Page 133 of The Play Maker

God. The way he says it, makes something flutter low in my stomach.

I don’t trust my voice, so I reach for one of the cookies from the tray instead. It’s kind of lumpy and weirdly shaped, but still warm, and I turn it over in my hand.

He leans back, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I know you like baking,” he says. “But dorm kitchens suck, so if you ever wanna use a real oven… mine’s always open.” His eyes flash. “As is my bedroom door.”

I snort, shaking my head. “So generous.”

Austin just winks, completely shameless. But then something flickers in my brain.

“Wait.” I tilt my head at him. “How do you know I like baking?”

His whole body stills for a half-second. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, suddenly very focused on straightening the already-straight dish towel hanging on the oven handle. “I think… you told me. Probably during tutoring or something.”

My eyebrows scrunch together. “I don’t think I remember that.”

He shrugs again. “Maybe it came up. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.” He flashes another grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Either way, you’ve got a standing invitation touse my oven. And Nathan’s stand mixer. He won’t mind. He’s a saint.”

I laugh, and step into his space without thinking, leaning my head against his chest. His hands settle low on my back, fingers flexing slightly, and I feel him breathe me in.

Then his thumbs start moving—slow, lazy little circles against the fabric of my shirt—and I swear I could melt on the spot.

When I look up again, he’s already watching me. His fingers come up to tuck a loose piece of hair behind my ear, and my breath catches. It’s that look. The one that makes me feel like I don’t have to be anyone but myself. Like I’m enough, just like this.

His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. He leans in, slowly, and our lips meet in a kiss that’s so soft and so perfect, I feel my knees threaten to give out.

He pulls me closer, his hands tightening on my waist. One hand slides down, trailing lower until it cups my ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

I break the kiss on a gasp. “You just touched my ass.”

He grins. “Mhmm. Wanna touch more.”

I glance up at him, my eyes widening. “Like what?”

“Every single part of you,” he whispers, his lips tugging into a smirk.

The heat in my face spreads down my neck. My brain, unhelpfully, conjures the thought of what it’ll feel like to be completely naked with him. To have Austin touch me like that.

My breath catches. He must notice, because his brows pull together slightly. He leans back just enough to search my face, one hand still resting on my cheek, his thumb brushing gently over my skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

I nod. “Yeah. Just…” I pause, trying to untangle the knot in my chest. “Still wrapping my head around this.”

He tilts his head. “This?”

“You,” I say quietly. “This whole thing.” My gaze drifts to where his hand rests at my waist. “I keep expecting you to remember the kind of girls you usually date.”

He goes quiet.

And instantly, I regret saying it.

God, I hate how fragile my voice sounds. How small it feels to admit that out loud.

But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he brings his hand to my cheek, and tilts my chin up with the lightest pressure until I’m forced to meet his eyes.

“Maisie,” he says, quietly. “I’ve never datedanyonebefore you.”

I blink.