Wicked Attraction

Chapter One

Hazel Golden was scribbled in the top-right corner of her notebook, the letters etched over and over in her mind as she twisted a pencil between her fingers. For nearly an hour, she had stared at the blank page in her notebook and was mindlessly scrolling through t****k, hoping inspiration—or at the very least, sleep—would come. But neither had.

Instead, Hazel found herself sitting cross-legged on her bed at six o'clock on a Sunday morning, staring at the blinking cursor on her laptop screen as she struggled to write the opening essay for her college literature class.

The assignment sounded simple enough: write about yourself. Share something interesting, something meaningful, something that could one day serve as the opening chapter of a memoir.

Simple.

Hazel almost laughed at the word.

Simple had never been a word anyone could use to describe her life. In fact, complicated seemed a more of an appropriate word. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't the kind of complicated most people found fascinating. It wasn't the kind that inspired bestselling books or heartfelt movies where audiences fell in love with the protagonist by the final scene.

No, Hazel's life was the other kind.

The messy and painful kind.

The kind filled with secrets that were better left buried and memories she spent most of her time trying very hard to forget.

If she were brave enough to write the truth—and she definitely wasn't—it would leave her with more scars than she already carried.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard before falling back into her lap.

What was she supposed to write?

That she had spent most of her life pretending everything was fine?

That most of her earliest memories felt more like nightmares than childhood moments?

That she had become so good at hiding the broken pieces of herself that most people didn't even realize they existed?

None of those things belonged in a college essay.

With a frustrated sigh, Hazel leaned back against the wall behind her bed and glanced at the blank page again. She searched her mind for something positive, something normal, but every memory that surfaced seemed to have a shadow attached to it.

The truth was, she didn't have many stories worth telling besides the bad ones.

And even those were stories she never wanted anyone to read.

She wasn't an athlete.

In high school, sports had been little more than a distant spectacle she occasionally watched from the sidelines. She hadn't thrown herself into extracurricular activities either—unless attendance was mandatory, in which case she showed up, did what was required, and left without making much of an impression. She had never been the type to seek the spotlight or even stand too close to it.

And friends? Well, that list was remarkably short.

Hazel had exactly one friend: Sasha Roman.

Sasha had been her best friend since third grade, and if Hazel was being honest, the only reason she had survived middle and high school with her sanity intact.

The two of them couldn't have been more different from each other.

While Hazel preferred the comfort of solitude, often with one or both AirPods tucked in her ears, a book in her hands, and a look that often said, "f**k around and find out."

Sasha seemed to thrive on being around people. She moved through the halls like air; everyone, even the teachers, tended to move out of the way for her.

But Sasha's popularity wasn't shallow or stereotypical. She wasn't one of those girls who thrived on cruelty or social hierarchy. Sasha was genuinely kind and an energetic bunny—the sort of person who made everyone feel seen. Even the occasional bullies respected her enough to keep their behaviour in check when she was around. She treated people the same, no matter who they were, always with a warm smile, effortless charm, and a level of respect that came naturally to her.

Of course, being captain of both the gymnastics team and the cheerleading squad certainly didn't hurt her social standing.

And yes, Sasha was beautiful—stunning, really. With long blonde hair cascading down her back, bright blue eyes that sparkled with life, and the kind of confidence that turned heads wherever she went.

Hazel, on the other hand, was… well, Hazel. She wasn’t ugly — she knew that much. Her rich, dark skin often glowed warmly beneath the sun; her deep brown eyes were usually hidden behind her glasses, and her thick, kinky hair seemed to have a personality of its own, curling wildly on some days and behaving differently on others. She never obsessed over beauty the way other girls did, though. To her, appearance was just appearance.

Despite everything, the boys didn't flock to her the way they did to Sasha; she had never really cared enough about it either.

While other girls spent lunch breaks dissecting texts from crushes or obsessing over who liked whom, Hazel was usually tucked into a corner halfway through a book and avoiding eye contact with the rest of the world.

She had never had her first kiss.

Never been on a real date.

Never had anyone confess some grand, dramatic crush on her in the hallway between classes.

And strangely enough, she wasn't in any rush for any of it.

