Page 113 of Offside Attraction

“Coming right up,” she chirps, not even acknowledging him as she turns and walks away.

This time, my gaze follows her—deliberate. I let it trail down her back, linger just long enough to notice the subtle sway in her hips. She glances over her shoulder, catches me watching, and sends me a wink.

I smirk.

When I look back, Hayes is already staring at me.

“So what,” he says, tilting his head, his tone light but edged with something sharp and unfamiliar. “You flirt with every waitress who throws herself at you?”

I lean back in the booth, unbothered, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’re one to talk, Griffin. You charm every girl within a ten-foot radius just by breathing.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not every girl.”

The weight of his words settles between us, thick and suffocating as we stare at each other, with none of us bothering to look away.

“Why do you care anyway?” I ask finally, my voice quieter now, irritation threaded through it. “It’s not like it matters.”

Hayes leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he locks eyes with me. “Maybe it does,” he says, his voice low, steady. “Maybe I don’t like watching you act like you don’t give a damn about anything—or anyone.”

My chest tightens, the words cutting deeper than I expect. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, my tone sharper, more defensive than I intend.

He shrugs, reaching for the straw again, rolling it slowly between his fingers. “Figure it out, Dakota.”

I shake my head and turn my attention away from him, my gaze drifting toward the waitress who’s been watching me from behind the counter. A few minutes later, she returns with our orders, setting them down gently in front of us.

As she turns to leave, I notice something slide onto my tray.

I pick it up—paper folded once. Of course. I unfold it, not surprised to find a phone number scribbled across it. When I glance up, the waitress catches my eye and winks, biting her bottom lip as she bends to wipe down the counter, her blouse dipping low enough to make her intentions painfully obvious.

Hayes scoffs loudly, an irritated groan slipping from him. “What a bitch,” he mutters under his breath.

I look at him, then casually slip the paper into my pants pocket.

“Look at you,” I say, a small smirk stretching across my lips as I take a bite of my sandwich. “Getting all jealous.” I chew slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact. “Didn’t know you were that attracted to me.”

Hayes lifts an eyebrow, his expression hard—but there’s something else there too, something quick and unguarded that only makes my smirk widen. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms as he studies me, his mouth quirking into a faint, controlled smile.

“Jealous?” he repeats, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Please, Miller. You’re not that irresistible.”

I shrug, unfazed, taking another bite. “Could’ve fooled me. The way you’re acting, it’s like you can’t stand the thought of someone else wanting my attention.”

He scoffs, reaches for his drink, pops the lid, slips in a straw, and takes a long pull. His shoulders are tense—subtle, but not enough to miss.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says evenly, though there’s an edge to it now. “If anything, I’m just surprised someone’s actually interested.”

“Ouch,” I say, clutching my chest in mock offense. “That almost hurt.”

Hayes chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, Miller.”

I lean forward slightly, closing the distance just enough to feel dangerous. “Oh, I sleep just fine,” I say lightly. “But I’m starting to think you don’t. All that jealousy must be exhausting.”

He leans in too, elbows on the table now, the space between us suddenly too small, too charged.

“You really think I’m the one losing sleep?” he asks, his voice dropping just enough to send a jolt straight through me.

He lifts his Coke and takes a slow sip, his eyes dark as my gaze betrays me, dropping to his mouth—those full lips wrapped around the thin red straw. My pulse kicks hard in my ears, and my thoughts turn traitorous, spiraling into all the things those lips could do if I let myself stop fighting this for even a second.

The air between us crackles, thick and electric. For a heartbeat, I can’t tell if I want to laugh in his face, shove him back into the booth—or grab him by the collar and close the distance myself.