Page 96 of Offside Attraction
And then there’s him.
Hayes is sitting a few rows ahead of me, angled just enough so I can see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers drum absently on the desk. He hasn’t looked at me since we got here, which is probably for the best. I’m still boiling from earlier.
The memory of our argument in class, his smug expression as he tried to push my buttons, plays over and over in my mind. I can feel the heat rising in my chest again, and I clench my fists to keep it from spilling out. I need to stay calm, to not let him get to me—but it’s impossible when he’s right there, acting like he owns the damn room.
It takes everything in me not to look at him, not to let him see just how much his presence is getting under my skin. But I know him too well; he won’t let this silence last.
Mr. Callahan clears his throat, glancing up from his stack of papers. “I’m stepping out for a few minutes. I trust you two can sit here without causing more trouble.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before heading to the door, his shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor. The door swings shut behind him, and suddenly, it’s just me and Hayes. The silence feels heavier now, suffocating, and I can feel his presence like a weight pressing against my skin.
A few seconds pass before he finally speaks. “Got something to say?” His voice is casual, too casual, like he’s taunting me. “Or are you just going to keep glaring at me?”
“Go to hell, Griffin,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended. My fists clench at my sides, but I force myself to stay seated, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he’s getting to me.
He chuckles, the sound mocking as it grates on my skin. “I’m just trying to start a conversation here, Dakota. No need to be foul-mouthed.”
I scoff, finally turning to look at him. His eyes gleam with that familiar arrogance that makes me want to break something. “What do you want, Hayes? Haven’t you messed with me enough for one weekend?”
His lips twist into that infuriating smirk, and he leans back in his chair, completely at ease. “I didn’t realize being in the same room counted as messing with you. But then again, you’ve always been a little sensitive, haven’t you?”
The jab hits its mark, and my jaw tightens as anger flares in my chest. “Right. I’m sensitive,” I snap, my voice rising. “And what are you? Some cocky jerk who thinks he can do whateverhe wants because he’s the golden boy? Newsflash, not everyone’s falling for your act.”
His smirk fades, a flicker of something else crossing his face—irritation, maybe. “You don’t know anything about me, Miller. You never did.”
“Right,”
There’s a long silence, with both of us staring each other down. The tension crackles in the air, thick and suffocating. Hayes’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to read me, trying to decide whether to lash out or shut up.
“You know, for someone who loves to preach about forgiveness, you sure hold onto a lot of grudges.”
The words cut through the quiet like a blade, and I grit my teeth, my head snapping up to glare at him. “And for someone who loves to act like he’s got it all figured out, you’re just a scared little boy hiding behind a hockey stick.”
He turns in his seat, and there’s something in his eyes—anger, yes, but something else, too. Something I can’t quite place. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
I scoff, leaning back in my chair, trying to keep my voice steady. “I know enough. I know you can’t stand it when someone challenges you. I know you’ll do whatever it takes to stay on top, even if it means tearing people down.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he’s going to snap back. But instead, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice dropping. “And I know you’re scared, too. Scared of letting anyone get close. Scared of letting go of whatever chip you’ve been carrying on your shoulder since you got back.”
The words hit harder than I want to admit, and I hate that he can see through me like that. I hate him for getting under my skin, for making me feel things I don’t want to feel.
I stand up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He stands, too, closing the distance between us in a few short steps. “Don’t I?” His voice is softer now, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s daring me to say otherwise.
“You haven’t changed one bit, Griffin,” I say, anger boiling in my veins. “I know you’re still the same asshole from four years ago, the same conniving bastard who made me believe he could be anything but a manipulative piece of shit, and now you think you can just pretend that never happened?” The words spill out, raw and edged, and I hate how much they reveal.
We’re standing inches apart, and I can feel the tension crackling between us, thick and electric. My heart is pounding, and I hate how much he affects me. I hate how much I want to close the gap, to shove him away—or maybe pull him closer.
“I didn’t pretend,” he says finally, his voice low and sharp, each word cutting through the silence. “You’re the one who left, Miller. You ran off and never gave me a chance to—”
“To what?” I snap, leaning closer, the fury bubbling over. “Apologize? Fix it? Bullshit, Hayes. You didn’t care then, and you sure as hell don’t care now.”
“I didn’t—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it.”
“Oh, I get it just fine,” I say, my voice icy. “You want to play the good guy now because you think it’ll make you feel better. But it doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to rewrite history just because it’s convenient for you.”
Hayes steps closer, his eyes burning into mine, his voice dropping to something almost dangerous. “You think I don’t regret it? That I don’t—” He cuts himself off again, his frustration boiling over. “You don’t know shit about what I feel, Dakota.”