CHAPTER 11
I take a long drag from the cigarette, the smoke swirling lazily in front of me as I lean back against the fence in Lance’s massive backyard.
The party inside is a blur of music and shouting, but out here, it’s quiet.
Exactly how I like it. The cool night air feels good against my skin, cutting through the haze of heat and alcohol.
“You know those things’ll kill you, right?”
I turn my head just as Zach steps up beside me, hands shoved into his pockets, that easy smile plastered on his face. He’s always smiling—something I’ve never quite understood. His blonde hair is loose tonight, long strands framing his face.
He’s pretty.
“God, you sound like my sister,” I mutter, taking another drag before spurting the smoke through my nostrils.
He laughs, the sound low and relaxed, leaning against the fence—way too close for comfort. “Guess that means she cares about you.”
I give him a sideways glance but don’t answer. Instead, I stare straight ahead, blowing out another puff of smoke. I’m not really in the mood for company, especially after my altercation with Hayes, but something about Zach is… disarming.
“You’re not really the party type, huh?” he says, bumping me lightly with his elbow. The touch lingers just a second too long.
“Not really,” I reply, flicking ash off the cigarette. “Tripp talked me into it. Team bonding or some shit.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He shrugs. “Still… I’m glad you’re here. You make things more interesting.”
I raise an eyebrow, finally turning to look at him. “Interesting?”
Zach shrugs again, but there’s something in his eyes now—playful. His gaze drops to my lips for a split second before lifting to meet mine.
…Did he just check me out?
“Yeah,” he says. “You’ve got this way of standing out, even when you’re trying to blend in. Kinda hard to miss.”
I let out a low, dry laugh. “That your way of saying I’m weird?”
“Nah,” he grins. “More like mysterious. And I’ve always had a thing for mysteries.”
Okay. Yeah. He’s flirting.
I didn’t think he was into guys.
Fuck me—like it’s written on the forehead.
I roll my eyes, taking another drag, but I can feel the tension now. Like he’s watching me more closely than before. Like he’s waiting.
“You’re full of shit, Zach.”
“Maybe,” he says, voice dropping just a notch. “Or maybe I’m just being honest.”
I shift slightly, unsure how to respond. His words hang between us, teasing and charged.
What the fuck is going on?
Zach’s cool and all, but I don’t feel that way about him. And for someone younger than me, he’s got a dangerous way with words—like he knows exactly what to say to get under your skin.
“You ever let anyone figure you out, Dakota?” he asks, stepping closer. Our arms brush. His voice is soft now, but there’s a challenge in it.
Like he’s testing me.
I meet his gaze, narrowing my eyes. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He chuckles, a low sound that makes my stomach twist with discomfort. “Well… maybe I am.”
For a moment, it feels like the air between us shifts, the silence stretching too thin. Zach’s eyes flick down to the cigarette in my hand.
“Mind if I get a hit?” he asks, casual—but there’s that same playful edge underneath.
I hesitate, then hand it over. Our fingers brush as he takes it from me. He doesn’t break eye contact as he brings it to his lips, taking a slow drag before handing it back. The smirk on his face is impossible to miss.
“Thanks,” he says, still watching me. Still too damn close.
I shake my head, a small smirk tugging at my lips despite myself. He grins—wide, unreadable—before finally stepping back.
I head back into the party, the frustration and anger from earlier dulled after more than a few cigarettes. Zach left not long after we talked—well, after he talked. I mostly listened.
The living room is packed. Drunk teens sway against each other, music pounding through the walls. As I push through the sweaty bodies, a familiar figure catches my eye—laughing, dancing with another girl.
My stomach drops.
I shove my way closer, the face becoming clearer with every step.
“Harper?” I call, grabbing my stepsister by the arm and pulling her around to face me.
She startles, fear flashing in her eyes. “Hey, Dakota,” she says weakly.
I turn to her friend—Jenn, I think—as she looks away, embarrassed.
“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” I ask, my voice sharp.
I drag Harper out of the house before either of them can answer. Once we’re outside, she yanks her arm free and spins on me.
“I’m gonna ask again,” I say. “What the fuck are you doing here with Jenn?”
“Who’s Jenn?” she snaps.
I blink. “Your friend.”
“You mean Gwen?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. “God, you’re such an asshole. You don’t even know my best friend’s name.”
Well. I was close.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I say. My gaze flicks over her outfit, my jaw tightening. “What are you doing here dressed like that?”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t start.”
“Does Mom—or Mark—know you’re here?”
“No,” she says quickly. “And don’t tell them. I just wanted to have fun.”
