Page 101 of Offside Attraction
Throughout this week, Zach is always in my space, on the ice, and even during morning hours by my locker. He’d start with a simple and easy-going conversation, and then he’d flirt with me, throwing boyish smiles that make it impossible to tell if he’s being serious or just messing around. It’s been like this all week—his presence constant, his attention unwavering, like he’s trying to crack through whatever walls I’ve built up.
“Hey,” I reply, my voice steady despite the sudden twist in my stomach. I rest my hands on my knees, still catching my breath from the laps I just finished.
“You’ve been killing it out here,” Zach says, his tone casual as he leans against the boards, his dark green eyes fixed on me. “Gotta say, it’s kinda impressive watching you skate.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s a small part of me that doesn’t mind the compliment. “Thanks, I guess.”
He smirks, tilting his head slightly. “What? No sarcastic comeback? No telling me to go bother someone else? I think I’m starting to grow on you, Miller.”
I shake my head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite myself. “Or maybe I’m just too tired to fight you off.”
Zach laughs, the sound warm and easy, and for a moment, it cuts through the heaviness that’s been following me around all day. “Fair enough,” he says. “But for the record, I’m not going anywhere. So you might as well get used to me.”
I straighten up, leaning on my stick as I glance over at him. “You always this persistent?”
“Not really. Not unless it’s someone as fine as you,” he replies smoothly, his grin widening. There’s something in his tone, something playful yet sincere, that makes my chest tighten in a way I’m not ready to deal with.
Before I can respond, he skates closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You know, you don’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length, Dakota. Some of us aren’t here to make your life harder.”
The words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. Zach’s gaze is steady, unflinching, and it’s clear he’s not just talking about hockey or casual conversations. He’s offering something more—something I’m not sure I can accept.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say finally, my voice quieter than before.
Zach nods, his boyish smile returning as he backs away. “Good.”
“Miller! Nash!” A familiar voice calls, the sharpness putting a stop to me and Zach’s conversation.
I turn to see Hayes glaring at me, his expression a mixture of irritation, anger, and something else I can’t quite place. He skates toward us, but stops a few feet away, his gaze fixed on me and Zach’s proximity. Sometimes I forget he’s the team captain, so he uses that as an opportunity to put everyone in their place.
“What’s this, an episode ofDakota Miller’s Social Hour?” Hayes drawls, his tone laced with sarcasm. His glare flicks between me and Zach, sharp and unrelenting, but it lingers on me like a spotlight I can’t escape.
I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms. “What’s your problem, Griffin?”
“My problem?” Hayes shoots back, his voice hard. “You two slacking off while the rest of us are out here working. You do know we’ve got our first game of the season next week, right?”
Zach chuckles beside me, unfazed. “Relax, Griffin. We were just having a conversation. Or is that against team policy now?”
Hayes turns to glare at Zach, “Nash, maybe you should focus less on talking and more on actually playing. Last I checked, we’re trying to win games, not host a damn talk show.” His tone is sharp, biting, and the tension between us is palpable.
“Wow. So much hostility,” Zach mutters under his breath, loud enough for me to hear.
“Excuse me?” Hayes skates forward, his gaze hard and piercing and fixed on Zach. “What did you just say?”
“Back off, Hayes,” I step in, fixing him with a glare. “We were just talking.”
“Miller, Griffin, and Nash. Is there a problem?” Coach Rivera calls. Hayes skates back, turning to face Coach Rivera.
“No problem, Coach,” Hayes says, putting up his fake smile as he turns to glare at me and Zach from above his shoulder.
“Miller?”
“No problem, sir,” I say, casting a quick glance and a glare at Hayes.
“Then scatter,” Coach Rivera calls, his voice authoritative and echoing across the rink.
The sharp sound of skates cutting into the ice fills the rink, mingling with the echo of Coach Rivera’s whistle as we skate toward center ice. Coach Rivera divides us into teams for the scrimmage and—of fucking course—Hayes ends up on my side.
The moment he calls out the teams, my stomach sinks. Hayes and I are on the same line. Because nothing says team bonding like being forced to skate beside the self-appointed king of the rink.