Page 24

twenty-three

. . .

Avery

The next day is filled with class and another short excursion, and throughout the the I’m fighting quite the hangover.

So when we get back to the hotel late that afternoon, I’m staring at myself in the mirror, wondering how I’ve gotten here.

I’m truly considering Griffin’s proposal.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, interrupting my train of thought.

“You alive in there, Sinclair? You’ve been staring at yourself in the mirror for twenty minutes.”

I groan, staring at my reflection like it’s got all the answers. It doesn’t. Just a pink-faced, flustered mess of a girl who’s about to make a very questionable decision.

I open the door to find Griffin sitting on his bed, legs stretched out, looking relaxed and annoyingly smug. His shirt is gone (of course), and he’s scrolling through his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“What now?” he asks, not bothering to look up. “Need me to tie your shoes?”

“I’ve decided.”

That gets his attention. He glances up, phone slipping onto his lap as he studies me. “Decided what?”

“Your proposal.”

For once, he doesn’t smirk. He just watches me carefully, like he’s trying to gauge whether I’m messing with him or not. I cross my arms, feeling oddly powerful, even as my heart threatens to jump out of my chest.

“I have rules. Real rules this time.”

Griffin’s lips twitch, his expression softening into something infuriatingly amused. “Of course you do.”

“I’m serious.” I march over to my bed and grab my notebook, flipping it open to a blank page. “If we’re doing this, we need boundaries. Aside from the, ah, safe words we’ve established.”

Griffin sits up, swinging his legs off the bed. “By all means, lay ‘em out. I’m all ears.”

“Rule one: No cuddling after sex. ”

Griffin raises an eyebrow. “What, no post-game analysis? I feel like we’d want to go over the highlights.”

“This isn’t a football game, Knox. No cuddling.”

“Fine,” he says, holding up his hands. “No cuddling. Your loss.”

I shoot him a look before continuing.

“Rule two: No acting coupley. ”

“Define ‘coupley,’” Griffin interrupts, smirking like he already knows where this is going.

“No holding hands. No cute pet names. No… anything that would confuse this with something it’s not.”

Griffin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So I can’t call you Princesa? ”

“ Especially not that. That is done.”

He just grins wider, and I’m already regretting this.

“Rule three: No flirting. ”

Griffin actually laughs at that one, the sound warm and low and making my stomach flip in the worst possible way. “You want me to stop flirting? Sinclair, I don’t even know if I can turn that off.”

“Figure it out,” I say firmly. “This is purely physical. ”

“Purely physical. Got it.” He pauses, tapping his chin like he’s deep in thought. “So what do I call all the lingering eye contact and the ‘I hate how hot you are’ moments?”

“Rule three-and-a-half: stop talking.”

He laughs again, and I ignore the heat crawling up my neck.

“Rule four: No falling in love. ”

Griffin presses a hand to his chest, mock offended. “Ouch, Sinclair. Straight for the jugular.”

“I’m serious. That’s not happening.”

“You’re cute when you’re in denial,” he mutters, grinning.

“I’m not in denial,” I snap, flipping the notebook shut. “And the last rule—your sister never, ever finds out.”

That wipes the grin off his face. He nods seriously. “Fair. I’d like to survive this trip.”

“And last? But most importantly. This…thing…stays here. Once we leave Mexico, this never happened.”

Griffin stares at me, his expression unreadable.

“Promise me, Griffin.”

He raises one hand in mock salute. “I solemnly swear, on my Division I tight end status, that what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico, and that Cassie will never find out.”

“Good.” I cross my arms, watching him carefully. “Got all that?”

“Oh, I got it.” He stands, moving closer until he’s only a step away. The playful glint in his eyes softens just a little. “Now you want to hear my rules?”

“You have rules?”

“Of course.” He grins, leaning down slightly so we’re eye level. “Rule one: No overthinking. ”

“That’s not even a real rule.”

“It’s a real rule for you.”

I glare at him, but I don’t argue.

“Rule two,” Griffin continues, his voice dropping just a little. “ You have to admit when you’re enjoying yourself. ”

“That’s—”

He cuts me off with a smirk. “If you smile, laugh, or—God forbid—moan, you have to admit I’m great at what I do.”

I groan, smacking his shoulder lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Rule three,” he says, straightening up. “ If either of us wants to stop, we stop. No questions asked. No drama. Just red roses.”

I blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For the first time, he looks completely serious.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “Deal.”

And then, because of course he can’t help himself, he grins again.

“Rule four: You have to call me the best you’ve ever had. Not now, of course. After the first time.”

I throw my notebook at him, but he catches it easily, laughing as he backs away.

“Relax, Sinclair. Rules are rules.”