Page 126 of The Play Maker

My voice cracks.

“I don’t even understand how that’s possible, honestly. That someone wouldn’t want you. But if there’s someone else?—”

I trail off, my breath catching, because saying it hurts more than I thought it would. But Austin doesn’t pull away.

He stays right there, his fingers still warm against my jaw, and those light hazel eyes locked on mine.

“There’s no other girl, Maisie.” There isn’t a hint of hesitation in his voice. “There’s only you.”

I blink up at him because I don’t know what to do with those words.

They don’t feel real, not when I’ve spent so long telling myself I don’t get to be the girl who gets chosen.

But Austin says it like it’s a fact. Like it’s always been true.

My throat tightens, my chest pulling in on itself, and I swear I’m going to cry—right here, in his bed, wrapped in his warmth, wearing his shirt, while he says the things I never thought anyone would say to me.

I swallow hard and give the smallest nod I can manage.

He doesn’t rush. Instead, he just watches me—his eyes searching mine for permission.

Then, slowly, he leans in. His lips meet mine with a softness that makes my breath catch, warm and patient, like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. Like he’s thought about it, wanted it, wantedme.

His hand slides up to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling gently in my hair. He tilts my chin up just enough, adjusting the angle to deepen the kiss.

I clutch his shirt in my fists, holding on because I don’t know where else to put everything I’m feeling.

Then his mouth parts, coaxing mine open. I hesitate for half a second, then follow, and when his tongue grazes mine, I gasp softly against his mouth.

Oh god.

It’s barely a touch—just the softest brush of his tongue against mine—but heat blooms low in my belly.

I didn’t know kissing could feel like this.

Like I’m unraveling from the inside out. Like he’s mapping my mouth with every slow, devastating pass of his lips.

I kiss him back, unsure of what I’m doing. But he makes it easy—guiding me with the tilt of his lips, the warm press of his hand at the back of my neck, the quiet hum of his breath when I get it right.

He makes me feel wanted. My whole body feels light, like I’m floating. Like I could lean forward and disappear into him completely and not even care where I end up.

I’ve only been kissed three times in my entire life, and they’ve all been by him.

And somehow, every time feels like the first, and the best, and maybe even the last, if I’m not careful. But I don’t want careful. Not with him.

My fingers move up of their own accord, tracing the lines of his chest beneath his shirt, the ridges of muscle, the solid warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against my palm.

He lets out a low, breathy sound that shoots straight through me, setting fire to every nerve. Then he shifts, and slides one leg between mine.

Heat radiates off him, and suddenly I’m very aware of how little I’m wearing—just his oversized t-shirt and a pair of cotton underwear that feel entirely too thin against the heat of his thigh.

And he hasn’t even done anything yet.

Justthis—his mouth on mine, his breath in my lungs, his skin pressed against mine—it’s undoing me completely.

His hand slides down, ghosting over my hip before curling around my waist, his fingers slipping just beneath the hem of the shirt as he pulls back slightly.

“Still okay?”