Page 28

twenty-seven

. . .

Avery

After our ridiculously hot, mind-melting, all-time fantasy-level shower session—not that I’d ever admit that to him—Griffin leans over the hotel phone, still dripping wet, towel barely hanging onto his hips, and orders champagne.

"Yeah, send up your best bottle," he tells room service, his voice still husky from everything we just did. "We’re celebrating."

I arch an eyebrow from where I’m perched on the edge of the bed, my damp hair wrapped in a towel, just wearing a pair of tiny sleep shorts and nothing else.

“Oh? And what exactly are we celebrating?”

He glances over at me, those green eyes sharp and full of mischief.

But I barely register his response—because my brain is still short-circuiting over the fact that this is happening.

That he is here. That I am here. That we are… this.

And maybe it’s the lingering post-orgasm haze, maybe it’s the champagne on its way, maybe it’s just the sheer insanity of this entire situation, but I finally let myself think about it.

I let myself admit the thing I’ve spent years pretending wasn’t real.

The fantasy I never let myself have.

Because, oh, I noticed Griffin Knox.

I noticed him in high school when he suddenly grew into a big, broad-shouldered, six-foot-five star athlete.

I noticed when his voice dropped, when he filled out, when he went from my best friend’s annoying little brother to a man that made other girls giggle and whisper behind their hands.

I noticed the way people looked at him. The way he started carrying himself differently. The way he became someone that nobody could ignore.

And I ignored it.

I forced myself to.

Because that was Griffin. Cassie’s younger brother.

Because he was trouble. Because he was too cocky, too easy with that grin, too much of a walking red flag.

And maybe, back then, I told myself I didn’t think about him like that.

But now?

Now I know I was lying.

Because I remember one moment, in particular.

I was a sophomore in college, just walking across campus after class, when I saw him.

He was a freshman, fresh off his first major win as, walking out of the stadium like he owned the entire damn world.

And he looked—God, he looked good.

Sweat-damp gray T-shirt, football pads slung over his shoulder, dark blond hair a little messy from practice.

And he saw me.

He grinned, slow and lazy, and said, “Hey, Sinclair. You coming to the game this weekend?”

And I—I did something stupid.

I stammered.

I literally fumbled over my words like some blushing, starstruck idiot, mumbled something about being busy, and walked away as fast as possible.

And I never let myself think about that moment again.

Until now.

Until now, when Griffin Knox is standing in our hotel room, still wet from our shower, ordering champagne and tequila like he just won a championship, like he knew all along this was inevitable.

Until now, when he turns back to me, smirking like he’s got me figured out.

“We’re celebrating,” he says, “because that was the best sex of your life.”

I snort, trying to play it cool, trying to ignore the fact that he might actually be right. No. He’s definitely right.

“And yours, too.”

He shrugs, sitting on the edge of the bed, close enough that his knee brushes against mine.

“I mean…that was my first time. So…yeah.”

I could keep playing this game we’ve played for so long. He digs me, I dig him.

Instead, I just fight back a grin, trying to ignore the fact that Griffin Knox—the one fantasy I never let myself have—is sitting right next to me, looking at me like I’ve been his fantasy all along.

“Honestly though, this is fun. Our arrangement. Our partnership. Our undeniable chemistry.” He winks. "And yes, there’s the fact that I am no longer a virgin, thanks to you."

I snort, shaking my head. “Oh yeah? And what, you think one time makes you an expert now?”

"Baby, I was an expert before I even started.”

I throw a pillow at his face just as a knock sounds at the door.

Griffin, still laughing, grabs his wallet and pads over to answer it, accepting the champagne with a quick tip and a cocky grin.

"Perfect timing," he says, carrying the bottle and two glasses onto the balcony overlooking the beach.

The air is warm, the scent of salt and sun clinging to everything as I step outside, dropping into one of the lounge chairs.

Griffin pops the cork with a practiced ease, pouring us both glasses before sinking into the chair beside me, his long legs stretching out, his towel still barely hanging on.

He laughs, clinking his glass against mine. "To a week of fun in Mexico. To…unorthodox friendship.”

“To trying not to hate each other for at least a week.”

“I’ll always hate you, Sinclair. Doesn’t mean the sex isn’t amazing.”

