Page 10 of The Curveball

For the first time, Griffin sobers. He gives me a small smile and a nod. “You got it.”

I swear his shoulders are a little hunched when he turns to the door. “Hey, Griffin?”

What am I doing?

“Yeah, Birdie?”

My knee bounces under the desk. “Um . . . sorry about the loss. You had a good season.”

A bit of gilded light brightens his eyes. “We did. Glad to know you were watching. I thought this season you planned to spend the games with our brainy statisticians.”

“I did, the reason one of the analysts is my date. I rarely saw a single game.”

“Lies,” he says, aghast. “I saw you and I’ve grown a bigger head this season from all your gawking.”

I mimic his stunned, open-mouthed expression. “Now who lies? I do not gawk. And as a side note, a large brain is incredibly sexy.”

“True.” He leans against the doorframe. “But so is a guy with sweatdrippingoff his brow from the exertion of his passion. For the game, of course.” He lowers his voice. “Thestrengthof his muscles. Thethrobbingof his pulse in his neck.”

Oh goodness. My throat bobs in a rough swallow, and by the way Griffin chuckles, he noticed.

“And,” he goes on, voice husky and raw. “Let us not forget the way those tight,tightpants squeeze his plump, toned—”

“Oh my gosh, stop.” I stand out of my chair, ball one of my fists, and slug him in the center of one peck. “You sound like you’re the one writing a smutty book.”

He laughs. “I’ve read from the best.”

“Don’t pretend like you’ve even cracked my book.”

“I think you underestimate your male fanbase. A lot of us studly athletes love a good book boyfriend as much as the next girl.”

“Funny.”

“I thought so.” Griffin lets out a long breath. “See you in a few?”

Why does he have to sound so hopeful?

I turn away but hold up a finger. “Not one comment in front of Alvin about the fact that my seat is right behind the plate. I know the crude jokes about your backside.”

“But it’s such a pretty backside.”

“No! Nope. Stop. Resist the urge, or Gifford Marksberg is going to be a real thing.”

He clamps his teeth. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.” We invented this character together. Why, I don’t know. Sometimes when I look back on things, I pretend I haven’t had dozens of conversations with the man like we’re friendly. The point is, he knows exactly who I’m talking about.

Griffin narrows his eyes. “That’s a low blow. Making me the d-bag ex-boyfriend everyone hates?”

“Annnnd?” I lift my chin, smirking.

“And the guy who makes his womancry,and . . .” He gulps because he’s a drama queen. “Leaves herunsatisfied?”

“Exactly.” I bite my bottom lip. “I’ll reconsider adding Gifford to my work in progress if you agree to behave.”

“Deal,” he says. “No mention of my impressive body parts.”

“I don’t know if I believe you, but I’m hungry, and running late, so go. I’ll hold you to your end of our agreement.”