Chapter Eleven Maren
Maren Brooks understood, intellectually, that matches were dangerous.
She also understood that people only called a woman reckless when she lit one where everyone could see the room was already full of smoke.
The direct message glowed on her phone.
Are Griffin and Maren actually together or is she just using him for views? Either way this is getting embarrassing.
Embarrassing.
That word had teeth.
Maren could feel Griffin beside her, still and silent, paper boat of fries forgotten in his hand. He had read the message too. Of course he had. Griffin Hayes noticed everything, including the exact second a word got under her skin and tried to live there.
She should have locked the phone.
She should have laughed it off.
She should have made a joke about being too busy using him for views to answer criticism from someone whose profile picture was a sunset and zero accountability.
Instead, she heard herself say, “If people want to ask whether this is real, maybe tonight we let them.”
Griffin did not answer immediately.
That was how she knew he had taken her seriously.
Most men heard a dangerous sentence from a woman and reacted to the volume. Griffin listened for the structure underneath it, which was inconvenient because Maren had built this particular sentence out of hurt, caffeine, and one very bad instinct wearing lip gloss.
He set his fries on the snack shack ledge.
Carefully.
Of course.
Even in emotional crisis, Griffin Hayes respected fried potatoes.
“Maren,” he said.
She smiled without looking at him. “That tone sounds like a warning label.”
“It is.”
“Cute.”
“It is not.”
“No, it is not,” she agreed, finally looking up. “It is exactly the tone a man uses before he explains why the woman with the plan should calm down.”
His jaw tightened.
Good.
No, not good.
She did not actually want to hit him with something that belonged to someone else.
But the message had landed hard, and Paige’s comments still hovered in the background, and the biggest clip of the day still sat unposted on her phone because she could not decide whether it proved her brilliance or proved everyone else right.
Cute.
Little romance storyline.
Using him for views.
Embarrassing.
Griffin’s voice stayed low. “I was not going to tell you to calm down.”
“Were you going to use a synonym?”
“No.”
“Excellent. Personal growth.”
“I was going to ask what you want Truth Toss to do.”
That stopped her.
It was unfair.
Rude, honestly.
A normal man would have argued the match out of her hand. Griffin had looked at the match, the smoke, the room, and asked what she intended to burn.
Maren looked away first.
Behind the snack shack, the noon sun made everything too bright.
Heat rose off the path in shimmery waves.
The Lake Briar crowd had thickened now that alumni events were starting.
Kids ran past with dripping popsicles. Two former Ridgeview players posed for photos near the banners.
Tyler stood across the lawn with a roll of blue painter’s tape on one wrist and the expression of a man about to make signage everyone would regret.
The weekend was working.
Her weekend.
Her plan.
Her camera.
Her story.
So why did one anonymous message feel like a hand shoving her backward?
Maren tucked her phone against her chest. “I want people to stop acting like chemistry makes my work less real.”
Griffin absorbed that without flinching.
“What else?”
She gave him a look. “That was not enough?”
“It was part of it.”
“I hate when you do that.”
“What?”
“Assume there is more because you are annoyingly correct.”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
She pointed at him. “Do not smile. I am upset.”
“I noticed.”
“Of course you did.”
“What else?” he asked again.
Maren exhaled.
Fine.
If he wanted honesty, she would give him enough to make him regret the subscription.
“I want to control the narrative before it controls me. I want to use Truth Toss tonight to answer the question everybody is already asking without letting them turn me into some desperate girl making heart eyes at a hockey player for engagement.”
Griffin’s expression changed at desperate.
Just slightly.
A flicker of anger. Not at her.
For her.
That was becoming one of his more dangerous habits.
“And,” she continued, softer despite herself, “I want Paige to shut up.”
There.
Ugly little truth.
Not noble. Not strategic. Not brand-forward.
Human.
Griffin nodded once.
“That part makes sense.”
She stared at him. “You are supposed to tell me revenge is unhealthy.”
“Revenge is usually inefficient.”
“That is such a you sentence.”
“But wanting someone to stop minimizing you is not revenge.”
Maren’s throat tightened.
She hated this.
Not him.
This.
The way he kept putting words under the wound instead of over it.
The way he refused to let her make the hurt smaller so it could be more convenient.
She looked down at her phone because looking at him was too much work.
“You are very annoying today.”
“Yes.”
“And yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“And possibly always.”
“That seems likely.”
Her mouth twitched.
Traitor.
Griffin saw.
Naturally.
“Truth Toss can be useful,” he said.
