LOGIN'Since when did so much hate become affection, no, NEED' Callum Reyes has spent his entire life earning his place. A scholarship wide receiver at Crestfield University — one of the most elite football programs in the country — he knows exactly what he is to the people here: a charity case with fast legs and a GPA they didn't expect. He keeps his head down, his grades up, and his heart locked behind something no one has ever bothered to pick. Then there's Jaxon Whitfield. Quarterback. Team captain. Golden boy of Crestfield's football dynasty. Jaxon is everything Callum isn't — legacy money, a famous last name, and a jaw that could cut glass. He's also, by every measurable standard, the most infuriating human being Callum has ever been forced to share oxygen with. From the first day Callum stepped onto that field, Jaxon decided he was a problem. Too fast. Too good. Too'there.' He rides Callum harder than any other player, gets under his skin in ways that shouldn't be possible, and looks at him with those dark green eyes like Callum is something he can't figure out — and hates himself for trying. But when a career-threatening injury, a locker room secret, a rivalry that's starting to feel like something else entirely, and one night neither of them planned for collide — Callum and Jaxon have to reckon with something they were never supposed to feel. 'Offside' is a slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers MM sports romance about two young men learning that the person who makes your blood boil might just be the person setting you on fire. It's about class and legacy, found family and loneliness, the weight of expectation, and what happens when the one person you want to hate is the only one who actually'sees' you.
View MorePOV: JaxonWe sat for twenty minutes.Neither of us suggested leaving. Neither of us suggested staying. We just sat at the corner table with the cold food and the coffee that had been cold for longer and the Sunday morning doing its ordinary thing around us.A family came in and sat at the table Richard had walked past on his way out. A couple near the window was having the kind of conversation that existed below the ambient noise level, heads close, something private between them. A waiter cleared a table across the room with the efficient unhurried movement of someone in the middle of a long shift.Ordinary. All of it completely ordinary.I was trying to locate what I felt.This was harder than it should have been. I'd been feeling things with more precision lately the season had done that, or Callum had done that, or the combination of the season and Callum and the particular accumulation of moments that had required me to show up honestly had done that. But this particular feeling
POV: CallumI held it.Two words and I held them the way I held everything that mattered in rooms where showing your reaction was information you hadn't decided to give. My face didn't do anything. My hands stayed where they were. I looked at Richard and let the words exist without performing what they did to me.What they did to me was considerable.Because I'd been in rooms with Richard Whitfield twice before this one and in both of those rooms he had been the most controlled person present. The warmth precisely calibrated. The language surgical. The silence between sentences doing specific work. I had never, in any interaction with him, seen him say anything that cost him something to say.You're right cost him something.I could see it in the specific stillness that followed it. The way he didn't immediately fill the space after. The way he let the two words sit there unmanaged, which was not how Richard operated. He managed everything. He had managed everything for thirty years.
POV: JaxonThree people at a table.My father performing the gracious host. Coffee ordered before we arrived, menus already open at our places, the particular hospitality of someone who wanted the room to feel like he was taking care of you.Me performing nothing. That was new. In every previous version of sitting across from Richard Whitfield I'd been running something the dutiful son, the focused quarterback, the managed version of myself that knew which edges to sand down before he saw them. Today I was just sitting. Eating the food when it arrived. Listening. Not building anything on top of it.Callum was doing something more precise than either of us. He was performing just enough to match the room without being managed by it. Present, engaged, polite in the specific way that didn't hand anything over. I watched him do it and thought about the fact that he'd had more practice than either of us at existing in rooms that hadn't been built for him.Richard talked.He was very good a
POV: CallumI saw the screenshot at ten forty-three.I read it once. Put my phone down. Picked it back up and read it again, not because I'd missed anything the first time but because the second reading confirmed what the first one had told me, which was that this was exactly what it looked like.Come alone. I'll explain when you're here.I knew the shape of this before I knew the specifics of it. I'd been reading coverage schemes long enough that the pre-snap alignment told you most of what you needed to know before anyone moved. The separate text was the pre-snap alignment. The play was remove the support. Get Jaxon in a room first, alone, let the room do what rooms did when Richard Whitfield had twenty minutes in them before anyone else arrived.I texted back. Asked what he was going to do. He said he didn't know.I said I'd be there at seven.---I was at his door at six fifty-eight because I left earlier than I needed to and didn't slow down.He opened it before I knocked. He was
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