Page 42 of Offside Attraction

Lance hesitates, then looks back at me. “Ignore him. He’s just having a bad day. But if you change your mind, we’re over there.” He jerks his thumb toward the seats.

“Thanks, man.”

He nods, then finally notices Tripp, who’s been watching the whole exchange like it’s a live drama series.

“Hey,” Lance says, extending a hand. “I’m Lance.”

“Tripp.”

“Nice to meet you.” He smiles. “See you around, Dakota.” Lance gives me a friendly slap on the back before heading off.

Tripp leans closer. “Who would’ve thought you’d impress HayesfuckingGriffin?” he whispers, chuckling.

Yeah. Who would’ve thought?

“The guy’s like the god of Crestview Prep,” Tripp adds. “Hardly impressed.”

I scoff.

“And just so you know,” Tripp continues more quietly, “I’m not gonna push you to talk about whatever went down between you and Hayes back then. When you trust me enough—I’m here.”

I flash him a small smile and nod.

“Getting you to actually smile and talk to me?” Tripp grins. “I’m satisfied with that. You’re the hardest nut I’ve ever had to crack.”

“Fuck off, Anderson.”

“Iknewwe were gonna be best buds the moment I cornered you by your locker.”

“What a fucking creep,” I mutter, grinning despite myself.

“Shut up, Miller.”

The door opens and Ms. Aldridge strides in, dressed in her usual tight pencil skirt and blouse. The room falls silent instantly. She’s playful, tries to be strict, and fails at it every time.

She grabs a marker and writes the date and subject on the board.

“Alright, class,” she says. “Bring out your English notebooks.”

Thehallwayisquietas I dig through my locker, already a few minutes late to Calculus. I should care. I should be nervous—Crestview is strict enough to hand out detention like candy—but I don’t give a shit.

What Idocare about is how badly I want a cigarette right now.

A pale hand slams my locker shut from behind me, barely missing my fingers as metal clangs loudly through the hall.

I whirl around, anger surging through me at whoever thought that was a smart move.

Hayes Griffin.

In all his fucking glory.

He stands in front of me, that familiar glare carved into his perfectly sculpted face. His expression is darker than usual, more dangerous.

For a second, neither of us moves. The air between us is thick—charged, suffocating.

“Hey, Miller,” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut skin.

“What part ofstay the fuck away from medon’t you understand?” I snap. “Or what—are you obsessed with me now?”