Page 114 of The Play Maker

“Yeah,” I mutter, turning back around and shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “To support Maisie. So zip it.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I know that silence. I feel the look they all exchange behind my back. Teammates or not, they’re vultures when they smell something.

“Is there something going on with you and your tutor?” Ryan’s voice, dripping with amusement. I don’t even have to look at him to know he has a smug smirk on his face right now.

I keep walking, keeping my eyes trained ahead.

Normally I’d toss something back. Push the joke further. Brag, maybe. I’ve done it before—told a story about a girl just to make the guys laugh.

But with Maisie?

Fuck no.

Even theideaof turning her into some locker room punchline feels wrong.

I don’t want to explain that I’m not hooking up with Maisie, that I’m not doing anything with her—at least not in the way they’re imagining. I just kissed her.

And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

That kiss is burned into my brain. Every second of it. The way she looked up at me. The way she leaned in. The way her lips tasted.

That kiss was mine.

For once, I don’t want to share. I don’t want to joke about it or toss it around for laughs. I just want to keep it, hold it somewhere private. Something that no one else can touch.

My jaw ticks. “Mind your business.”

Ryan lets out a low scoff, clearly amused. “Excuse me? Coming from the guy who wouldn’t stop harassing me last year to tell him who I was texting?”

A grin tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “And I was right about who it was,” I shoot back.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and now it’s your turn in the hot seat.”

I just shake my head and keep walking, quickening my pace as we start up the stairs toward the bleachers.

I don’t want to talk about this with them. Hell, I don’t even know what’s going on with Maisie, let alone how to explain it.

She’s my tutor, but she’s also the girl I can’t stop thinking about. The one whose laugh plays on a loop in the back of my mind when I’m trying to sleep. The one who walked into my life like she wasn’t going to take up space—and then quietly took all of it anyway.

And now I’m here. At a goddamn figure skating competition. On a Saturday. With my teammates glaring daggers into the ice and acting like their balls are shrinking just by being inside the rink.

All for her. I’d sit through a thousand toe loops and sparkly costumes if it means I get to be around her.

The stands aren’t packed, but there’s a decent crowd. Parents. Couples. People holding warm drinks and chatting quietly.

We find seats halfway up, smack in the middle of the bleachers. The second I sit, my knee starts bouncing.

My eyes go straight to the ice.

Scanning. Waiting.

And then I see her.

Maisie steps out from behind the partition, her coach beside her, and the rest of the arena blurs out. My mouth goes dry. I rub a hand over it, like that’s going to help me breathe again.

Holy. Shit.

She’s wearing this soft pink dress that sparkles as she walks. The skirt moves when she walks, just enough to tease the curve of her hips, and the neckline dips into this soft V that rests across the top of her chest in a way that makes my heart jackhammer against my ribs.