Page 34 of The Rookie

Jake laughs, following my lead as I find a spot on the edge of the dance floor. The music shifts to something faster, and we fall into step easily, the rhythm lifting my mood almost immediately.

Dancing with Jake is easy. He’s lighthearted and funny, throwing in exaggerated moves that make me laugh despite myself.

But even as I’m spinning and swaying, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

And then, through the sea of dancers, I see him.

Griffin.

He’s still dancing with his ridiculously gorgeous partner, but his eyes are locked on me again. It’s infuriating how he does that—how he manages to look so casual and cocky and completely in control, even on a packed dance floor.

Jake notices, of course. “Well, well,” he says, spinning me again. “Looks like Knox is ready to throw down.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, pretending not to care.

“Call it a hunch,” Jake replies, smirking as Griffin’s partner says something to him and walks off the dance floor.

Before I can process what’s happening, Griffin is heading our way, weaving through the crowd with that stupid grin plastered on his face.

“Having fun, Sinclair?” he asks as he reaches us, his voice teasing.

“Loads,” I reply, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a smile.

“Good,” he says, stepping closer. “Because I think it’s time we had a little competition.”

I blink, caught off guard. “A competition?”

Griffin raises an eyebrow, his gaze challenging. “You scared?”

“Of you?” I laugh, shaking my head. “Please.”

“Alright then,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Dance-off. You and me. Right here, right now.”

The crowd around us seems to catch wind of what’s happening, and before I know it, a circle is forming, classmates and strangers alike egging us on.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, but my heart is already racing.

“Fine, Sinclair,” Griffin says, his grin widening. “I’ll go first. But then you’ve got to show me what you’ve got.”

The music shifts to something fast and sultry, and before I can back out, Griffin steps into the center of the circle, his movements smooth and annoyingly good. He rolls hisshoulders, his hips moving in time with the beat, fluid and effortless.

And then—just to be a menace—he throws in an absolutely hilarious twerking-type move, and the crowd loses their minds.

I admit it—I’m about dying laughing too.

“Alright, alright!” Jake calls out. “Your turn, Avery!”

I take a deep breath, stepping into the circle with a confidence I don’t quite feel. The rhythm picks up, and I let the music take over, my body moving instinctively. The crowd cheers louder, and I can’t help but smile as I spin and sway, meeting Griffin’s gaze across the circle.

And then, just to mess with him, I stop mid-spin and mimic his ridiculous twerking move from earlier. I arch my back, exaggerating every motion, my hands in the air like I’m on a music video set from 2005.

The crowd loses it—laughing, cheering, clapping—and Griffin’s jaw drops for a split second before his grin stretches even wider.

“Okay, okay,” he says, his voice carrying over the noise. “I see how it is!”

“You started it,” I reply, tossing my hair over my shoulder, a smirk tugging at my lips.

But then the beat shifts—deeper, slower, dirtier.

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