Chapter 3
three
. . .
Griffin
The room is quiet, except for the faint sound of Avery’s voice.
I’m stretched out on my bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to block her out, but it’s impossible. She’s sitting at the little desk by the window, talking softly into her phone, and I can’t help but catch every other word as I pretend to play on my phone.
“...I know, but it’s just two weeks,” she says, her voice low and measured. “We talked about this.”
I glance over, pretending not to be interested, but the tension in her voice makes it impossible to ignore. Her shoulders are hunched, and she’s twisting a strand of hair around her finger—something I’ve only seen her do when she’s stressed.
“No, I’m not avoiding you,” she says, her tone sharpening. “I just needed this trip. It’s important for my career. For my dreams, Gavin . ”
A long pause. I can practically hear the guy’s voice through the phone, and I hate that it bugs me.
“No, I’m not sure if I’m going to apply to that thing in Spain. And no, there’s no one here you need to worry about,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Are you kidding me? I told you. I hate him.”
I smirk, lifting my hands in mock surrender. "I hate you too," I mouth.
She narrows her eyes, then flips me the finger—quick, subtle, and dripping with sarcasm. It’s all I can do not to laugh.
Turning back to the window, her voice drops lower, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Look, I’m not doing this right now,” she mutters. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Another pause. Then, softer: “Goodnight.”
She sets the phone down on the desk, staring out the window for a moment like she’s trying to collect herself.
“Trouble in paradise?” I ask, breaking the silence.
Her head snaps around, eyes flashing. “Were you eavesdropping ?”
“Hard not to,” I say, propping myself up on one elbow. “Thin walls.”
“You mean no walls.”
I grin. “And you weren’t exactly whispering.”
She glares at me, her hazel eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “It’s none of your business.”
“True,” I reply with a shrug. “But I’m curious. What’s his deal?”
She folds her arms, clearly done with this conversation. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” I admit. “Just wondering what kind of guy actually puts up with you.”
Her jaw tightens, and for a second, I think she’s about to throw something at me. Instead, she exhales sharply and climbs into her bed, then takes out her journal.
I decide to give her space and not push, though now I’m infinitely curious what she’s writing about.
There’s a beat of silence, and then she says, “What about you?”
I glance over. “What about me?”
“You haven’t had a girlfriend since that girl you dated in high school. Why not?”
“Who cares? Just decided not to date in college…yet.”
She gives me a look. “Cassie says you’re...casual.”
I bark a laugh. “Casual is a polite way to put it.”
She frowns. “Why?”
I sit up, leaning back against the headboard. “I don’t know. Guess I’ve never met someone who made me want to commit. Or maybe I have. And she just didn’t like me back.”
She raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I pause, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make her uncomfortable. Then I sigh dramatically, really using that half semester of drama class I took freshmen year to act this one out. “Fine. If you must know, there’s this girl.”
Her eyes narrow. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “She’s... incredible. Beautiful. Smart. Funny in this sarcastic, infuriating way.”
She blinks, clearly caught off guard. “And...?”
“And it’s completely unrequited,” I say, my voice softening.
For a second, she just stares at me.
“Who is she?” she asks cautiously.
“Well,” I say, meeting her eyes, “she’s got these hazel eyes that can cut through steel. And this way of twisting her hair when she’s stressed...”
Her face pales, her mouth going tight.
“And this body,” I cut her off, my voice dropping to something almost husky, “that could bring a man to his knees without even trying. Don’t get me started on the way her smile messes with my head. It’s dangerous, really.”
Her cheeks flush, her composure cracking at the edges. “Griffin.”
“She’s my sister’s best friend,” I say, quieter now, like it’s a confession too heavy to say any louder. “She drives me absolutely insane, but I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Her mouth falls open, and she stares at me like I’ve just confessed to a felony.
“Griffin.” Her voice is sharp enough to slice through me.
“And every time she yells at me,” I add, my expression completely serious now, “I just...fall a little more in love with her.”
There’s a long pause. Then her jaw clenches, and she actually gets up, out of bed, and punches me in the arm.
“Not funny,” she snaps, her cheeks bright red.
I burst out laughing, doubling over as I rub my arm. “Oh, come on, that was good!”
She glares at me, then absentmindedly tosses her journal down onto my bed as she heads to the bathroom. “I’m brushing my teeth and then going to bed. At least you can’t annoy me when I sleep.”
I’m still laughing as I lie back down, grinning up at the ceiling.
And then I glance at her journal.
It opened to a random page…and my grin falters as I can’t help but run my eyes over what she wrote:
Things I Want to Experience at Least Once (but Maybe More)
1 A kiss so good it makes my knees weak. Like, actual, can’t-stand-up-afterward weak. Not just a cliché.
2 Hands pinned above my head. (Okay, maybe I have thought about this one too much.)
3 Someone taking their time. I mean really taking their time. No rushing. No expectations. Just wanting me.
4 Angry tension that turns into something else entirely. Bonus points if it starts with an argument.
5 Someone who teases but can actually back it up.
6 The feeling of being completely at someone’s mercy—just for a moment. Trusting them to know exactly what I need, even if I don’t say it.
7 A little danger. Not real danger. Just… the kind that makes my pulse race, that leaves me breathless and off-balance in the best way.
8 Someone who doesn’t ask permission. Who just knows. Who sees right through me and doesn’t wait for me to say please.
9 A stranger at a restaurant or a club. Just a look. No names. No expectations. Just chemistry thick enough to drown in, a dark corner, and the kind of night you can never repeat.