I take a sip, the bubbles crisp and cool against my lips, and glance out at the waves crashing onto the shore.

It’s almost too perfect—the warm night air, the view, the lingering heat of his body still fresh on my skin.

Then Griffin speaks.

"So, what happens after Mexico?"

The question throws me off guard, my stomach flipping slightly. I don’t want to think about it.

"What do you mean?" I ask carefully.

He shrugs, turning to face me, his eyes steady, unreadable. "I mean your dream, Sinclair. The one you’ve been avoiding for months."

Oh. That. I exhale, swirling the champagne in my glass. Am I…already getting attached to him? Fuck me. My head is spinning after being possessed by him. "I don’t know."

"I do." His voice is firm, certain. "You apply. You go after it. No bullshit excuses. We get one life. Our desires—our dreams—they’re placed there for a reason.”

“You really believe that?”

I glance at him, his jaw set like he won’t accept anything less than a yes.

“I do. And you don’t know where they’ll lead you. What adventure you might go on once you take the first step.”

"It’s not that easy," I murmur.

"Yeah, it is." He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "What’s stopping you?"

I don’t answer.

Because the truth is—nothing is.

Nothing except fear. Doubt. That nagging voice telling me I’m not good enough for what I really want. Something saying that I should rewrite my essay one more time, and then I’ll get it right.

Griffin sees the hesitation in my face and shakes his head.

“You’ve never half-assed anything in your life. Why start now? Avery…”

He gets up, his eyes locked on mine, threading his fingers gently through my hair. “They’d be lucky to have you. That’s the God’s honest truth.”

His voice is low, firm, and so damn sure of me.

"I don’t know where along the line you stopped believing you weren’t good enough to go after what you really want. But you need to start doing that again."

The words hit something deep inside me, something raw and real.

A tear slips free before I can stop it, rolling down my cheek. It’s not from sadness, not exactly.

It’s just… no one has ever talked to me like Griffin does.

Like I’m capable. Like I’m meant for something more. Like I’m worth believing in.

I let out a watery laugh, brushing the tear away quickly. “God, you’re annoying when you’re right.”

Griffin grins, but it’s softer than usual. “I’m annoying all the time. This just happens to be a bonus.”

He gets up, disappears into the hotel room, and a second later, I hear the sound of a speaker clicking on.

Then—Tom Petty.

"You don’t know how it feels… to be me…"

My heart does a tumble, and I try to swallow it back down.

The music, the night air, him.

I’m feeling all jumbled up now.

Who is this man?

Who fucks me like a porn star, as a virgin?

Who makes me laugh like it’s the easiest thing in the world?

Who sees through me better than I see myself?

I take another sip, letting the tequila burn down my throat, trying to settle my thoughts.

Griffin just sits back, stretching his arms behind his head, watching me.

There’s no pressure. No expectation.

Just him, being stupidly, frustratingly, effortlessly Griffin.

And that’s when I make my decision.

I stand abruptly, heading back inside. “Be right back.”

He doesn’t ask where I’m going. Doesn’t stop me.

I grab my laptop from the bedside table, sit cross-legged on the bed, and pull up the Fulbright application.

A moment later, I hear footsteps.

Griffin leans against the doorway, smirking. "Damn. That was fast."

I glance up at him, a small, wobbly smile tugging at my lips.

“Yeah, well. I figured it was about time I stopped half-assing things too.”

Griffin’s smirk softens into something else. Something real.

He walks forward, sits down on the edge of the bed, eyes still locked on me.

“Good girl.”

And God help me—it shouldn’t make me shiver.

But it absolutely does.

I roll my eyes. “Fine. You motivated me. You happy?”

He moves behind me, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my bare shoulder, his voice warm and teasing.

"I knew you couldn’t resist a challenge."

I ignore him, type out final answers to the questions I’ve been procrastinating, review them, and—without thinking too hard—hit submit.

The second it’s done, I sit back, staring at the screen like I can’t believe I actually did it.

Griffin reaches over, tilts my chin toward him, and grins.

"Now that’s something worth celebrating."

I shake my head, laughing softly. “You know what? Thank you, Griffin. Your dickishness finally provided some inspiration.”

“See? I’m more than just a sexy face. And a big dick.”

