Page 82 of Offside Attraction

Hayes has always been good with words, knowing exactly what to say to make my heart beat ten times faster and twist my thoughts into knots. He’s dangerous that way—one second, he’s pushing every button he can to get a rise out of me, and the next, he’s looking at me with that damn smirk, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

But I can’t let myself get swept up in this, in him. I’ve been burned before, and I know better than to fall for a few well-placed words and stolen glances. Hayes might be trying to charm his way past my defenses, but I refuse to be just another game he’s playing.

But yet, I can’t ignore the way his gaze lingers on me, the hint of something I can’t quite read in his eyes. There’s an intensity there, one I’m not used to from him, and it leaves me feeling unsteady, like I’m walking on thin ice.

I swallow, trying to shake off the rush of emotions stirring inside me. This isn’t supposed to happen. He’s just messing with me, like he always does. And yet… part of me can’t help wondering if there’s something real beneath that smirk.

“God, you’re such a fucking dick,”

“What?” Hayes asks, genuinely confused by my words as he stares at me. His smirk falters for a second but there’s a small smug smile on his lips.

“Don’t play coy, Hayes. Saying shit like that doesn’t mean the slate is suddenly clean. I still fucking hate you,” I say, trying to sound defensive and pissed, but my voice doesn’t resemble anything close to the anger I’m aiming for. Instead, it comes out quieter, almost shaky, betraying me in the worst way.

Hayes notices, of course. His smirk grows, but there’s something softer in his eyes, like he’s seeing straight through the wall I’m trying to put up. “Funny,” he murmurs, shifting a fraction closer. “You don’t sound like you hate me.”

I clench my jaw, every instinct telling me to back away, to shut him out before he gets under my skin any more than he already has. But my body doesn’t agree, and my pulse races, and suddenly, I’m not sure which of us is winning this little game.

“Trust me, I do,” I insist, but the words feel hollow, even to me. “Half the time, I want to fucking hurt you,” I say, my voice barely steady.

“And the other half?” he asks, his voice softer and calm, shutting my brain down with the simplicity of the question. His eyes are locked on mine, as if he’s daring me to say what we both know I won’t.

I swallow hard, my defense slowly crumbling down. I want to look away, but I can’t, not with the way he’s staring at me. Like he wants to grab me and kiss me, and maybe let his hands explore every inch of my body.

I hate that I may like it. I hate that every part of me is dying to know what Hayes would taste like four years after I let him steal my first kiss. I hate this. I hate him and I hate how he makes me feel after everything he’s done to me.

I hate that my heartbeat quickens whenever he is close to me. I hate how, no matter how much I tell myself that I despise him, my body betrays me—how I feel this magnetic pull toward him, like he’s some unshakable force I can’t escape. I hate the way his gaze lingers, dark and intense, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, how he’s messing with my head, making me question everything I thought I felt.

I hate that he remembers. That he knows I haven’t forgotten the kiss we shared years ago, that maybe he hasn’t either. I hate the way his presence consumes me, filling every corner of my mind, making it impossible to breathe, to think of anything but him and that damn smirk.

And I hate that he knows how much I want him.

And the other half,he’d ask.

The answer is right there, hanging between us, and somehow, he knows it as well as I do. He tilts his head, studying me, and I can feel my defenses crumbling with every second that he holds my gaze.

And then, before I can figure out what’s happening, he shifts. Moves a little closer. Just enough that I feel his heat, feel the way the air between us seems to hum with something I can’t name. My breath catches, and suddenly, it’s like the world narrows down to just the two of us sitting by this lake. The trees, the water, the night—they all fade into the background.

His eyes lock on mine, dark and intense, and I can’t look away. My pulse is roaring in my ears, my heart pounding against my ribs. Everything about this is wrong. It’s Hayes. I should shove him away, remind him who we are to each other. But my body isn’t listening.

Then, just as fast, Hayes leans in. Not all the way, just enough to make me freeze. His breath is warm against my lips, so close I can feel it. And his gaze drops—just for a second—to my lips.

I should pull back. Hell, I should be halfway to the bike by now. But I can’t move. I can’t stop thinking about how close he is, how easy it would be to just—

No. No way.

I jerk back, breaking the moment, my breath coming too fast. “Don’t,” I snap, my voice harsher than I mean. “Don’t fuck with me, Hayes.” I stand up at once, putting some distance between us as I glare at him.

For a second, something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Or something deeper. But then he smirks again, though it’s softer this time.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” I scoff, not believing what he just said. “Were you going to kiss me, Hayes?”

“Yeah?” he replies casually, like it’s no big deal.

“Yeah?” I scoff, running my fingers through my hair. “Why, Hayes? Why the fuck were you going to kiss me?”

“Because…” he shrugs nonchalantly, like it’s something we usually do. I can’t read the look on his face and that just pisses me off.