Page 117 of The Play Maker

“You were amazing,” I say.

Her smile widens, but before I can say anything else, Isabella and Aurora explode toward her, full squeals and flailing arms, nearly knocking her sideways as they wrap her in a hug.

I take a step back, jealousy bubbling sharp and fast in my throat.

It’s just… I want it to be me. I want to be the one she collapses into, the one holding her while she laughs like that. I want her glow to be for me—because of me. I want her looking at me like I’m the reason she’s still buzzing from the ice.

They’re all over her—fixing her hair, adjusting her jacket, whispering about the routine, her dress, how perfect she looked out there.

And they’re not wrong.

She was perfect.

Sheis.

And I just stand there.

Hovering.

Waiting.

My hands twitch at my sides, and I hate how badly I want her attention, how desperate I feel for her to look at me, just for a second, and let me in.

Finally, I clear my throat and step forward. “Mind if I cut in?”

Aurora raises a brow, amused. “We were just leaving.” She throws Maisie a wink as they both disappear toward the hallway.

I watch them go, then finally step closer to Maisie.

She’s still got that post-performance shine, her lips parted, cheeks glowing, eyes wide and warm and a little dazed.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more beautiful in my life.

“Maisie,” I say softly, blowing out a breath. “You were…” I trail off, searching for words. Can’t find them, not the right ones, anyway. Nothing I come up with feels big enough. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, surprised. Like she wasn’t expecting that. Like maybe no one’s ever said it to her and actually meant it.

I lean in slightly, tilting my head so I can really look at her. Take her in. “You were incredible. I knew you skated, but holy shit, Maisie. I didn’t know you could do that.”

A shy smile forms on her lips. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

“I didn’t breathe for three minutes,” I tell her. “Forgot how lungs work. Might still be struggling, honestly.”

She lets out a quiet laugh. “You’re dramatic,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I step a little closer. “You’re talented,” I say, not backing down. “And you looked so beautiful out there.”

Her cheeks flush deeper, a light pink spreading from her ears down her neck. My favorite fucking color.

“Thanks. It was… a lot. I was nervous.”

I shake my head. “Couldn’t tell. You looked like you were born on that ice.”

I reach into my jacket and pull out the plush hockey puck I picked up before the performance, and hold it out to her.

Her eyes flick down, then lift back to mine, her eyebrow raising a little.

“I heard people usually toss stuff like this onto the ice after a routine,” I say, shrugging. “But I wanted to give it to you directly. ‘Cause, well… yeah.”