I roll my eyes. "A truly multitalented individual."

“It’s a burden, but I bear it well.” He winks.

I exhale, still smiling, but then—before I can overthink it—I ask, “Griffin… can I ask you something?”

His brow lifts slightly. “Anything.”

I hesitate, then say, “You said football and a family.”

“Yeah?”

“Like… how many kids do you want to have?”

He swallows slowly. “One time together and you’re already asking about kids.”

My stomach drops. "No, I meant, like… in general."

His expression softens. “I know, I’m just messing with you.”

He leans back, running a hand through his hair. “I want four.”

I blink. “Four?”

He nods. “I grew up in a house that was always loud, always chaotic. And yeah, maybe Cassie and I wanted to kill each other half the time, but… I liked it. I don’t want a quiet life.”

Something warms in my chest.

“How about you?” he asks.

I hesitate. “I don’t know. I don’t really…”

"What?" He puts a hand on my shoulder, his thumb brushing absently against my skin.

I exhale. “It’s just… with Gavin, he wanted me to stay at home, do nothing, raise a bunch of kids. That was his dream. And I felt myself resisting it, like—why did that feel so wrong to me?”

Griffin is quiet, watching me closely.

I bite my lip, searching for the words. “I think I might want them. Someday. I just… I want to be something first. I want to build a life before I bring someone into it.”

He nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

I inhale deeply. “And I want to really be in love when I do. I don’t just want to have them to have them. And that’s not something you can plan.”

He tilts his head. "No. But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen."

I blink at him. “What, you suddenly an expert on fate?”

“Nah.” His smirk returns, playful but softer now. “But I know what it feels like when something just… fits.”

My stomach does something ridiculous.

I’m about to throw another pillow at him when?—

BAM BAM BAM.

The loud knock echoes through the room, shattering the moment like a crack of thunder.

Griffin groans dramatically, throwing himself back onto the pillows. “You have got to be kidding me. Who the hell is that?”

The knock comes again, harder this time, followed by a voice that makes my stomach twist.

“Avery? Are you in there?”

My blood runs cold. Griffin stiffens beside me, his playful expression hardening into something sharper, more dangerous. “Who the fuck is that?” he asks, his voice low.

“It’s… Gavin,” I whisper, barely able to say the name.

His brows draw together. “Gavin? As in your boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I snap, shoving myself upright and clutching the sheet to my chest. My heart is racing, panic and disbelief warring inside me. “What the hell is he doing here? I told him we were done. And he… came all the way to Mexico?”

Griffin’s lips curl into a slow, dangerous smirk. “Guess he didn’t get the memo.”

“That’s just creepy. Like…who does that? We dated for three months .”

The knock sounds again, louder this time, and I’m up, pacing in frantic circles. “I don’t want to see him,” I whisper.

Griffin watches me, the tension simmering in his body offset by the maddeningly cocky grin spreading across his face. “Relax, Sinclair. I’ll handle it.”

“Handle it? No, absolutely not!” I hiss, spinning to face him. “You are not answering that door. Just let him go. He could be a psycho.”

“Why not?” he asks, still lounging in bed like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

“Because you’re naked, Griffin!” I snap, waving my arms in exasperation.

He glances down at himself, then shrugs. “I’ve got a towel on.”

“Griffin, I’m serious!” My voice rises in pitch as I clutch the sheet tighter. “This is not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” he counters, standing and stretching leisurely, completely unfazed. “I mean, the guy flies all the way down here to win you back, and the first thing he sees is me.”

“Naked.”

“No.” His grin sharpens. “In a towel.”

“Griffin, don’t you dare—” But before I can stop him, he strides toward the door, all six feet plus of him, gloriously naked and entirely unapologetic.

He yanks the door open, and I want to die right there on the spot.

Gavin’s jaw clenches so tight I can hear his teeth grinding. His eyes dart between me—wrapped in nothing but a sheet—and Griffin, standing there in a damn towel, dripping wet, completely at ease.

His nostrils flare. “What the hell is going on here?”

Griffin leans against the doorframe, stretching his arms overhead in a way that’s completely unnecessary and definitely for show.

"You must be Gavin," he says, his tone dripping with mock politeness. "Welcome to the party."

I groan internally, gripping the sheet tighter around myself.

