Page 1 of The Rookie

prologue

. . .

Griffin

The bass thumpsthrough the club, vibrating the leather under my arm. Around me, the guys are in full celebration mode—clinking glasses, throwing back shots, and hyping each other up like we’ve already won the Super Bowl.

“Knox, man, that was the best game of your life. And this is the best year of your life,” Peyton O’Rourke, my teammate says, slapping my shoulder. “Big contract, baller penthouse, and all the girls in Dallas. Rookie season is thebestseason. And you’re in the middle of it man, and crushing it. I do have one question though.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve never seen you go home with a girl yet. Or…anyone. What’s the deal with that, man? I mean, no sweat, I’m just curious. Last rookie we had got so much ass I’m pretty sure he wore out the hinges on his front door. It was like a revolving door of… options.” Peyton smirks, clearly proud of his wordplay. “But you? You’ve got this whole ‘mysterious and brooding’ thing going on. What gives?”

I smirk, lifting my drink and taking a slow sip. “What can I say? I like to keep people guessing.”

Peyton arches an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied. “Come on, Knox. You’re killing me here. You hiding someone? Or are you just too good for all this?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Let’s just say… I’ve got my priorities straight. Game first, everything else second.”

“Priorities, huh?” Peyton leans back, studying me like I’m a puzzle he can’t solve. “So, what—you’re waiting for your perfect little cheerleader or something?”

“Something like that,” I say, my tone light, even though my chest tightens a little. Because the truth? The one person who fits that description is halfway across the country last time I checked, doing her own thing, living her own life.

And me? I’m here. Acting like this is all I need, when I know it isn’t.

I grin and lift my drink, though I feel a little out of place. Don’t get me wrong—I worked my ass off to be here. Starting star tight end for Dallas as a rookie? That’s no joke. But this whole scene? The endless drinks, the strangers throwing themselves at you—it’s a lot. I’d rather focus on the games—but I can’t just be lame and stay home while my whole team is out on a Sunday celebrating another victory.

You know, team bonding and all that.

To my left, Brielle—or maybe it’s Brooke, I keep forgetting—leans closer. She’s all legs and cheekbones, her perfect smile practically blinding. “So, Griffin,” she says, her voice dripping with flirtation, “what’s your favorite thing about Dallas so far?”

I glance at her, trying not to sigh. “The food,” I say.

Her laugh is light and a little too practiced, and her hand slides down my arm. I’m just about to excuse myself when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see the name on the screen:

Cassie Calling.

Perfect timing.

“Be right back,” I mutter, standing up.

Peyton smirks, clearly having seen my sister’s name on the screen. “Little bro has to take a sibling call. Go easy on him, ladies.”

I flip him off and head out to the balcony, letting the city lights and warm breeze replace the noise of the club.

“What’s up, Cass?” I say, answering the call.

“Hey, little brother. What are you doing?”

I glance back through the glass doors. “Just out with the guys. You?”

“Trying to figure out what to pack for Lake Tahoe for Thanksgiving. Are yousureyou can’t come? Mom says?—”

“Cass, I’m not going to Tahoe. We’re playingonThanksgiving.”

“I know your schedule, little bro. But what if you came that night on the late flight?”

“I’ve got team stuff that weekend.” Not a total lie. Though Friday will probably be light.

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