Chapter 1
one
. . .
Griffin
One and a half years earlier:
Spring Break
The plane smells like peanuts and bad decisions. Or maybe that’s just me, because I’m heading to Mexico, baby.
Finally. My first spring break. I’ve always been the guy stuck grinding—training, practicing, eating grilled chicken and broccoli while everyone else was shotgunning beers on the beach like an MTV Spring break video. But not this year.
Thanks to my redshirt status this year, I convinced my coach that two weeks in Mexico for a Spanish immersion program was essential for my cultural and personal development. As a bonus? I get half a Spanish credit.
So put that in your pipe and smoke it.
Anyway, I’m shoving my duffel into the overhead bin, grinning like an idiot, when I hear a voice that wipes the grin right off my face.
“Oh. Not you. This is impossible.”
I turn, and there she is.
Avery Sinclair. My sister’s best friend and my personal arch-nemesis since I was around thirteen or so. Hazel eyes glaring, light brown hair twisted into that perfect bun, and a look that says she’d rather throw herself out of this plane than deal with me.
“Avery,” I say, leaning against the seatback with a slight smirk, hiding my sadistic joy at this encounter. “Fancy seeing you here.”
She sighs, already exasperated. “No.”
“No?”
“There’s no way I’m sitting anywhere in your general vicinity for five hours.”
“You think I’m thrilled about this?” I gesture at her boarding pass.“What are you, 22A?”
She looks at her ticket, then glares at me. “Of course it is.”
“I’m 22B.”
The coincidence is high, but not impossible. My older sister Cassie took this same trip last year and raved about it. Guess she talked us both into signing up, not realizing her two favorite people would end up trapped together.
“Relax,” I say, stepping aside so she can get to the window seat. “This’ll be fun.”
“For who?” she mutters, shoving her carry-on into place.
“For both of us,” I reply, grinning as I slide into my seat beside her. “You know you missed me.”
She shoots me a look that could curdle milk. “I haven’t missed you a day in my life.”
I laugh, leaning back and stretching out my legs. “Come on, Princess. Don’t be like that. What brings you to Mexico, anyway?”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, pulling out a book.
God, I’ve always known how to get under her skin. Avery and I have never gotten along. Ever. She thinks I’m cocky; I think she’s uptight. We’ve been clashing since the day Cassie brought her home from school to study for a math test. It’s been like this for years: she rolls her eyes at me, I push her buttons. We both act like the other person is unbearable.
But if I’m being honest? Avery Sinclair is utterly fascinating to me.
In fact, she’s a bit of an obsession of mine. It’s mostly in her eyes. The window to the soul. They’re big and hazel and have this wide open way of looking at the world.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say after a beat.
She flips a page without looking up. “What question?”
“What brings you to Mexico?”
“Class,” she says shortly.
“Same. Spanish immersion?”
“Yes,” she replies, her tone clipped. “For International relations it’s kind of a clincher to know Spanish.”
“You fluent yet?”
Her head snaps up, and she glares at me. “Why do you care?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Well, don’t.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You know, we could at least try to get along. It’s two weeks.”
“I don’t need to get along with you,” she says. “I just need you to leave me alone.”
“Outlook: doubtful,” I say with a grin.
She sighs and goes back to her book, but I can see her shoulders tense. She’s bracing for whatever comes next.
“You know, this is a small plane,” I say casually.
“So?”
“So, if there’s turbulence, I might accidentally grab your hand for comfort.”
Her book slams shut, and she turns to glare at me. “Do not touch me.”
“Noted.” I grin, sitting back. “But if you need to grab mine, I won’t judge.”
She groans and shoves her earbuds in, clearly done with me. But I’m not done with her. Not by a long shot.
We’ve been in the air for about an hour when the first jolt hits.
It’s nothing major, just enough to rattle the drink cart a few rows up. I glance out the window, unbothered, but beside me, Avery stiffens like someone just whispered brace for impact.
I should’ve remembered this about her. Cassie mentioned it once—Avery hates flying. And due to my obsession with the woman, I remember everything about her. Something about turbulence freaking her out. But seeing her now, gripping the armrests so tight her knuckles are white, feels weird. Almost like I’m seeing a version of her I’m not supposed to.
“You good?” I ask, leaning closer.
“I’m fine,” she says, her voice clipped. But she doesn’t look fine.
The plane shudders again, this time harder, and a flicker of panic crosses her face. She squeezes her eyes shut, breathing deeply like she’s trying to calm herself.
“Hey,” I say softly, touching her arm. “Avery.”
