Page 75 of Offside Attraction

I glance at him briefly before looking away again, my gaze drifting over the dark garden. The silence between us isn’t sharp like usual. It’s heavier. Charged. And I hate how aware I am of him standing there, existing in my space like he belongs.

Crickets chirp in the distance, their rhythm filling the quiet neither of us seems willing to break.

Hayes shifts, like he’s debating something. Then, “That was one awkward dinner, huh?” he says, almost… normal.

I snort. “You’re making conversation now?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares out at the yard like it suddenly holds all the answers.

“Why not?”

I take another drag, letting the smoke sit in my lungs before releasing it slowly. I’m waiting for it—the jab, the insult, the inevitable reminder of who he really is.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he just stands there. Watching. Quiet.

And that’s worse.

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, his attention burning into my side.

“Fucking stop already,” I say, flicking the cigarette over the railing and watching the ember disappear into the dark.

“Stop what?”

“Stop fucking staring at me,” I snap, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets and tilting my face toward the night sky. “You’re just being weird.”

There’s a pause.

Then—unexpected. Disarming.

“Yeah,” Hayes says. “Sorry.”

The word hits harder than any insult could.

I turn to look at him, taking note of the busted lip and the fading bruise on his cheek—still healing from our fight. My own ribs ache faintly when I push myself too hard during practice, and the black eye Hayes gave me has lightened but hasn’t fully disappeared.

Neat. We’re both walking reminders of how badly this can go.

Needing something to do with my hands, something to ground me, I pull out another cigarette and light it. I inhale deeply, letting the smoke burn its way down my lungs before exhaling into the cold night air.

“That still hurt?” Hayes asks, nodding toward my face—his handiwork.

I scoff softly, more tired than amused. I don’t understand where this conversation is going, and that alone puts me on edge. I’m used to Hayes being an asshole. A snob. A menace. But this—this strange, almost careful version of him—is unsettling.

The last time he was “nice” to me, he kissed me… and then made my life hell for it.

I know better than to trust this. Whatever this is, it’s just another one of his games. And fuck him for being good at it.

I consider walking away. I should walk away. But I’m exhausted—physically, mentally—and I don’t have it in me to fight him tonight.

Silence stretches between us again, awkward and heavy. Hayes shifts like he wants to say something, like he’s testing the weight of the moment.

Then, out of nowhere—

“You didn’t do too bad at practice this past week.”

I turn to him sharply. “What?”