Page 85 of Offside Attraction

I yank off my shoes and my pants, movements sharp, angry. My hands tremble with frustration, with everything I don’t know how to deal with.

Why does he always do this to me?

Why can’t I just forget him—forget the past and leave it where it belongs?

Because the truth is, I can’t.

No matter how hard I try, part of me is still drawn to him. Not the boy who betrayed me years ago—but the version of him I saw tonight. The one whose gaze softened for just a second. The one who leaned in like he actually wanted to kiss me.

And that’s dangerous.

Hayes isn’t different. He’s still the same guy who’s been screwing with my head for years. I need to remember that. Need to remember what he did to me.

But sitting alone in the darkness, I know convincing myself of that is easier said than done.

Because no matter how much I try to deny it, the truth is that tonight, a part of me wanted to let go of the past and see what it would be like to give in, just this once.

I stand up from the foot of my bed, naked, as I make my way to my bathroom. The bathroom light flickers on, and I catch my reflection in the mirror—flushed cheeks, a slight tremble in my hands, and something else that’s fully erect below my waistline. I glance downward, groaning at my erection that’s throbbing with need. I hate that he has this effect on me, that even now, alone, I can’t shake him from my mind.

Stepping into the shower, I let the freezing water rush over me, hoping it’ll wash away everything—the lingering traces of his gaze, the memory of his voice, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. But the cold only shocks me, grounding me back into the same, inescapable thoughts.

I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the tiles as I let the water pour over me, wishing it could cleanse more than just my skin and the dirty thoughts that’s creeping into my head. I let my hand wander downward, gripping myself and knowing that when I’m done I’m going to hate myself for this.

I squeeze my eyes shut, images of Hayes shirtless, his strong, muscled body, his milky skin, that stupid smirk that always irritates me—and sometimes, if I’m honest with myself, drives me crazy as I stroke the length of my shaft.

“Fuck…” I murmur, the word swallowed by the sound of running water.

My breathing is labored, my lips parted as a soft moan escapes my lips. I think about what his hands would feel like on my skin, and what his lips would taste like locked against mine and exploring the seam of my mouth. I increase my pace, a pained groan slips out of my lips as anger, irritation, and lust grows in the pit of my stomach.

This is messed up, touching myself to the thoughts of the one person I fucking despise. The one person I shouldn’t crave or want. I can feel my release at the tip as I let go, falling forward with my forehead pressed against the tiled wall with my free hand holding back my weight on the wall.

I take a deep breath and slowly peel my eyes open. I can feel the shame sink in slowly as I watch the water rinse away my release.

What the hell am I doing?

What the hell did I just do?

I’m done thinking about him, about what almost happened. Tomorrow, I’ll see him at school, and it’ll be business as usual, like nothing’s changed. We’ll go back to the same taunts and the same rivalry. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to me.

But even as I step out of the shower, even as I dry off, I know I’m lying.

Because something changed tonight.

And the thought that won’t leave me—no matter how hard I try—is this:

What would’ve happened if I hadn’t pulled away?

CHAPTER 21

Thegarageiscoldand quiet as I shove my bag into the car, the echo of last night still lingering in my mind. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back at the lake, feeling the warmth of Hayes’s breath, the intensity in his eyes as he leaned in. A part of me loved every second of it—the thrill, the electricity—but now, in the harsh light of day, I can’t ignore the nagging feeling that I let him play me.

Harper comes in, her footsteps light as she bounces to the passenger side. She reaches for the handle, and I snap out of my thoughts, the tension bubbling up inside me. “Sit in the back,” I say sharply.

She blinks, taken aback as she turns to face me. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m picking up Tripp. Just… sit in the back,” I mutter, not in the mood to explain myself.

Harper huffs, crossing her arms. “Fine,” she says, shooting me a glare as she climbs into the backseat. “You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”