Her eyes snap open, and for a second, she just looks at me. Probably surprised by the sincerity in my voice for once.
Another jolt hits, and she exhales sharply. “Can I—” She stops, shaking her head. “No, never mind.”
“Can you what?” I press.
Her lips tighten, and she stares straight ahead, like she’s trying to will herself somewhere else. Finally, she mutters, “Can I hold your hand?”
I blink, caught off guard. “Seriously?”
She glares at me. “Yes, seriously. Don’t make me regret this.”
I suppress a grin and hold out my hand. “By all means, Princess. First base achieved.”
She grabs my hand so fast I barely have time to react. Her grip is tight—way tighter than it needs to be—but I don’t say anything. I just let her hold on.
“This doesn’t count as first base,” she mutters under her breath.
“Oh, it absolutely does,” I say, leaning back in my seat. “If Cassie finds out, she’s never letting you live this down.”
She groans, rolling her eyes. “For the record, I still hate you.”
“Sure you do,” I reply, smirking.
Her grip loosens just slightly, and she finally looks at me. “I have a boyfriend,” she says, her voice firm.
“If he’s so serious, why hasn’t he married you yet?”
She shakes her head. “It’s been three months, Griffin. We’re just getting started. And this?” She shakes our joined hands. “This is not a thing. It will never be a thing. Ever. For a million reasons.”
“Name one. Is one of them that you’re not attracted to me?”
Her face reddens.
“You are.”
“I am not, ” she squeaks. But I don’t believe her. “Fine. Here’s a reason. For starters, you’re you.”
“I’m me?”
“Yes and mean . I don’t date mean. I date kind.”
I chuckle, ignoring the pang of annoyance in my chest. She’s good at that—knocking me down just when I think I’m getting somewhere.
“Ouch. I’m me. That is true. Well, fine. You got me there. I’ll be nice.”
“Maybe if you just didn’t say anything, that would be nice.”
Staring at her I make a move like I’m zipping my mouth shut, locking it and throwing away the key. She rolls her eyes, but there’s just enough of a hint of a smile for me to believe I’m getting through to her.
Or maybe I’m just imagining it.
After all, Avery has always shut down my advances, sometimes with the force of a door slamming in my face.
Like that time at my sister’s birthday pool party when I was eighteen, and Avery wore that absolutely illegal polka dot bikini. Let’s just say I’d always been into her personality, but that was the year I finally started noticing curves . I had it all planned—timed my casual stroll to the bathroom just perfectly so I’d happen to cross paths with her on the screened-in back porch. She was grabbing a drink. I was grabbing destiny .
And what did I say? Smooth. Suave. A line so devastatingly charming it should’ve landed me straight into rom-com history.
"You look like you could use some sunscreen. I volunteer as tribute."
To which she replied, deadpan, without even looking up, "You look like you could use a personality transplant."
I cleared my throat. “Okay, counteroffer—what if I just take my shirt off? You know, for safety.”
She finally looked up. "What if you just take yourself off this porch?"
Crushed. Humiliated. Sunburned, because I actually did need sunscreen (once I took my shirt off) and was too proud to go back inside and get it.
I was burned that afternoon. In multiple ways. The sun eventually forgave me. Avery, however, did not forget my feeble attempt at flirting.
After a few bumps, the turbulence settles, and slowly, she lets go of my hand. I flex my fingers, trying very hard not to dwell on how soft her skin felt against mine. Or how, despite my many, many failed attempts, I still apparently have zero immunity to her.
“Thanks,” she says, barely above a whisper.
“No problem,” I reply, though my chest tightens at the way she won’t meet my eyes.
I let her hand go, and glance at her out of the corner of my eye, taking her in. I don’t know what it is about Avery. Maybe it’s the way she’s so sure of herself, even when she’s wrong. Or the way her hazel eyes flash when she’s annoyed—like she’s daring me to push her just a little further. Or maybe it’s the fact that, for as much as she acts like she hates me, there’s something about her that makes it impossible to look away.
It’s not just that she’s beautiful—though she is. It’s the way she carries herself. Like she’s got the world figured out, even when she doesn’t.
I lean back, sliding my hands into my lap as she stares straight ahead. She’s not looking at me anymore, but I can’t stop looking at her.
Avery has no idea the level of obsessed I’ve been with her since I first laid eyes on her.
And as much as I’ve done over the years to ignore her—to simply pretend she doesn’t exist—that’s going to be a whole lot harder in a small study abroad group.
Once we’ve landed, I hand Avery her luggage. She barely spares me a glance, but the look she does give me says it all.
This trip is going to be pure torture.