“Fun?” I laugh bitterly. “Getting drunk at a high school party is one hell of a way to get harassed—or worse. You’re sixteen, Harper. Sixteen. You should be home watching movies, not partying with people twice as reckless as you.”
“I—” She opens her mouth, then shuts it, huffing in frustration.
I shake my head, disappointment heavy in my chest as I pull out my phone. “I’m calling you a cab. You’re going home. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
She rolls her eyes, looking anywhere but at me.
We wait outside in silence for fifteen minutes. When the cab finally pulls up, I help her in and watch it disappear down the street before turning back toward the party.
“Dakota! Come on, you have to join us!” Lance calls, waving me over as I stride past them.
I hesitate, then sigh and change direction, making my way to where the guys are gathered in a loose circle.
“What’s going on?” I ask, forcing more enthusiasm than I actually feel.
“We’re playing flip cup,” Lance explains, eyes lit up like it’s the greatest idea in the world. “Team game. You’re in.”
My gaze lifts on instinct—and collides with Hayes’s.
He’s been watching me all night. Tracking me. Like he’s waiting for something.
I look away immediately, because the longer I stare into his stupidly pretty eyes—the ones I refuse to admit do things to me—the tighter my stomach twists under his heated gaze.
“Fine,” I mutter. Arguing would be pointless. And maybe this will distract me from Hayes Griffin’s looming presence.
Maybe.
Teams are split fast. I end up with Tripp, Lance, Pete, and Zach. Competitive energy crackles in the air as music thumps through the house and people crowd around the table, shouting and cheering.
I slam my cup down, flip it clean. Upright.
Cheers erupt.
As the rounds go on, I feel him.
Hayes is on the opposing team, effortless and infuriating, drawing attention like gravity. He downs his drink, flips his cup with lazy precision, barely breaking a sweat. Shay is beside him, clapping, laughing—hanging off his arm like she belongs there.
“Looks like your boy’s got skills,” Tripp mutters, nodding toward Hayes.
“He’s not my boy,” I snap, eyes locked on the table. “And I’m not intimidated.”
But I am aware.
Too aware.
Every time I glance up, Hayes is already looking at me—like he’s waiting for me to mess up.
Final round.
The noise dies down, anticipation buzzing through the crowd. Cups are lined. Hands hover. My heart thuds harder than it should.
Across the table, Hayes meets my eyes and smirks.
“Ready to lose, Miller?” he asks, voice smooth, taunting.
“Not a chance, Griffin,” I shoot back. “You’re going down.”
He chuckles, slow and deliberate, then licks his bottom lip—like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You wanna make this interesting?”
Something tightens low in my stomach. Heat creeps up my spine.
Snap out of it, Dakota. He’s a jerk. Remember?
I clear my throat. “With what?”
“A bet.”
I arch a brow. “A bet, huh?”
“Just you and me,” he says, eyes dark, unwavering. “One-on-one.”
The room seems to fade.
“If you lose,” he continues calmly, “you do whatever I want. Anything I ask.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
“And if I lose,” he adds, lips curling, “whatever you want—I’m game.”
My pulse spikes.
“Shouldn’t I know what your dare would be?” I ask carefully.
Hayes’s smirk deepens, slow and taunting.
“Now where’s the fun in that, Dakota?”
His voice drops—low, dangerous, and far too tempting.
I don’t trust him. Not after what happened four years ago. Everything about Hayes Griffin is corny and terrifying all at once—and for reasons I can’t explain, he keeps pulling me in.
I shouldn’t agree. I should back down, laugh it off, walk away.
But I don’t.
Because a part of me wants to prove something. To him. To myself. To show him I’m not that scared kid anymore. That he doesn’t control me. Not now. Not ever.
“Okay,” I blurt out.
Hayes’s eyebrows lift, genuine surprise flickering across his face before it’s replaced by that slow, dangerous smirk.
“Deal?” he asks.
“Deal.”
The game kicks off immediately, the room erupting into cheers and shouting. My heart pounds as the competition tightens, every flip met with gasps and groans. We’re neck and neck, refusing to give the other an inch.
“You’ve got this,” Tripp mutters under his breath.
“Easy,” Lance adds. “You’re good.”
I down my last cup, slam it onto the table, hands shaking just slightly as I flip it.
Please.
It tips.
Wobbles.
And falls on its side.
Fuck.
A second later, Hayes flips his cup—smooth, effortless—and it lands perfectly upright.
The room explodes.
Cheers. Whistles. Someone slaps him on the back.
Hayes doesn’t react to any of it.
He just looks at me.
That malicious smirk spreads slowly across his lips, dark eyes locked on mine like he’s already won more than just a stupid game.
And all I can think is—
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?