Page 76 of Offside Attraction

He shrugs, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “On the ice. You held your own. Considering everything.”

“Considering everything?” I repeat flatly.

There it is. There’s always a hook with him.

“You’re not as much of a rookie as I thought,” he says. And the weirdest part? His tone is almost… sincere. The smirk on his face isn’t the usual arrogant one. It’s muted. Controlled. Like he’s actually giving me credit.

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Are you seriously complimenting me right now?”

Hayes chuckles, and I hate how natural it sounds. “Don’t get used to it,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m just being honest.”

I narrow my eyes. “Yeah? Since when are you honest with me?”

He meets my gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before his expression softens just a fraction. “Since now, I guess.”

That stops me cold.

I don’t know what to make of this. This isn’t the Hayes I know. The Hayes I know would have used this moment to rip into me, make me feel like I didn’t belong on the team, on the ice—anywhere. But right now, he’s not doing any of that. He’s just…talking. Like we’re not constantly at each other’s throats.

Suspicion crawls up my spine. “What’s your angle?”

“No angle,” he says, straightening from the railing and stretching his arms over his head like this is nothing. “Just figured we could try something different for a change.”

I stare at him, waiting for the punchline.

It never comes.

“Something different,” I repeat slowly.

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Like not fighting. Just for tonight.”

I blink. Once.

Not fighting?

Us?

“You’re serious?”

Hayes shrugs, his tone deceptively light. “Why not? We’re already stuck here, pretending to be civil for our parents. What’s the point of dragging it out?”

I stare at him, waiting for the joke. It never comes.

“What are you saying?” I ask.

He meets my eyes, and for a split second, something slips through—something raw. Almost… vulnerable. “I’m saying let’s get out of here. Just for a little while.”

My heart does something stupid. I look away immediately, grounding myself. “You want to leave. With me?”

His smirk fades completely. “Yeah. Why not?”

I scoff, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath my boot. “Because we hate each other. You’ve made that pretty clear over the years.”

He doesn’t snap back. Doesn’t deflect. He just watches me, expression unreadable, voice calm. “What makes you think I hate you?”

The question lands hard.

I stare at him, my thoughts scrambling. Heshouldhate me. After everything—middle school, the kiss, the fight, the dare—hate has been the one thing I’ve been sure of. It’s been easier to hold onto than anything else.