Page 63 of Play Dirty

“No.”

He nodded, once.

“So what’s the problem?”

I let out a short, humorless breath.

“The problem is, I don’t like not knowing.”

Grayson smirked slightly. “Welcome to the club.”

I looked down at my beer again. Not only was it empty, but the label was peeled halfway off. I didn’t remember doing either.

“I dunno,” I rambled. “There’s something off about her. She doesn’t fit.”

“In what way?”

I looked up again, and met his eyes.

“She should’ve cracked by now. Everything we’ve done…”

He sighed and looked away, uncomfortably.

“Anyone else,” I went on, “we put them through that? They fold. They leave.”

“And she hasn’t.”

“No.”

He thought about it for a moment, and shrugged.

“She’s stubborn. I’ll give her that.”

Putting his fingers together, he flicked a piece of torn beer label off the table, absently.

“But there’s something else,” he went on. “Something I can’t wrap my head around.”

Now he had my interest. I sat up.

“What?”

“She’s actually working.”

Fuck. I’d noticed it too. I was hoping it was just me.

Apparently not.

“When she showed up clutching that tablet, I thought it was a joke,” Grayson said. “I thought she’d bring chaos.”

I noticed my thumb was moving on its own. Peeling the rest of my beer label off.

“But she actually straightened some things out for us,” he finished.

I lowered my head again, unwilling to admit any of these things. Haven’s subtle changes and recommendations had been helpful. Even more invaluable; her in-depth analysis of our opponents. She had the coach’s ear, as well. Mercer challenged her in places where his experience ran deep, but he’d been smart enough to defer to her when it didn’t.

“She’s not one of us,” I growled. “And I don’t think she’ll ever be.”

“No,” agreed Grayson. “Probably not.”