Page 22 of The Curveball

“Nah, just dedicate your next book to me.”

“I’m paying rent.”

He blows out his lips. “We’ll work out the details, bossy, but I’ll win on this too since I don’t need you to pay rent.”

“Because of your trillion-dollar contract?”

“I told you, that starts next season.” Griffin pauses and holds out a hand, a gentle smile on his mouth. “Come on. Let’s go home.

CHAPTER8

WREN

This isn’t a duplex.It’s a manor. Griffin left out the fact that his old duplex restoration project is up in the hills above the city, and each side of his house is almost three thousand square feet. And the kitchenette, as he so humbly put it, is basically a full kitchen. Maybe a bit less counter space and a skinnier dishwasher, but it’s beautiful.

Griffin gently places the bag on the clean, farm-style kitchen table. It’s painted a pearly white and distressed to look vintage. The whole look fits with the delicate, bubbled glass vases of flowers and herbs, and a whole back country vibe.

“My mom is from Kansas originally,” Griffin says as if he can read my thoughts. “She picked out the décor. Hope it works for you.”

“Works for me,” I mutter under my breath. I’m a little woozy, but I fight it off and school my face into something stern. “Griffin, this is too much.”

“No, this is just the kitchen.” He jabs his thumb at the door we came through. “That’s one entrance. But there is the secret passageway that leads into my side of the house. We’ll go over that when you’re feeling a little better. But for now, I’m taking you to bed.”

My face prickles even though he means something entirely different.

Griffin curls an arm around my waist. I don’t pull away despite my baser instincts. Truth be told, each step is getting a little more unsteady. Leaning against his hard body is like having my own wall to brace against.

Griffin leads us down a wide hallway to the last door. Inside, the bedroom is enormous, with a bay window jutting into the backyard. My head screams like a fire has been lit behind my eyes, but I can’t stop gawking at this place.

A large king bed is in the center, covered in a white comforter and big, European-style pillows. Two matching end tables are placed on either side of the bed, and a plush armchair is next to a nook filled with shelves of books.

Books I can’t read at the moment, but I’m practically drooling to dig in.

“Here. Sit.” Griffin eases me on the edge of the bed and hurries to the dresser across the room. “Sorry, it’s filled with my workout clothes right now.”

He holds up a Kings T-shirt with his number on the back, and a pair of athletic shorts. “They’ll probably drown you, but we can get your clothes tomorrow. The bathroom is right through here. I have all the toiletries you’ll need already.”

I forget to argue the point that I’m a full-grown woman and can buy my own tampons and bodywash. Another snort-laugh blasts out of my nose at the thought.

“What’s funny?” Griffin asks over his shoulder.

“I was just imagining you buying feminine products.”

The man doesn’t even flush. Carter and Darren are just immature enough they’d at least groan.

Griffin scoffs. “Birdie, I know all the best brands. Grew up with a blunt, country-girl mom. Plus, I lived around my cousins. Only one is a guy and he’s eight years older than me. His sisters babysat me, so I know my stuff.”

When he winks at me again, it hits like a strike to the back of the head—Griffin Marks is unexpected. He’s destructive in a way that I’m convinced my safe, comfortable world is about to be shaken indefinitely.

He watches me like I might turn to broken glass any second as I gather his clothes and slip into the bathroom.

I’m wobbly, exhausted, and all I want to do is close my eyes. Somehow I manage to dress without wincing too much at the furious headache, clean my teeth, and slip back into the room before I tip over.

My heart squeezes.

Griffin already has the covers turned down. I must’ve taken longer than I thought, because he’s stripped to sweats and a plain white T-shirt. It’s a good look on the man. I think I hate him for it, but I wouldn’t mind if he stuck around to let me ogle him to sleep either.

“To bed, Birdie.”

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