Page 7 of Offside Attraction

She asks questions I don’t want to answer.

Like I said—things have changed.

I’m not the timid boy I was four years ago.

I’m something else now.

Something more dangerous.

“You should get going,” I tell Harper, pulling the cigarette from my mouth and blowing smoke into the air. “You’ll miss homeroom.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“I’ll be right behind you.” I flash her a grin. “Unless you wanna wait while I finish this.” I lift the cigarette for emphasis before slipping it back between my lips.

“God, no,” she groans, unlocking the door. “You know how much I hate the smell of that.”

She steps out, then pauses.

“See you later, big brother.”

The door shuts behind her as she heads toward the school entrance.

I sigh and let my head fall back against the car seat, staring at the roof as I exhale the last of the smoke. I flick the cigarette butt out the open window, grab the air freshener, and spray it aggressively to mask the smell before rolling the windows up.

I adjust the rearview mirror and stare at my reflection for a second—long enough to remind myself I’m not that kid anymore—then unlock the door and step out.

I groan under my breath, already wishing I could rip this uniform off my body and be anywhere else. I look like a fucking idiot, even without the tie I flat-out refused to wear.

I start toward the school entrance when a sleek black Bentley pulls into the parking lot.

I stop.

The sign above the space reads:

GRIFFIN.

My heart drops straight to my feet.

A driver steps out and opens the back door, and then—

Him.

The world slows, like someone hit pause on everything except us. Every sound dulls. Every other student fades into background noise as Hayes Griffin steps out of the car.

He looks like a goddamn prince climbing out of luxury.

Heads turn. Whispers ripple through the lot. People always treat him like royalty. He walks like the world belongs to him—like even the ground beneath his feet knows better than to challenge him.

And it doesn’t help that he looks… good.

No.

Worse than good.

Hayes Griffin is nothing like the boy I remember.

The version of him standing there now is devastatingly attractive. Even in the same school uniform I’m wearing, everything on him looks expensive—tailored. A gold watch that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe glints at his wrist. He’s taller now. Broader. Maybe even my height.