CHAPTER 29 #2
“Why do I have a feeling you can’t get enough of me, huh, Griffin?”
“Is that so?”
I shrug, tapping my fingers on the back of the booth as I stare at him.
Hayes chuckles softly, his fingers playing with the straw on our table. “You got me, Miller. Spending an hour locked in a room with you was at the top of my bucket list.”
“Probably.”
Hayes scoffs, his smirk slipping off his lips as he licks his bottom lip.
Our eyes are locked, and involuntarily, I let my eyes drop down to his lips before quickly snapping them back up to meet his gaze.
My chest tightens as I realize he noticed.
His smirk returns, smaller now, but sharper, like he’s figured out something I didn’t want him to.
“Careful, Dakota,” he says softly, his voice low enough that it feels like it’s meant only for me. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you’re the one who can’t get enough of me.”
I scoff, leaning back in the booth to create some distance, even though my pulse is racing. “In your dreams, Griffin.”
“Maybe,” he replies, his focus still fixed on me. “But I’m not the one staring.”
I roll my eyes and look away, grasping for literally any distraction. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just trying to figure out how someone so annoying even exists.”
Hayes chuckles, the sound deep and warm, and somehow more irritating than his usual mocking tone. “Keep telling yourself that, Miller.”
The tension between us crackles like a live wire, sharp and dangerous, and I can’t decide if I want to punch him right now or… something else I refuse to even think about.
Thankfully, a waitress approaches our table, putting whatever the hell this is to a stop.
“Hello, boys,” she purrs, bending slightly with her palms pressed to the table as her attention lands squarely on me.
Her smile is bright—too bright. Flirtatious.
Her lips are painted a bold red, and the top two buttons of her blouse are undone, her breasts threatening to spill free if she leans any closer.
“Ready to order?” she asks, biting her bottom lip as she straightens, pen poised.
I glance up at her, her gaze lingering just a beat too long, sliding over me in a way that makes my skin itch. It’s not that I’m not used to attention like this—I am. What makes me uncomfortable is the way Hayes is watching me.
Staring.
There’s something off about his expression. The smirk he wears so easily isn’t quite there, and his eyes aren’t filled with that usual mocking amusement. Instead, there’s something darker, tighter—something sharp and restrained. It’s subtle, but it’s there, burning beneath the surface.
Jealousy.
The realization hits me harder than it should, sending an unwanted flip through my stomach. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. He treats me like shit, pushes every button I have, and yet here he is, bristling because a waitress dared to look at me too long.
What a fucking dick.
The petty part of me—the part that refuses to go quietly—decides to savor it.
“Grilled cheese sandwich,” I say, meeting the waitress’s eyes with a slow smirk. “And a bottle of water.”
Her cheeks flush instantly.
Hayes scoffs, the sound sharp, immediate—like he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.
I turn to him, one eyebrow lifting. “Problem?”
He glares at me, jaw tight, and answers without so much as sparing the waitress a glance. “Burger. Medium rare. Fries. Diet Coke.”
“Coming right up,” she chirps, not even acknowledging him as she turns and walks away.
This time, my gaze follows her—deliberate. I let it trail down her back, linger just long enough to notice the subtle sway in her hips. She glances over her shoulder, catches me watching, and sends me a wink.
I smirk.
When I look back, Hayes is already staring at me.
“So what,” he says, tilting his head, his tone light but edged with something sharp and unfamiliar. “You flirt with every waitress who throws herself at you?”
I lean back in the booth, unbothered, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’re one to talk, Griffin. You charm every girl within a ten-foot radius just by breathing.”
He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not every girl.”
The weight of his words settles between us, thick and suffocating as we stare at each other, with none of us bothering to look away.
“Why do you care anyway?” I ask finally, my voice quieter now, irritation threaded through it. “It’s not like it matters.”
Hayes leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he locks eyes with me. “Maybe it does,” he says, his voice low, steady. “Maybe I don’t like watching you act like you don’t give a damn about anything—or anyone.”
My chest tightens, the words cutting deeper than I expect. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, my tone sharper, more defensive than I intend.
He shrugs, reaching for the straw again, rolling it slowly between his fingers. “Figure it out, Dakota.”
I shake my head and turn my attention away from him, my gaze drifting toward the waitress who’s been watching me from behind the counter. A few minutes later, she returns with our orders, setting them down gently in front of us.
As she turns to leave, I notice something slide onto my tray.
I pick it up—paper folded once. Of course.
I unfold it, not surprised to find a phone number scribbled across it.
When I glance up, the waitress catches my eye and winks, biting her bottom lip as she bends to wipe down the counter, her blouse dipping low enough to make her intentions painfully obvious.
Hayes scoffs loudly, an irritated groan slipping from him. “What a bitch,” he mutters under his breath.
I look at him, then casually slip the paper into my pants pocket.
“Look at you,” I say, a small smirk stretching across my lips as I take a bite of my sandwich. “Getting all jealous.” I chew slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact. “Didn’t know you were that attracted to me.”
Hayes lifts an eyebrow, his expression hard—but there’s something else there too, something quick and unguarded that only makes my smirk widen. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms as he studies me, his mouth quirking into a faint, controlled smile.
“Jealous?” he repeats, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Please, Miller. You’re not that irresistible.”
I shrug, unfazed, taking another bite. “Could’ve fooled me. The way you’re acting, it’s like you can’t stand the thought of someone else wanting my attention.”
He scoffs, reaches for his drink, pops the lid, slips in a straw, and takes a long pull. His shoulders are tense—subtle, but not enough to miss.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says evenly, though there’s an edge to it now. “If anything, I’m just surprised someone’s actually interested.”
“Ouch,” I say, clutching my chest in mock offense. “That almost hurt.”
Hayes chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, Miller.”
I lean forward slightly, closing the distance just enough to feel dangerous. “Oh, I sleep just fine,” I say lightly. “But I’m starting to think you don’t. All that jealousy must be exhausting.”
He leans in too, elbows on the table now, the space between us suddenly too small, too charged.
“You really think I’m the one losing sleep?” he asks, his voice dropping just enough to send a jolt straight through me.
He lifts his Coke and takes a slow sip, his eyes dark as my gaze betrays me, dropping to his mouth—those full lips wrapped around the thin red straw.
My pulse kicks hard in my ears, and my thoughts turn traitorous, spiraling into all the things those lips could do if I let myself stop fighting this for even a second.
The air between us crackles, thick and electric. For a heartbeat, I can’t tell if I want to laugh in his face, shove him back into the booth—or grab him by the collar and close the distance myself.
Hayes breaks first.
He leans back, that infuriating smirk sliding effortlessly back into place as he plucks a fry from the basket. “Enjoy your sandwich, Miller,” he says lightly, but there’s something sharp underneath it, something deliberate. “You’re gonna need your energy for tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes and lean back too, pretending like he didn’t just knock the breath out of me with a look. But the tension doesn’t fade—not from my chest, not from the low, aching pull in my body, and the tightness in my pants doesn’t help either.
And no matter how hard I try to shake it, the weight of his words—and the way he watched me—lingers like a gathering storm.