Page 26 of Small Town Frenzy
“Coming right up,” his dad replies before walking toward the taps.
“I didn’t want to keep him waiting. Lager work for you?”
“That works.”
He eyes me. “I’m starting to think you might just argue about everything. Do you ever take off your boss hat and relax?”
I’m ready to defend myself, but then why would I? He’s not wrong. I laugh humorlessly to myself, and confess, “No.”
That makes him laugh, his shoulders ease under therattle of his chest, the sound deep but light with what sounds like genuine happiness. The beers are set in front of us, and his dad disappears too quick for me to offer to pay. Picking up one glass, Griffin taps his against mine. “Here’s to honesty.”
With my knee grazing against one of his, I drink, peeking up at him over the glass as I take the first cold sip. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s not very . . . um. I don’t even know cool terms to use anymore. I’m not that exciting, and my life is less so.”
“I can’t imagine anything about you being boring.”
“You’re not so bad sometimes, Twenty-two.”
“Is that what you’re going with for me?” He laughs again. “I thought you were preferring Greene. You know, a Dover bossing around a Greene must give quite the high.” He takes another long pull of beer, but his gaze returns to me faster than it left.
“I can’t say it’s not been fun watching you discover who I am, but don’t you think we’re more than the roles we’ve been playing this week?”
“I’m hoping so.” There’s no waffle in his tone. Nope. He’s as steady and confident as can be. It’s as if he actually did set his weapons down, and I finally get to see the real him. Maybe I should do the same and stick to the agreement we made.
Whether I should or not, I toss caution to the wind, pick up my glass, and hold it between us. “Let’s toast.”
When he picks up his glass, he holds it close to mine. “What are we toasting to?”
I take a breath and leap of faith, trusting this is the real him, the man behind the player, and beneath the annoying layer of cockiness that gets under my skin. At least for tonight. “To new beginnings.”
He grins, and there’s no arrogance to be found, only knock-my-socks-off sincerity. “To a fresh start.”
When his glass clinks against mine, I don’t worry I’ve made a mistake. I drink in the moment I’m sharing with him, reminded of how good we once were together. “Cheers.”
CHAPTER 11
Griffin
I keep thinkingthat at some point Cricket will bring up Costa Rica, even in a casual mention or slipup.But she doesn’t.
It’s becoming a fixation I don’t need, a little like her. I have no idea why it’s so fun to banter with her, but the slight twitch of her lips is another of my new addictions. The way her eyes seem to glow with joy when she’s pretending to be annoyed makes me want to prod a little more to expose the recognition I know must rest somewhere in her mind.
It isn’t possible that she doesn’t remember me. Our time together was unforgettable. So why won’t she end this charade? She laughs with the group sitting at the nearest table, then returns her attention to the game when it’s her turn. There must be some way to get this out of her.
Since everything is a game to her, a challenge of wills, I’ll just have to charm it out of her instead. There is no way I’m going to lose this battle, especially not to a Dover. Whateverhistory lies between our families, I might have resurrected it to win.
Lifting my ball cap, I scrape my fingers through my hair before setting it on my head backward so I don’t have any distractions while planning my strategy.
She slides the puck down the shuffleboard table, knocking my puck right off the side. With a grin that reeks of victory before the game is even done, she struts toward me at the other end of the table and pokes my arm. “Take your best shot, Greene.”
With a mouth that can hold its own in any shit-talking arena, why does she have to be so fucking beautiful when she does it?Fucking hell.
I give her a little wink as I pass. “One shot is all I need, Dover.”
“You sure about that?”
Glancing back at her, I grin. “Abso-fucking-lutely, sweetheart.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see the smile that’s tugging her lips up at the sides. Maybe I’ve been coming at this from the wrong angle. Is banter her foreplay? I laugh as I grab the puck, bend down, and narrow my eyes on the target at the other end of the board. But my gaze lands on her when she leans over the edge of the table in that damn sexy jersey that no button could hold closed. Two fingers tap the lane in front of her and then lift. When I follow them higher, she points at her eyes with a formidable look shaping her face under raised eyebrows, a discerning glare in her eyes.
