Page 17 of The Rookie

“Mm.” He hums like he’s actually considering it. “Sounds like you need to cool off.”

Isputter. “I—Oh my God!”

I grab the nearest object—a throw pillow—and launch it over my shoulder. It smacks him square in the chest, but he just laughs harder.

“Not a bad aim,” he says, clearly unbothered. “But next time, aim lower.”

By the time I reach the bathroom, he’s standing in front of the door—thankfully in briefs—stillgrinning like he knows exactly how much of a distraction he is.

I slam the bathroom door shut when I enter, leaning against it as I take a deep breath.

The nerve of him. It’s like he wakes up every day andchooseschaos—and the worst part is, I keep letting him get under my skin.

With an aggravated sigh, I turn on the shower.

It’s cold, of course.

By the time I step out—fully clothed and ready for the day because I for one am abiding by the ‘shirt and pants on’ rule—my mood has soured even further. Griffin is lounging on his bed, scrolling through a Spanish lesson like he hasn’t turned my morning into a nightmare.

“You look tense,” he says without looking up. “Want me to do some yoga with you? I’m great at downward dog.”

I glare at him. “Griffin. Can you, for one second, just let us chill? Like one. Just stopping annoying me.”

I throw my towel at him. He catches it easily, laughing as I grab my bag and storm out the door, slamming it behind me.

“Alright, everyone! Pair up!”

Our guide, a cheerful local named Fernando, claps his hands as he gestures to the bustling plaza around us. Cobblestone streets sprawl out in every direction, lined with colorful market stalls and quaint shops. The air smells like roasted corn and fresh citrus, and I should be soaking in the beauty of it all.

Instead, I’m dreading the inevitable.

Sure enough, before I can even glance around for a partner, a familiar voice pipes up behind me.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Princess.”

I turn slowly to find Griffin standing there, hands in his pockets, his grin as infuriating as ever.

“No,” I say flatly. “Anyone but you.”

“Yes,” Fernando says brightly, handing us a laminated sheet with scavenger hunt instructions. “You two will be Team Five. ¡Buena suerte!”

“Wait—can I switch?” I ask, but Fernando is already moving on to the next pair.

Griffin leans closer, holding the paper up like it’s the winning lottery ticket. “Looks like fate wants us together. Ever heard of invisible string theory? I’ve always felt like that with you.”

“Fate has terrible taste,” I mutter, snatching the sheet from his hand. “And there is no possible way our strings tie together. You are the last person on earth I would choose.”

The scavenger hunt is supposed to be a fun cultural experience—find a specific type of pottery, take a picture with a street performer, buy a local snack, etc.—but I already know it’s going to be a nightmare.

We start walking, and Griffin falls into step beside me, whistling.

“Okay,” I say, scanning the list. “The first item is a ceramic bird. Let’s check the pottery stalls.”

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing grandly.

I ignore him and head toward a row of brightly colored stalls.

“Hola,” I say to one of the vendors, holding up the scavenger hunt sheet and pointing to the item. “¿Tiene esto?”

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