Page 61 of Offside Attraction

Tripp notices me and heads my way, pulling out the chair across from me and sitting down.

“Hey, man,” I say, locking my phone and placing it face-down on the table.

Like me, he’s ditched the tie, top button undone. The open collar exposes his collarbone, and his low fade—with the top just messy enough—gives him that effortless bad-boy look. Both ears pierced. Easy smile.

Tripp Anderson is good-looking, friendly with half the school, and completely unaware of how easily people gravitate toward him.

Tripp was adopted by his aunt.

He told me once—late at night, half joking, half not—that his birth mother overdosed when he was ten. No father in the picture. None of his relatives stepped forward, so he ended up in foster care for a few months before his mom’s older sister found out and took him in.

She’s a chef. Works mostly on cruise ships. Tough, loud, affectionate in the way people are when they don’t know how to sayI love youwithout food or sarcasm. She raised Tripp like he was hers long before the papers made it official. Later, shemarried a freelance translator who works from home, and from what Tripp told me, they’re doing well. Stable. Safe.

I think they’re even expecting a baby.

Funny how life works out like that sometimes.

“You good?” Tripp asks, pulling me back to the present.

“Yeah,” I say, then sigh. “Sorry about how I reacted earlier. That was stupid.”

“Yeah,” he says easily, smiling. “It was.”

I chuckle. “I know.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, shrugging. “Seriously, man. I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Tripp says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Is it safe to say it’s about Hayes?”

I scoff. “What do you think?”

“I think there’s a lot of hostility between the two of you. A lot of… tension.” He tilts his head slightly. “Unfinished shit. What happened between you guys back in middle school?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to,” he says quickly. “I just mean—maybe it’d help if you confronted him. Like adults. One-on-one.”

I snort. “What’s this? A therapy session?”

Tripp laughs. “Oh, shut up.”

We fall into a comfortable silence.

My eyes drift—against my better judgment—to Hayes, sitting a few tables behind Tripp with his usual entourage. Shay leans into him, her body pressed close as she whispers something in his ear. The smirk on her face, the amused curve of his lips… whatever she said was definitely not innocent.

“I’m not kidding though,” Tripp says, snapping me out of it. “You two look like you were close friends once.”

“Not friends,” I say quickly, clearing my throat. “We were never friends. Not to mention close.”

I feel it before I see it.

Hayes’s gaze.

I glance up just in time to catch him staring at me, eyes locked on mine like he’s been waiting for it. My jaw tightens. I glare back, wordlessly telling him to fuck off.

He smirks.