It wasn't that she despised romance or didn't want to be wanted. She just never found herself interested in the boys in her grade.

They all felt too immature, too loud, too ordinary to stir anything in her.

She often thought about the men that she would read about in the back of the library. The romance books that were far too mature for her, the ones that would often leave her questioning everything she thought she knew about love and romance.

The notebook still sat open on her lap, the pen flicking restlessly between her fingers as her thoughts wandered far from the blank page. For a moment, she considered writing about her personal life—the parts of herself only her brothers and best friend knew, the pieces she'd spent years carefully tucking away where no one could reach them.

But the thought faded almost as quickly as it came.

The idea of someone else knowing the truth made her stomach twist.

Not every truth needs to be seen or heard.

Hazel stared down at the page, her grip tightening around the pen. She could already imagine it—the subtle shift in the professor's expression after reading it, the awkward silence, the sympathy in their eyes.

And that was exactly what she couldn't handle.

Pity.

She hated pity more than anything—more than being ignored or being underestimated.

And way more than her first failing grade. Which is what would happen if she doesn't turn in the assignment.

But she had spent years learning how to carry her pain deep within her, so no one looked too closely, and letting strangers see what had happened to her—what her life had really been like in her early years—felt worse.

So she exhaled, shut down the thought, and stared at the blank page again.

A sudden thump from somewhere down the hall broke the silence.

Great, Hazel thought. Her brothers were also up.

Another sleepless night in the Golden household.

She pushed herself off the bed, stretching the stiffness from her back before padding toward her bedroom door.

Just as she made her way out the room, Shaun stepped out of his room on the other side of the hall, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His brown hair stuck out in every direction, messy and tousled. He had one hand through his Tupac vs Biggie T-shirt and the other hand was fighting to find its way through.

“Dude,” he said with a yawn, leaning against the doorframe, “next time try lowering your voice a little.”

Hazel blinked at him, confusion written all over her face.

It took a second for his words to sink in — and when they did, her eyes narrowed instantly.

“Really, bro?” she shot back.

Shaun only smirked, clearly enjoying her embarrassment.

If Hazel had been any lighter, her cheeks would’ve turned bright red. Instead, heat crawled up her neck as she folded her arms tightly across her chest.

“You actually heard that?” she asked after a painfully long silence.

Shaun snorted. “Heard it? Haze, the whole house probably heard it.”

Sleep had once again refused to come last night, leaving Hazel restless beneath her sheets with nothing but her thoughts—and unfortunately, those thoughts always seemed to lead back to one man.

So, sometime after midnight, she had reached into her bedside drawer for her trusted rose toy and tried to work out the frustration that had been building inside her for weeks.

Or months.

Who was she kidding?

Years.

And through it all, her mind had stayed fixed on the one man who she wanted more than anything but couldn't have.

The sound of his voice.

The roughness of his hands.

The way those piercing blue eyes seemed to linger on her just a second too long whenever she dared to look at him made her chest tighten in ways she hated to admit.

He was the kind of man who never needed an introduction. He carried himself with the sort of confidence that made people notice him the second he walked into a room. He didn’t have to ask for attention, but he commanded it well, like he knew exactly what effect he had on people and had long since stopped pretending otherwise.

Unfortunately for Hazel, he was completely off-limits.

Not just because he was close to her, though, that alone should have been enough to kill every thought before it formed. But because even if he weren’t, Hazel knew deep down he would never look twice at someone like her.

She was just Hazel.

Quiet. Awkward. The girl in oversized hoodies and glasses who preferred books over parties and avoided crowds whenever she could. She wasn’t the type of woman a man like him would ever want.

And that was the part that hurt the most.

Because no matter how many times she reminded herself it was impossible, her body never seemed to listen. Her pulse still jumped whenever he came too close. Her thoughts still betrayed her every time he smiled. Her mind still wandered to places it had no business going whenever he looked at her too long.

It was sad, really.

To want someone that much and know, with absolute certainty, that nothing would ever come of it.

To be so affected by a man who probably had no idea how deeply he lived inside her thoughts.

Or maybe he did.

Sometimes the way he looked at her made Hazel wonder.

And somehow, that possibility only made things worse.