"Griffin." My voice is a warning.

But he just grins, unbothered as ever, and turns back to Gavin like I never spoke. "So, tell me, man. You flew all the way here—big romantic gesture, gotta respect it. What’s your play?”

Gavin’s face twists, his jaw ticking harder, like he’s forcing himself to hold back. “That’s none of your business.”

Griffin tilts his head, amused. "See, that's where you're wrong. Everything in this room is my business."

I drop my face into my hands. "Oh my God."

"Avery," Gavin snaps, his frustration spilling over. "Are you seriously just gonna let him stand here and talk to me like this?"

I open my mouth, but Griffin beats me to it.

"No, no," Griffin says smoothly, lifting a hand. "She doesn't have to say anything. Because I already know the answer."

Gavin scoffs. "Oh yeah? And what’s that?"

Griffin’s grin sharpens, darkens, his voice dropping just slightly. "That you're not here for some friendly catch-up."

The air between them shifts, tightening like a coiled wire.

"You came here to win her back," Griffin continues, his gaze steady, unreadable, but cutting through Gavin like a damn scalpel. "Problem is, you waited too long."

Gavin’s face goes red.

"I—" He stops, struggling for words. "I didn't?—"

"Go on," Griffin drawls, crossing his arms. "Say it. Admit why you're really here."

Gavin’s fists clench at his sides, his whole body taut with frustration.

"Fuck you," he spits. "You don’t know anything about me."

Griffin raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed. "No, but I know her."

The words land hard, knocking all the air out of the room.

I freeze, heart pounding in my ears.

"And if you really knew her," Griffin says, his voice low, even, but sharp as a knife, "you’d know you already lost."

Gavin snaps.

In one quick, blind burst of frustration, he lunges at Griffin, shoving him hard in the chest.

Griffin doesn’t even flinch.

Doesn’t stumble.

Doesn’t react at all.

He just exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders, looking Gavin up and down like he’s an impatient customer at a deli counter.

"Feel better?" he asks casually.

Gavin’s breath heaves, his hands curling into fists, like he wants to throw another punch.

Griffin finally, finally straightens, cracking his neck, eyes flicking down at the inch of space between them.

"Think real hard about your next move, man," he murmurs, his voice softer now, but somehow more dangerous than if he’d yelled. "Because I guarantee you—if you put your hands on me again, you're gonna regret it."

Gavin swallows hard. He knows it too.

He knows he’s already lost.

He knows Griffin doesn’t even have to throw a punch—because he’s already won.

And that’s when it really hits me.

Griffin was right.

Gavin didn’t come here just to talk. He came here because he thought I’d still be waiting.

Because he thought I’d still want him.

And looking at him now—angry, frustrated, flustered in a way I’ve never seen before—I feel absolutely nothing.

I thought this moment would be cathartic.

I thought I’d feel vindicated, validated, something.

But all I feel is done.

“Gavin,” I say quietly. “You should go.”

He whips his head toward me, eyes narrowing. "Avery?—"

"Go," I say again, firmer this time. "Whatever you're looking for here...it's gone."

He stares at me, waiting for me to take it back, to hesitate, to say anything that gives him hope.

I don’t.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, Gavin shakes his head, scoffs, and turns on his heel.

The door slams behind him.

Silence settles in the room, heavy and final.

I exhale, running a hand over my face.

Griffin lets out a low whistle. "Damn. That was brutal, Sinclair. Kinda hot, though."

I throw a pillow at him.

He catches it effortlessly, grinning. "Seriously. That was some top-tier rejection. I think he left a part of his ego on the carpet."

I groan, flopping back against the bed. "I can’t believe that just happened."

Griffin crawls onto the bed beside me, his voice softer now. "You okay?"

I turn my head to look at him. His hair is still damp, his towel barely hanging on, his stupid grin fading into something more serious.

And maybe it’s the adrenaline.

Maybe it’s the relief.

Or maybe it’s just him.

But suddenly, I don’t want to think anymore.

I just want to feel.

So I push up onto my elbows, grab the back of his neck, and kiss him—deep, slow, certain.

He hums against my lips, smiling as he shifts, rolling me under him.

“Mm,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to smirk against my mouth. “Now this? This is worth celebrating, baby.”