Page 89 of Offside Attraction
I glance to the side and catch him. Hayes.
He’s standing a few lockers down, his girlfriend Shay chatting animatedly beside him. Her hands move as she talks, her voice clear even over the hum of students in the hallway. But Hayes isn’t looking at her. His eyes are locked on me. On Zach.
I can practically see the storm brewing behind his dark eyes, the way his jaw tightens, and his grip on his backpack strap looks like it might snap it in two. He isn’t even pretending to listen to Shay anymore.
Good.Fucking asshole.
I shift closer to Zach, letting a smirk tug at the corner of my mouth. “Careful, Zach. People might start thinking you’ve got a thing for me.”
Zach doesn’t flinch, his confidence unwavering. “And if I do?” he shoots back, his voice smooth, a challenge.
I pause just long enough to make Hayes wonder. Hayes, who’s still watching, pretending he isn’t. My chest tightens, but I force the grin to stay in place. “Maybe you should tell me,” I say, loud enough for Hayes to hear. “What would you do if you did have a thing for me?”
Zach laughs, stepping back just slightly, his smile playful. “Guess you’ll have to find out someday.”
The warning bell rings, cutting through the tension like a knife. Zach gives me one last lingering look, his voice dropping just for me. “See you in practice, Dakota.”
He walks off, and I turn to glance toward Hayes, just for a second, and catch the look on his face. It’s sharp, cold, but there’s something else there too—something he’s trying to hide.
He turns back to Shay, nodding like he’s actually paying attention now, but I know better. I’ve seen it. Felt it.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head toward AP English, the tension in my chest simmering. When I reach the classroom door, Hayes is there, catching up like he couldn’t resist. He stopsshort, blocking my path. His glare cuts right through me, and I feel the corner of my mouth twitch.
“Problem, Griffin?” I ask, my tone calm, cool, like he hasn’t been watching me all morning.
He doesn’t answer. He just shoves past me into the classroom, his shoulder brushing mine as he goes. I follow, dropping my books onto the desk by the window with a loud thud, letting the sound fill the classroom.
The air is thick, charged, like a thunderstorm waiting to break. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look at him. Not yet. Let him stew. Let him sit there with whatever it is that’s burning him up inside.
Because whatever this is, it’s far from over.
CHAPTER 22
Theroomisalreadybuzzing with low chatter as students settle in, flipping through notebooks and talking about the weekend. I sit down, pulling out my copy of the assigned novel,The Count of Monte Cristo. It’s already dog-eared, notes scrawled in the margins, because unlike some people, I actually do the reading.
Tripp walks in, taking the seat next to mine as he drops his backpack on the floor.
“You finally told Brooklyn how you feel? Or are you backing down like a little shit?” I ask, arching an eyebrow as a smirk spreads across my face.
He glares at me, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Ha ha, very funny, Dakota,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the back of his neck. “It ain't that simple.”
I snort. “It’s exactly that simple. You like her, you tell her. Worst case, she says no. Best case, you two stop doing this weird will-they-won’t-they thing and actually get somewhere.”
Tripp groans, “I really like her, man. I’m scared I’m gonna fuck shit up.”
“You know if you don’t ask her out, someone else will,” I say, leaning forward and fixing him with a pointed look. “Unless you want someone else swooping in and making a move while you sit around overthinking it.”
His jaw tightens, and he glances away, like the thought of Brooklyn with someone else physically hurts him. “Don’t even say that,” he mutters. “The idea of her with some douchebag—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “No. I can’t let that happen.”
“Then don’t,” I say, shrugging like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Brooklyn isn’t going to wait around forever, Tripp. You like her? Do something about it. Tell her how you feel, take her out, whatever the fuck you gotta do—just stop sitting here freaking out about all the ways it could go wrong.”
“And what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. “What if I ruin everything?”
“Then at least you’ll know,” I say firmly. “Living in ‘what if’ is worse than hearing her say no. At least that way, you can move on. But honestly?” I pause, giving him a knowing look. “Brooklyn likes you, man. She’s just waiting for you to grow a spine and make your move.”
“You really think so?” he asks, a flicker of hope lighting up his face.
“I know so,” I say with a smirk. “You’ve got this. Just be yourself—you know, the version of you that’s not currently freaking out and moping like a lovesick idiot.”