Page 115 of The Play Maker

Her thighs—thick, strong, fucking gorgeous—peek out from under the hem as she steps forward. Her calves are wrapped inclean white skates. Every step is confident. Controlled. Like she belongs out there.

And I can’t fucking breathe.

Pretty sure I stop blinking.

I don’t even realize I’ve stood up until Logan leans over and mutters, “Dude. Sit your ass down.”

I ignore him.

I’m already moving, pushing past knees and bags and elbows, weaving my way down the steps toward the edge of the rink. The closer I get, the tighter everything inside me feels. My throat, my chest, my fists tucked into my jacket pocket.

Maisie’s crouched near the gate, lacing up her skates.

She glances up, probably expecting her coach or a judge or a clipboard, and then her eyes catch mine, and she freezes.

Her mouth parts slightly, her fingers still wrapped around the lace of her skate.

“You came?” she says, voice soft, almost unsure. The top of her hair’s pulled back with a white bow, and her cheeks are already flushed pink. Could be nerves. Could be me.Hope it’s me.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.

I swallow hard and glance down and then back up, trying not to stare at her legs or the way her dress sparkles under the lights. Trying—and failing—not to look completely gone over this girl.

Because I am.

And there’s no hiding it.

Her lips part like she’s about to say something else, but then her gaze shifts over my shoulder. “You brought your teammates?”

I scratch the back of my neck, wincing. “Don’t hold that against me. They insisted.”

A shout echoes from a few rows back. “We did not!” Logan yells.

I shoot him a glare, but he just grins like the little shit he is.

Maisie’s chuckling when I turn back around.

God, she’s so pretty when she smiles. Soft and secretive and a little shy. Like she doesn’t even know she’s the most beautiful thing in this whole arena.

Her eyes drop to my chest, her lashes fluttering. She looks like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, and the pink on her cheeks spreads down her neck in this slow, gorgeous wave.

I lean in slightly and reach out without thinking. My hand curves against the side of her face, my thumb skimming gently across her cheek.

“You’re so fucking cute when you blush.”

I want to kiss her again.

Right here, rink-side, under these god-awful fluorescent lights.

“Maisie, you’ve got five minutes.” My hand drops from her face and we both turn at the sound of her coach’s voice.

Maisie nods quickly, then glances back at me. “Wish me luck?”

I shake my head. “Don’t need to. You’ve got this.”

She gives me this tiny, nervous smile, and then heads for the bench. I watch her go, unable to look away.

A few seconds later, Isabella and Aurora walk into the rink, and weave through the bleachers, sliding into the row behind the guys.