’t say anything at first, his jaw tightening as he drags a hand through his damp hair.

“Touche,” he mutters, finally breaking the silence.

“Thanks,” I say brightly, grabbing my clothes and heading for the bathroom again.

Behind me, I can feel his eyes still on me, and I can’t help the satisfied smirk that tugs at my lips.

Game, set, match.

Maybe I’ll have some fun with him today…since teasing him seems to be such a blast. He’s so cocky, after all. And I feel like no one ever puts him in his place.

But it’s definitely taking some self-control on my part after what we did last night.

When I come back into the room, towel-drying my hair, I find it empty. Griffin’s gone, his phone and keys missing from the nightstand. Probably off charming someone else, I think with a roll of my eyes.

I glance at the time—still an hour before we have to meet the group for breakfast. That’s when the thought hits me.

If he thinks he’s the king of this little game, maybe it’s time I raised the stakes.

I dig through my suitcase, pushing aside my usual comfy T-shirts and flowy dresses, until I spot it.

Every girl has The Shirt.

I don’t even remember packing it, but there it is: my pink halter deep V-neck crop top. Soft, fitted, and undeniably attention-grabbing. For whatever reason, it fits my body to absolute perfection. I’ve worn it exactly once before, to a party where it turned heads like I was some kind of celebrity.

Perfect.

I pull it on, adjusting the halter straps so they sit just right, the neckline dipping low enough to emphasize my cleavage without looking desperate. Then I pair it with my white linen shorts, the ones that sit high on my waist and make my legs look about a mile long.

Turning to the mirror, I smooth my hair back, letting it fall in loose waves around my shoulders.

“You’re playing with fire,” I mutter to my reflection, but there’s a flicker of satisfaction in my smile. May as well have some fun in this life. And, honestly? Something about Griffin makes torturing him fun.

I grab a small gold necklace, clasping it around my neck for an extra touch of "effortless." Then I step back and give myself a once-over in the mirror.

The outfit is bold, sure, but it’s not like I’m trying to seduce him.

Not really.

I’m just leveling the playing field.

Satisfied, I grab my bag and head out the door, a little spring in my step.

Let’s see how the king of cocky handles this.