Page 19 of The Curveball

“It’s cute that you don’t want me to feel guilty, but I’m blaming myself. Comatose or not, my eyes were the ones that left the road.”

“Really? We’re going to compete on accepting blame for a car accident?”

“Seems that way.”

I huff. “Fine. Take the blame. It’s all yours.”

“I’m happy to take it.” He shifts on the chair and flips his Kings cap backward. “Our girl Anna says you’ve had more than one concussion, which means this one we really need to keep an eye on. How’d you knock your head last time?”

I roll my eyes. “One of my brothers was doing a stunt because he thinks he’s Evel Knievel and decided to test it on me first.”

“Didn’t go well?”

“Ended up in the ER with a broken arm and a bigger knot than this.” I point at the throbbing bump on my head. “I was shoved into more tubes and blasted with more radiation than a lab rat. I soon learned I hate them all. With a passion.”

Griffin tilts his head. His knuckles tap the top of my knee once. “I like when you tell me stories about you.”

“It’s the drugs.”

“I’ll spike your water from now on.”

“Illegal.”

“Only if you’re caught.”

I laugh, at ease, but steer our conversation somewhere else. “When can we leave?”

“We’re good to go, but I have a few things to chat with you about first. One: I’m curious why your hot date wasn’t there checking to make sure you were okay. He couldn’t have been far by then.”

Is he reaching to get details about Alvin? No. What a ridiculous thought. This is Griffin Marks, the dreamboat to half the women in Las Vegas because of his sweet demeanor with fans, his charitable disposition, and the smile that melts everyone in the stands when the jumbo screen catches it under his mask.

He’s being nice. Maybe he’s genuine, but it’s not like he cares much deeper than I’m a fellow Homosapien and he has compassion for the human race.

“Oh, he wasn’t around,” I said, quickly brushing it away. “He’d already left.”

Remember that sweet smile? It’s gone. Dead. Lost. Griffin’s face shifts into something closer to stone. His eyes narrow into dark slits, and his voice takes a dangerous edge I can’t decide if I love or want to curl back from.

“He wasn’t around because he’d already dropped you off to your car in the dark parking lot, and instead of leaving right away, you sat there for a long time, right?”

“Um . . .”

“Because I know the guy didn’t leave you to walk to your car alone,” he barrels on. “Again, in the pitch-black parking lot of a packed sports bar with more than one person indulging in inhibition blocking drinks. I know that’s not what he did.”

My mouth opens and closes. I probably look like a dead trout with the look of endless surprise.

The silence is enough for Griffin. His lip curls, and he cracks a thumb knuckle. It’s aggressive, a little scary, and a great deal of sexy.

“So, that was the last date with Big Al,” he grumbles.

“We didn’t make plans” –I’m flustered and have to clear my throat – “didn’t make plans for a second date, no.”

“Good.”

I come to my senses a bit and narrow my eyes. “Not that you have any say in what I do in my personal life.”

“Maybe not, Birdie, but trust me, if you had a second date, I’d become a class five clinger and probably teach Al a lesson on how he properly ends the night with a lady.”

He’s impossible.

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