Page 16 of Offside Attraction

The silence stretches.

Awkward. Heavy. Charged in a way I didn’t think was possible after all these years.

“You can fuck off, you know,” I say. “End this whole awkward silence. I really want to be alone.”

“You know,” he says quietly, “it doesn’t have to be awkward between us.”

“Right.” I scoff, dragging deeply on the cigarette before pulling it from my lips. “What are you even doing here? How the fuck did you find me?”

“I just want to talk.” He smirks, like we’re old friends catching up instead of whatever the hell this is.

I turn to face him fully—and that’s when it hits me.

We’re almost the same height now.

He’s maybe an inch taller, my forehead nearly level with his nose. I’m broader, more solid, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at me like he’s perfectly comfortable standing this close.

I flick the cigarette butt over the banister and watch it disappear.

“We’re not friends, Hayes,” I say flatly. “Never were. Never will be. So why don’t you stop this shit and get out of my fucking face?”

His smile only deepens.

He bites his bottom lip.

My eyes betray me, following the movement before I can stop them.

Fuck me.

How am I still reacting to him like this after all these years? I’m not a kid anymore. Whatever this is should’ve burned out by now.

“Why are you so angry?” he asks.

“And who said I’m angry?”

“I know you, Miller.” His voice is calm. Too calm. “And I can tell there’s a lot of anger burning through you.”

“You don’t know shit about me, Hayes.”

“True.” His gaze trails down my body again before returning to my eyes. “You’ve changed.” A pause. “And you cut your hair.”

He turns away, facing the wall, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s deliberately giving me space.

I don’t need this.

Why is he so… controlled? So calm? The Hayes standing in front of me is nothing like the arrogant, vile bastard I knew in middle school. Nothing like the boy from summer camp.

This version of him is polite. Measured.

And fuck me if that isn’t somehow worse.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. “How did you find me?”

I lean back against the banister, elbows resting on the railing, my fingers twitching with the urge for another cigarette.

“You used to hang out in the stairwell back at Dalton,” Hayes says. “I figured you’d be here.”

“Right.”