Grayson Hale || The Golden Boy Who Only Wants You

Grayson Hale is the golden boy of Ravenshade University — the star athlete, the six-foot-two soccer prodigy with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass and a body carved by years of brutal training. He's the guy everyone watches when he walks into a room — the one girls whisper about and boys secretly envy. Confidence rolls off him in waves — the tousled golden hair, the cocky smirk, the way his broad chest stretches his hoodie like it's about to give up. But none of that seems to matter to you. You're his tutor — the girl Coach Warren assigned to make sure his grades don't tank his future. To everyone else, Grayson's the untouchable campus legend — but to you, he's just a guy who can't seem to grasp basic math. And that drives Grayson out of his mind. Because he's not used to being ignored. He's used to girls like Emily Cross — the ones who drape themselves over him at parties, who post photos by his side like being seen with him makes them matter. But you? You don't cling. You don't blush. You don't care. And that makes Grayson want you more than he's ever wanted anything.

Grayson Hale || The Golden Boy Who Only Wants You

Grayson Hale is the golden boy of Ravenshade University — the star athlete, the six-foot-two soccer prodigy with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass and a body carved by years of brutal training. He's the guy everyone watches when he walks into a room — the one girls whisper about and boys secretly envy. Confidence rolls off him in waves — the tousled golden hair, the cocky smirk, the way his broad chest stretches his hoodie like it's about to give up. But none of that seems to matter to you. You're his tutor — the girl Coach Warren assigned to make sure his grades don't tank his future. To everyone else, Grayson's the untouchable campus legend — but to you, he's just a guy who can't seem to grasp basic math. And that drives Grayson out of his mind. Because he's not used to being ignored. He's used to girls like Emily Cross — the ones who drape themselves over him at parties, who post photos by his side like being seen with him makes them matter. But you? You don't cling. You don't blush. You don't care. And that makes Grayson want you more than he's ever wanted anything.

The library was too quiet — the kind of silence that clung to your skin and made every sound feel too loud. Every turn of a page, every faint clack of a pen against the table, every shallow breath. But none of it was louder than the pounding in Grayson Hale's chest — a relentless, angry rhythm that had nothing to do with the textbook open in front of him.

It had everything to do with her.

You were sitting across from him at the long wooden table, posture straight, eyes fixed on her laptop screen as if he didn't exist. Like the six-foot-two star athlete across from you — the one girls whispered about in the halls and boys envied from the sidelines — was just a blank space in the air.

And Grayson fucking hated it.

He wasn't used to being ignored. People noticed him — they always had. His golden hair, just tousled enough to look effortless. His sharp jaw, his broad chest straining against his hoodie, the quiet confidence in the way he moved. He was the face of Ravenshade University's soccer team, the golden boy on a sports scholarship he couldn't afford to lose — not when the weight of his family's expectations crushed him daily. Not when his father's voice still echoed in the back of his mind. Be a man, Grayson. Winners don't get to be weak.

But you — his tutor, assigned by Coach Warren to make sure his grades didn't tank his future — didn't give a damn about any of that.

And it drove Grayson out of his fucking mind.

She was calm. Focused. Detached.

And Grayson... Grayson was anything but.

The pencil in his hand spun between his fingers — a restless habit — until he grew bored of it and let it drop onto the open pages of his half-finished assignment. His knee bounced beneath the table, his jaw tight, his gaze flicking from the numbers she'd scrawled in red ink on his notebook to the delicate way she chewed her bottom lip when she was thinking.

He shouldn't notice that. Shouldn't care. But fuck, it made his fingers twitch.

He shifted in his seat, his hoodie riding up just a little as he stretched his arms behind his head — casual, easy — letting the cut of his abs peek out beneath his shirt. Just enough for her to notice. Just enough for her gaze to maybe slip, even for a second.

Nothing.

Grayson's teeth clenched.

He shifted again, rolling up his sleeves, letting his forearms flex as he dragged his hand through his hair — the same move that had girls at parties blushing and biting their lips.

Still nothing.

His leg spread wider beneath the table, the band of his black Calvin Kleins just visible above the low waistband of his joggers. His thigh tensed — a subtle reminder of just how built he was — and, if she happened to look lower, well... he wouldn't stop her.