Page 148 of The Rookie

And his eyes—those piercing green eyes—lock onto mine like a magnet.

For a second, I forget how to breathe.

The world blurs around him, the noise of the bar fading into a distant hum.

Because it’s just him.

Just Griffin.

Looking at me like I’m the only person in the room.

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a slow, devastatingly sexy smirk, and I feel it all the way to my toes.

Damn. You’d think he was in a GQ ad or something.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to blink, to breathe, tomove.

Cassie tugs me toward the table, chattering on about how excited she is, but her words barely register.

Because Griffin doesn’t look away.

Not once.

And by the time we reach the table, my knees feel like jelly, my heart pounding so hard I swear it’s echoing in my ears.

"There’s the big man," Cassie says brightly, sliding into a seat. "We’ve arrived."

"Ladies," he says, his voice low and rich, his eyes never leaving mine. “Cass.” He steps forward, wrapping Cassie in an easy hug, his hand lingering on her shoulder like the protective big brother he’s always been.

Then he turns to me. “Hey. Good to see you.”

I freeze as he steps closer, his arms opening just enough. And before I can fully process it, he pulls me in for a hug too.

It’s brief—barely more than a brush of his chest against mine—but it’s enough to short-circuit my brain. His scent—clean, warm, and unmistakably Griffin—wraps around me, and for a split second, the world tilts.

When he steps back, his eyes catch mine, and I swear I see it—the same heat, the same hunger, the same Griffin I remember from Mexico.

The one who ruined me for anyone else.

But just as quickly, the moment shatters.

Because then, I see her.

The girl hanging off his arm, all glossy hair, perfect curves, and legs for days. She’s exactly the type of woman you’d expect to see on the arm of a star player, and it’s like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

Griffin turns slightly, his smirk deepening as she leans closer, staking her claim with a hand on his arm.

And me?

I’m already regretting ever putting on this dress.

She’s wearing a tight red dress that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, her toned shoulders glinting under the string lights. Her sleek, dark hair is parted perfectly down the middle, cascading over one shoulder like she just stepped out of a high-end shampoo commercial.

Her nails—long, polished, and sharp—trail down Griffin’s forearm as she leans into him, smiling like she owns him.

“This is, ah,” Griffin starts to say.

"Brielle," she says sweetly, holding out a manicured hand to Cassie and me. Her voice is as smooth and practiced as the rest of her.

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