Page 53 of Offside Attraction

Well. I was close.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I say. My gaze flicks over her outfit, my jaw tightening. “What are you doing here dressed like that?”

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t start.”

“Does Mom—or Mark—know you’re here?”

“No,” she says quickly. “And don’t tell them. I just wanted to have fun.”

“Fun?” I laugh bitterly. “Getting drunk at a high school party is one hell of a way to get harassed—or worse. You’re sixteen, Harper. Sixteen. You should be home watching movies, not partying with people twice as reckless as you.”

“I—” She opens her mouth, then shuts it, huffing in frustration.

I shake my head, disappointment heavy in my chest as I pull out my phone. “I’m calling you a cab. You’re going home. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

She rolls her eyes, looking anywhere but at me.

We wait outside in silence for fifteen minutes. When the cab finally pulls up, I help her in and watch it disappear down the street before turning back toward the party.

“Dakota! Come on, you have to join us!” Lance calls, waving me over as I stride past them.

I hesitate, then sigh and change direction, making my way to where the guys are gathered in a loose circle.

“What’s going on?” I ask, forcing more enthusiasm than I actually feel.

“We’re playing flip cup,” Lance explains, eyes lit up like it’s the greatest idea in the world. “Team game. You’re in.”

My gaze lifts on instinct—and collides with Hayes’s.

He’s been watching me all night. Tracking me. Like he’s waiting for something.

I look away immediately, because the longer I stare into his stupidly pretty eyes—the ones I refuse to admit do things to me—the tighter my stomach twists under his heated gaze.

“Fine,” I mutter. Arguing would be pointless. And maybe this will distract me from Hayes Griffin’s looming presence.

Maybe.

Teams are split fast. I end up with Tripp, Lance, Pete, and Zach. Competitive energy crackles in the air as music thumps through the house and people crowd around the table, shouting and cheering.

I slam my cup down, flip it clean. Upright.

Cheers erupt.

As the rounds go on, I feel him.

Hayes is on the opposing team, effortless and infuriating, drawing attention like gravity. He downs his drink, flips his cup with lazy precision, barely breaking a sweat. Shay is beside him, clapping, laughing—hanging off his arm like she belongs there.

“Looks like your boy’s got skills,” Tripp mutters, nodding toward Hayes.

“He’s not my boy,” I snap, eyes locked on the table. “And I’m not intimidated.”

But I am aware.

Too aware.

Every time I glance up, Hayes is already looking at me—like he’s waiting for me to mess up.

Final round.