Page 21 of The Curveball

“I’m fine. I’ll stay in a hotel. Or I’ll call Alice. Satisfied?”

“Sure. Except Alice has kids, and a husband, and I know you’d rather pluck off your fingernails than insert yourself like that.”

I pucker my lips because he’s dead right. My pride is a personality flaw and strength all tangled up in one weird trait. “There is Sk—”

“Don’t say Skye and Parker. You’re coming home with me, and I’m going to wake you up every two hours.”

I cough, stunned. “Um, no.”

“Um, yes. If you’re not going to call your family, then you’re coming with me. I put you in this situation, which I’m actually glad I did, not for the goose egg on your head, I mean, but for it unearthing the fact that you’re living in your car.” Griffin draws in a long breath from his ramble session and continues. “So, since I’m responsible, it’s only right I help fix your housing situation too.”

“I’m not living with you.”

“It’s hardly living with me.” He scoffs like something should be obvious. “I bought an old duplex and fixed it up. It’s freaking amazing. You’d basically have your own two-bedroom place. There is a kitchenette and everything. Used to be a full kitchen, of course, but I tore it out for more space, so you’ll hardly even see me. Except tonight. You’ll see a lot of me.”

His words flow out like a dam bursting, but it’s collected, matter-of-fact . . . convincing.

“Why did you buy a duplex if it’s just you?”

“Planning ahead. I’m my mom’s only kid, and she’s had some health issues in the past, so I wanted to be prepared if she ever needed to stay with me.”

“Oh. That’s, uh, that’s sweet.”

He shrugs. “She’s my mom, and she’s amazing. It did help a lot when she had a knee surgery a while back. So, I know how great it can be for someone to use who doesn’t want their privacy invaded. Seriously, there is a separate entrance, even your own carport for when you get a new car because yours is likely toast. New countertops, cupboards, a big master bedroom, two and a half baths. You won’t even see me. Unless you want to.”

He clears his throat and flicks his eyes to the side after the last word, and I fight the urge to read into it.

This is nuts. I shouldn’t even consider it, but . . .

“I see you,” Griffin says. “You’re trying to find a way to make this a terrible idea, but you won’t be able to, Birdie, because it’s a great idea. It’s an awesome idea.”

I can’t do this. Not with Griffin Marks. I’ve been carefully building my protective gates against him since the first time we met. That day is the only reason I know the man has a prickly side and can fire out snippy comments.

He’s apologized at least fifty times for calling me ‘sweetheart’ with condescension. It was irritating, but not enough to hold a grudge for this long. No, it was the fact that the man was prickly that set me on edge.

He was worried and under stress for someone else.

Before Parker and Skye walked down the aisle, forces outside their control tried to tear them apart. I saw the fury in Griffin’s eyes out of concern for his friend.

In that moment, I knew he was the loyal type. The one who’d have your back no matter what, and the way he challenged me—I’ll never forget how it cracked a bit of the icy cynicism around my little black heart.

I write romance, but in reality, it’s fantasy.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve guarded up my heart against the notion of falling for someone. But there was that stupid spark all romantic novelists talk about. A rush, a fleeting moment of connection that came when I went toe-to-toe with the Kings’ catcher.

He’s been a dangerous force of nature to my brittle walls ever since.

“Wren,” he whispers. “You’re zoning out on me again, but that’s okay. We’re good to go. I’ll drive, and you can zone out and dream up any story you want.”

“Griffin, I can’t.”

He shoulders the bag of my things and stands from his chair. “You can.”

“You don’t need to feel guilty and give me half your house because of it.”

“I do feel guilty, but that’s not why I’m offering half my house,” he says. “You might not think I can go deep enough to care about anything but my pretty face, but I do. I care about you, Wren. And you need to know I can really dig in when I’m passionate about something. You getting a roof over your head in a good, safe neighborhood with the best neighbor ever making sure your brain doesn’t melt during the night? Yeah, I’m digging in, babe.”

I rub the back of my neck, knowing I’m on a losing path. “You need to let me pay rent until my apartment is open again.”

---