Page 43 of Offside Attraction

Hayes laughs, low and unhinged, licking his bottom lip as his eyes flick briefly down the empty hallway.

My gaze betrays me, dropping to his mouth—pink, full, annoyingly distracting.

Fuck every hormone in my body.

“You really wanna go there?” he says. “Last time I checked, you’re the one who forced your way back into my life by joiningmyteam.” One brow arches, smug. “So tell me, Miller—who’s obsessed with who?”

I have a thousand things I want to say, but I know better. Engaging him only feeds whatever sick satisfaction he gets from this. And I refuse to entertain my worst enemy.

“What do you want, Griffin?” I ask instead, my voice calm—deliberately so. I know it gets under his skin.

“I warned you,” he says, stepping closer. His cologne—expensive, clean, infuriating—hits me hard, tangling with something unmistakablyhimand threatening to short-circuit my brain. “Stay out of my way. Just because you made the team doesn’t mean you’re shit now. You think Coach Rivera’s gonna save you from what’s coming? You’re wrong.”

I smirk, meeting his gaze head-on. “Funny how you didn’t stop me from making the team,” I say lightly. “Maybe you’re not as in control as you like to think.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes narrow.

Bullseye.

“I’m not scared of you,” I continue, stepping closer, my voice dropping. “If you want to intimidate me, you’re gonna have to try harder. This little act?” I scoff. “It’s embarrassing.”

For half a second, something flickers in his eyes—something that isn’t rage.

Then it’s gone.

“Boys!” a sharp voice snaps. “What are you doing in the hallway during class?”

Principal Caldwell.

Hayes leans in just enough to whisper, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re gonna wish you never made the team,” he murmurs, lips curling. “If you think middle school was hell, high school’s gonna be worse. I promise you that.”

Then he steps back.

Without another word, Hayes turns and walks away, leaving the tension behind like a live wire—still crackling, still dangerous.

CHAPTER 9

Thecoldairofthe rink cuts through my practice jersey as I step onto the ice, the sharp scrape of skates carving into the surface echoing around me. The team is already warming up—gliding effortlessly, sticks clattering as they pass the puck back and forth. Excitement buzzes through my veins, laced with a thin edge of anxiety.

Coach Rivera isn’t here yet, and I can feel it—the weight of eyes on me as I skate toward the group. This is my first official practice, and I haven’t even been properly introduced.

“Hey, Miller! Over here!” Lance calls out, waving enthusiastically.

He’s standing with Hayes, Ezra, Finn, two guys built like defensemen, and—

Zach.

So he made the team. Not surprising.

I skate over, forcing myself to breathe evenly, though nerves curl tight in my chest. It’s rare for me to feel this way.

“Hey, man,” I say to Lance.

I don’t have to look to know Hayes is watching me. I can feel his stare like a warning burned into my skin.

“Dakota,” Zach says, smiling when I turn to him. “Glad you made the team. I mean—I knew you would. You’re freaking good.”

I shrug like it’s nothing, but my eyes flick briefly to Hayes. He shifts, jaw tightening, clearly not thrilled by Zach’s praise. Zach’s blond hair is tied back in the same low bun as before, neat and effortless.