Page 114 of Offside Attraction

Hayes breaks first.

He leans back, that infuriating smirk sliding effortlessly back into place as he plucks a fry from the basket. “Enjoy your sandwich, Miller,” he says lightly, but there’s something sharp underneath it, something deliberate. “You’re gonna need your energy for tomorrow.”

I roll my eyes and lean back too, pretending like he didn’t just knock the breath out of me with a look. But the tension doesn’t fade—not from my chest, not from the low, aching pull in my body, and the tightness in my pants doesn’t help either.

And no matter how hard I try to shake it, the weight of his words—and the way he watched me—lingers like a gathering storm.

CHAPTER 30

“So,areyougonnacall her?”

Hayes’s voice cuts through the quiet of the car, casual but edged, and I know exactly who he’s talking about. The waitress. The number. I don’t answer. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, the city lights blurring past as I toy with the silver ring around my pointer finger.

I can feel his gaze on me—heavy, lingering, like he’s trying to peel something out of me without touching. The silence stretches, thick and charged, and I let it. Let him sit in it.

“Silent treatment?” he adds, amusement threading his tone. “Come on, Miller. I’m just asking a question.”

Slowly, I turn my head and look at him. My voice comes out low, measured.

“Do you want me to call her?”

That does it.

His smirk slips. Just a fraction, but I catch it. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening before he reins it in. For a beat, he says nothing, eyes flicking back to the road like it suddenly needs all his attention. The hum of the engine fills the space between us.

“Why would I care?” he finally says.

Steady voice. Too steady.

I don’t look away. I watch his jaw tense, the muscle ticking as something unreadable flickers across his face. “You brought it up,” I reply, sharper now. “So clearly, you care aboutsomething.”

He exhales through his nose and shakes his head, forcing that familiar cocky smirk back into place like armor. “I just think it’s funny,” he says. “You get a number handed to you on a silver platter, and you’re acting like it’s a big deal.”

I scoff and lean back in my seat. “Like you said earlier—it’s none of your fucking business, Hayes.”

His fingers start tapping against the steering wheel. Not steady. Not controlled. An uneven rhythm I’ve seen before, the one he slips into when something’s crawling under his skin and he doesn’t want anyone to know.

He’s jealous. And he hates that I can see it.

I turn back to the window, watching the city pass, but the tension in the car is suffocating—tight, electric, pressing against my chest and settling lower too, in a way I don’t want to think about.

“You’re right,” Hayes says at last, his voice low and clipped. “It’s not my business.”

I glance at him from the corner of my eye, catching the way his jaw tightens even more.

“Glad you figured that out,” I say, sharper than I mean to.

His grip on the wheel tightens again, fingers flexing like he’s trying to shake something loose. Then, barely under his breath, like it slips out before he can stop it—

“But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

My head snaps toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He exhales again, frustration bleeding through as he glances at me for half a second before fixing his eyes back on the road.

“Nothing,” he says. “Forget it.”

I straighten in my seat, irritation flaring hot and fast. “No,” I snap. “You don’t get to throw shit like that out there and then pretend it’s nothing. If you’ve got something to say, Griffin, fucking say it.”