Maren blinked. “Did you just agree with my match?”
“I agreed it can be useful. I did not agree to arson.”
“Coward.”
“Responsible adult.”
“Spiritual khakis.”
He gave her a look.
She smiled, and this time it felt almost real.
Almost.
He reached for his fries, then paused. “But if we do it, we set terms now.”
“We already set terms.”
“We set event terms. Now we set ours.”
Ours.
The word slid into the shade between them and stayed there.
Maren hated how quickly her pulse answered.
She leaned back against the snack shack wall. “Fine. Set terms.”
His eyes held hers. “We do not answer anything we do not want to answer.”
“Already covered.”
“We do not let Tyler read anything without you screening it first.”
“Obviously.”
“We do not use each other as shields.”
Her smile faded.
“What does that mean?”
“It means if someone asks whether this is real, we do not turn it into a joke at the other person’s expense.”
Maren looked away.
That one landed.
She had been planning several jokes at his expense. Good ones too. Very clean. Very clickable.
But he was right.
Which was rude.
“Okay,” she said.
“And we do not lie.”
Her head snapped back.
Griffin’s face was serious.
Too serious.
“What?”
“We can pass,” he said. “We can redirect. We can say something is private. But we do not lie.”
Maren laughed once. “That is adorable.”
“No.”
“That is impossible.”
“No.”
“This entire event is built on making things look bigger than they are.”
“Not the same as lying.”
“The almost-kiss photo looked real.”
“It was real enough to be a problem.”
Her breath caught.
Griffin went still, like he had surprised himself.
Good.
At least she was not alone.
The shade behind the snack shack suddenly felt too small, too warm, too quiet.
Maren looked at him carefully. “Real enough?”
His gaze did not move from hers.
“Yes.”
One word.
No explanation.
No easy escape.
Her heart forgot how to behave.
Maren forced herself to lift one shoulder. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
“Then maybe we should lie a little.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are tired of people deciding what your work means. I am tired of people deciding who I am if I do anything except manage the room. If we lie tonight, they get to keep deciding.”
She stared at him.
It was the most Griffin argument imaginable.
Practical. Controlled. Accidentally devastating.
Also right.
Maren hated how often he was right when it mattered.
She looked down at her phone, still locked in her hand. The unposted carry clip sat inside it like a dare with excellent lighting. The anonymous message was still there too, waiting to be handled or ignored.
People would keep asking.
The comments would keep building.
Truth Toss would give them a container.
Maybe that was enough.
Maybe it was also too much.
She swallowed. “What if the truth is messy?”
Griffin’s expression softened by one degree.
“Then we say the clean part.”
The clean part.
Maren did not know why that nearly undid her.
Maybe because most people wanted all of her bright or none of her complicated.
Maybe because Paige preferred the version of her that could be corrected, not the one that could be right.
Maybe because Griffin Hayes, who loved boundaries and safety checks and saying no before Tyler could create litigation, had just made room for truth without demanding a full confession.
Maren nodded before she trusted her voice.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “No lying. No using each other as shields. Passes allowed. Tyler muzzled if necessary.”
“I support the last one.”
“We can probably make it cute.”
“Maren.”
“Fine. No muzzling Tyler on the official account.”
He shook his head, but the almost-smile was back.
She had put it there.
That felt like a tiny victory.
Then Ava slid the snack shack window open behind them.
Both of them jumped.
Ava looked deeply satisfied. “Interesting.”
Maren pressed a hand to her chest. “Do you have to move like a church ninja?”
“Yes.” Ava set two lemonades on the ledge. “Also, Denise wants you near the alumni tent in five, Tyler is making a sign that says TRUTH TOSS: FEELINGS WITH HANDLES, and Nate says Griffin needs to stop glaring at the internet before his face stays that way.”
Griffin turned toward the lawn. “Tyler made what sign?”
Maren grabbed his arm before he could move.
Mistake.
Immediate mistake.
Because her fingers closed around warm skin and solid muscle and the entire morning seemed to pause long enough for both of them to notice.
Griffin looked down at her hand.
So did she.
Her thumb rested just above his wrist.
His pulse beat once beneath it.
Steady.
Strong.
Not nearly as unaffected as his face wanted her to believe.
Maren let go fast.
Too fast.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No,” he said immediately. Then softer, “It is fine.”
Fine.
That word was starting to have range.
Ava watched them with a lemonade in each hand and the expression of a woman filing evidence.
Maren took one drink and pointed at her. “Do not.”
“I did not.”