10 A desk in a skyscraper overlooking a big city. Ideally he’s wearing a suit for this one.
I freeze, my pulse slamming against my ribs, and all of these seem incredible, but one in particular jumps out at me…
A stranger at a restaurant or club.
The words dig in like a hook, an image flashing through my mind—Avery, sitting at a dimly lit table, locking eyes with some random guy. A knowing glance. A quiet agreement.
Heat coils low in my gut, something dark and territorial rising up despite the fact that this is just some list. Some dumb, private fantasy she probably wrote without thinking twice about it.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just some thought she had once. This is something she wants.
And worse?
Somewhere deep down, in the part of myself I don’t like to examine too closely—I want to be that guy for her.
I exhale sharply, raking a hand through my hair, but the words on the page are already burned into my brain.
She’ll hate me even more tomorrow.
But for tonight, I’ll count that as a win.
The sound of the bathroom door clicking open makes me jolt like I’ve been caught committing a crime.
I flip the page of the journal so fast it’s a miracle I don’t rip it, my heart hammering in my chest.
Avery steps back into the room, her hair damp at the edges from where she splashed water on her face, her oversized sleep shirt slipping off one shoulder. She looks softer like this—barefoot, makeup smudged away, her guard not entirely up yet.
I clear my throat and hold up the journal like it’s a completely normal thing to be holding. “You, uh… you dropped this on my bed. On my side.”
Her steps falter. Her eyes flick to the journal in my hands. Then back to me.
A second passes. Then another.
Something shifts in her expression—just a flicker of hesitation, like she’s suddenly replaying what she last wrote in there.
Her face turns the faintest shade of pink.
“Oh,” she says, voice careful, neutral. She strides forward, plucks it from my fingers, and hugs it to her chest like I’ve committed some grievous offense against her personal privacy. “Thanks.”
I smirk, keeping my expression as unreadable as possible. “No problem.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, scanning my face like she’s trying to decipher if I saw anything. I school my expression into total innocence, but she doesn’t look convinced.
“Did you…?” she starts, then shakes her head, like she’s deciding she definitely doesn’t want to finish that sentence.
I lean back against my pillow, stretching my arms behind my head. “Did I what?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly, gripping the journal tighter. She turns on her heel and heads straight for her bed, moving with more purpose than necessary.
I bite back a grin as she yanks her blankets up, practically burying herself under them.
I give it a beat. Just enough time for the tension to settle in the air before I push it one step further.
“You know,” I say casually, my voice laced with amusement. “For someone who tells me to keep my hands to myself, you sure left that lying awfully close.”
Avery groans, face planting into her pillow. “Go. To. Sleep.”
I chuckle, my smirk growing. “Sweet dreams, Princess.”
Her muffled response is something I can’t quite make out, but I’m pretty sure it’s a string of creative insults.
I stare at the ceiling, my smirk fading just slightly.
Because no matter how much I mess with her, no matter how hard I try to shove it aside, I know one thing for sure.
I’m never going to forget what I read in that journal.
No matter how hard I try, it’s burned into my brain, looping in a way that makes it impossible to ignore.
I have a hard time sleeping that night.
I roll onto my side. Then my back. Then my stomach. But no position is comfortable because my mind won’t shut the hell up.
It keeps circling back to her list. Her fantasies.
At first, it was just amusement, a stupid, cocky part of me that wanted to tease her for it. But now? Now, I can’t stop thinking about them in ways I definitely shouldn’t be.
Because all I can see is her.
I picture a scenario where I’m just a stranger to Avery Sinclair. Where we don’t have history, don’t have years of snarky comments and stubborn rivalry between us.
Just two people. A single glance across a dimly lit, thumping club.
I see her sitting at the bar, maybe, legs crossed, one hand wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. She looks up, catches my eye from across the room. There’s no hesitation, no questions. Just instant, electric recognition.
I watch her lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. And just like that, the game begins.
I imagine the way I’d walk over, no introductions needed, no small talk. Just intention.
How she’d let me slide a hand along the small of her back as I lean in, my lips brushing just close enough to her ear that she shivers.
How she’d follow me—without a word—away from the bar, through a discreet hallway, past the kitchen doors.
And then, we wouldn’t be strangers anymore.
My back would hit the cool wall of the dimly lit hallway as she presses into me, fingers curling into my shirt, dragging me down into a kiss that’s all heat, all urgency.
Her breathless little sighs. My hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against me.
The way she’d melt into it like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life.
And maybe—just maybe—we wouldn’t stop at just a kiss.
I’d bring her somewhere private and spin her around—have her face the mirror in the bathroom so she could watch me. Watch us. I’d roll her short little skirt up, revealing that perfect ass and?—
I exhale sharply, running a hand over my face as I snap back to reality.
Jesus.
I need a cold fucking shower.
I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed, trying to shake it off, but it’s too late. The damage is done.
My mind is wrecked with images of her—Avery, in that dimly lit restaurant, her body pressed against mine, her lips parting on a breathless sigh.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, forcing myself to focus on something else, anything else.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see her.
She’s curled up under the thin sheet, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, completely lost to sleep.
Peaceful. Unbothered.
Like she isn’t the reason I’m sitting here at two in the damn morning, trying to get my pulse under control.
Like she hasn’t unknowingly embedded herself into the darkest corners of my brain, her words—the ones she wrote in secret—branding themselves into my skin.
Like she isn’t the very thing keeping me awake right now.
I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair as I glance at her one last time.
If only she knew.
Because really, I don’t just want to be a stranger in her fantasy.
I want to be the one she chooses.
And that realization?
It’s going to ruin me.
Because it’s like no matter what I do, the woman hates me.