Page 7 of The Curveball

CHAPTER3

WREN

He’s a force.A thing you feel before you see him. Cliché? Pfft. Anyone saying it’s cliché has never met the energy, the aura, theirritatinglysymmetrical face of Griffin S. Marks.

I don’t know what the ‘S’ stands for, and I don’t care. What I care about is his exuberance is rolling down the hallway in the form of a whistle and strut (I don’t need to see him to know he’s strutting), and I’m about to be plagued by his jovial, perfectly straight, white smile.

I’m not in the mood, nor do I have the ability to shoo him away.

My stomach is already shredding itself into knots over this date. According to Alice, Alvin is perfect for me.

Breaking news: a perfect man only exists within the tattooed skin of dead trees.

Also known as books.

I agreed to the date because my particular profession demands I understand the basis of relationships, and I’m trying to write a meet-cute in book two. A first date might spur up some inspiration. What I didn’t anticipate was the presence of the one man who gets under my skin in ways unique to him, and I do not need anything setting me off kilter more than I already am.

I close my eyes and do the thing Skye Knight always tells me to do when my muscles tense.

Stiffness starts to bleed from my shoulders when the rhythmic knock echoes against Alice’s marketing office door. Ally is a saint and lets me use the space to my heart’s content when I’m at the field.

At the second boom of a knock, I pretend my skin doesn’t prickle like a thousand centipedes are having a marathon on my arms. That knock belongs to one person, and one person only.

In a frenzy, I start to fold up my notebooks and laptop, trying to look busy and too preoccupied to have a conversation.

The creak of the hinges dries my mouth. The rattle of the old-school blinds on the door sends my pulse into my ears. The whiff of summer at the beach with a hint of something rugged like . . . a toolshed sends heat to all the places I refuse to acknowledge.

“There she is, my favorite literary—”

I hold up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m on my way out, Griffin.”

“Didn’t even need to look around to know it was me. I’m impressed, Birdie.” The man is bold, unbothered, and intrusive as he strides into the office and leans against the narrow desk built into the wall. “And what a coincidence, I’m heading out too. As I understand it, we’re going to the same place. Want to drive together?”

I frown and lift my eyes. Freshly showered Griffin is even more aggravating than sweaty Griffin with catcher’s mask indentations on his head. His hair is damp and tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it. Dark enough it makes me think of my favorite bittersweet chocolate cake, and those stupid lips are never flat. Always twisted up into some mischievous smirk, like he’s plotting how he can keep people swooning and screaming their adoration for him every second of every day.

He's like a taller version of Carter, my sunshine and rainbows second brother. Funny how the twins can be so alike and so different. Both ridiculously protective of the lone younger sister, but both have their own tactics. That’s what I’ll call it. Carter will cut someone if they mess with his family, but he’ll be smiling and complimenting you as he does it. Darren will growl and crack his knuckles, but when I need someone to bring me soup when I’m sick, he basically becomes a live-in nurse.

If Griffin met my brothers, they’d hit it off. No question. I should introduce them.

What am I thinking? They’d create the perfect bromance, with perfect families that cruise in the Caribbean together, and I’ll be forced to babysit all their kids.

“Did I lose you?”

Griffin’s voice brings me back from the story I’m creating in my head. “What?”

“You did your thing. Where you zone out. I figure it’s that storytelling brain at work, so I hate to interrupt. But that one went on for a bit.”

New pet peeve: Griffin Marks being semi-sweet and understanding about my creative side.

“I was thinking of all the ways I could bribe you to leave so I can get ready in peace.”

“I’m unbribable,” he says without missing a beat. “Rumor has it you’ve got a hot date.”

I narrow my eyes. “Griffin, I have a question. A serious one, so give it some thought.”

“Hit me.” All at once, he drops to his knees, leveling his chest with the edge of the desk, then props an elbow on the edge and bolsters his chin with his fist. He looks at me with a bright excitement.

I fold my hands in my lap and meet his beautiful face straight on. “At what point in our acquaintance did we cross into the realm where my personal life was any of your business?”

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