"Yeah," he says, his voice rough. "Just strangers now."
I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the edge of my glass.
Because the truth is—I’ve never wanted anyone this much.
He’s such an asshole. I mean, not talking to me for an entire year and a half? Come on.
But the craving for his touch is overwhelming, electric, impossible to ignore.
His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s seeing straight through me, and my pulse kicks into overdrive.
Just strangers.
And yet, I’ve never felt so exposed, so alive.
I sit back down after excusing myself, deciding I need to stop letting Griffin get under my skin. If he can play this game, so can I.
One of his teammates—tall, broad, and ridiculously hot in a classic, all-American way—leans closer, his grin easy, his energy casual.
"So, Avery," he says, his voice low and warm, "what’s a girl like you doing with a crowd like us?"
I laugh softly, swirling the last bit of my drink in my glass. "A girl like me? What does that mean?"
He shrugs, his grin widening. "Smart. Sophisticated. Probably too good for a bunch of football guys."
“I’m assuming that’s your line on all the girls who aren’t cheerleaders?” I reply, letting my smile linger just a little longer than it needs to.
“Oh, uh..no, I mean...” His gaze lingers on me, and I know I’ve got his attention. But as I meet his eyes, waiting for the usual flutter of excitement or thrill of the chase—there’s nothing.
No spark. No pull.
Because no matter how hot this guy is, he’s not Griffin.
And even though I’m trying to prove a point, it feels hollow.
Still, I laugh at something he says, leaning just slightly closer.
And that’s when I feel it.
The heat of a hand sliding down my waist, firm and possessive.
"Give it a minute," Griffin murmurs, his voice low, just for me. "So it doesn’t look like you’re coming right after me. Then follow me...unless roses are red now."
My breath catches, his words twisting through my chest like a live wire, my pulse racing as his hand lingers on my waist, just long enough to set me on fire.
Unless roses are red now.
My heart’s on fire. Is he asking…what I think he’s asking?
Yes. He is. And he’s giving me an out. A choice. Do I still want this? Him? He’s asking without actually asking.
It’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.
I glance up, meeting his eyes. The intensity there is so raw, so utterly consuming, that I feel it in every inch of me.
And he knows it.
He steps back, smirking faintly as if he hasn’t just completely dismantled me in front of everyone.