Page 132 of The Play Maker

I smirk to myself as I unlace my boots. My own program music definitely isn’t classical or expected. Coach raised a brow when I picked it—told me it didn’t have the right tone—but I fought to keep it. Something about it just felt like me.

I peel off my tights and tug on my sweats, my legs throbbing in that deep, heavy way they only do after a good practice.

But despite the burn, and the sweat cooling at the back of my neck, I tuck my skates into my bag with a small smile.

Because I know exactly where I’m going after I leave this rink.

His door’s already cracked open when I get there.

I knock once anyway, then push the door open and peek inside.

Austin’s standing in the middle of his kitchen, wearing grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a white t-shirt that clings like it grew there, one hand holding a whisk, the other a mixing bowl. His face is twisted in pure concentration as he stares down at what I can only assume is a baking attempt gone very wrong.

When he looks up and sees me, his whole face lights up into a goofy grin, like I just made his day, and my heart does that stupid wobble thing. “Hey, baby.”

I swallow hard at the nickname, chuckling as I take in the spilled flour on the counter. “You’re actually baking?”

He glances at the bowl, then back at me, his eyes narrowing. “Define baking.”

I drop my bag by the door and walk over, eyeing the flour-dusted countertop and a very questionable bag of chocolate chips. “Did you follow a recipe?”

He wipes a streak of flour from his forehead and lets out a dramatic sigh. “I followed my heart.”

I snort. “So, no.”

“I measured,” he says, lifting the whisk like it’s a mic. “Emotionally.”

I lean against the counter beside him, shaking my head. “That’s not how it works.”

“Cookie dough’s cookie dough.” He shrugs and holds the bowl toward me. “Try it.”

I dip a finger into the bowl, taste the dough, and squint up at him. “Did you put sugar in this?”

“Yeah,” he says, brows furrowing. “Wait. I think. I mean… that canister was open so I just kinda?—”

I lift a brow, my lips twitching in amusement. “Are you sure it was sugar or baking powder?”

His brows tug together and he blows out a breath. “Okay but in my defense,” he says, taking a cautious step back, “they’re both white powders, and I have absolutely no clue what the hell I’m doing. But you’re smiling and that’s all I really wanted, so technically, I win.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I say, rolling my eyes.

He grins, that lopsided smile, and boops my nose. “And you’re adorable.”

I roll my eyes again, but I’m smiling when he sets the bowl down and pulls me close. His arms slide around my waist like it’s second nature.

He smiles, leaning down to kiss my temple. “Hi,” he murmurs, breath brushing against my skin.

“Hi,” I whisper back, my voice embarrassingly soft.

He laughs, low, scratchy. “You came back.”

“You bribed me with cookies.”

Austin grins. “I would’ve bribed you with the moon if you asked.”

I narrow my eyes at him, trying not to smile. “Who knew Austin Rhodes was such a sap?”

He shrugs, his eyes locked on mine. “Only for you.”