Page 148 of The Play Maker

But they do.

Because deep down, some part of me agrees with them. Some part of me still wonders if Austin will wake up one day, look at me, and think—what the hell was I doing with her?

I don’t want to think like that. I want to believe in the way he looks at me. In how proud he is to call me his.

But it’s hard. Right now, it’s really, really hard.

I lean harder into the counter and refill my cup, trying not to fall apart. Not here. Not tonight. Not when I’m supposed to be happy.

So I drink, trying to push all of those thoughts out of my head.

32

AUSTIN

The house is packed, obviously. Midnight Wolves win, and suddenly everyone thinks it’s their personal victory too. Happens every time.

I used to love this shit—loud music, enough booze to drown a small village. Now? All I want is for everyone to clear the hell out so I can hang out with my girlfriend.

Never thought that’d be me. The guy who hangs with his girlfriend at a party. The guy who evenhasa girlfriend. But yeah, that’s me. In a committed relationship with a girl I’m completely and utterly obsessed with.

I didn’t see it coming. It shocks me how much she’s already changed everything without even trying. How she makes me want to be better—for her. Just having her around makes me want to throw all my old rules out the window and write brand-new ones.

Ryan and Nathan disappeared into the kitchen like twenty minutes ago, and I lost the rest of the guys, but I don’t really care, because they’re not who I’m looking for.

I do a slow lap of the living room, scanning the crowd, until I catch a flash of soft brown hair and light blue eyes across the room.

Maisie’s perched on the arm of the couch with Aurora and Isabella beside her. Her cheeks are flushed, more than usual, sipping from her red solo cup.

Even from across the room, I spot those freckles I’m crazy about—little dots scattered over her cheekbones. Twenty-six on the left side, thirty-two on the right. Or was it the other way around? Fuck, I don’t know. I lost count half a dozen times when she slept in my arms the other night, but I kept going anyway, tracing each one with my eyes. I kept staring at her, because it felt like I couldn’t not.

I don’t even realize I’ve started moving until I’m already in front of her and she’s looking up at me like I’ve just appeared out of thin air.

Those big blue eyes I adore lock onto mine. “Hi,” she says with a dopey smile.

“Hey, baby,” I say, grinning as I brush some hair behind her ear. “You having fun?”

She nods with a hum. “I had… two shots. And half a White Claw. Mango, I think.”

I blink, letting out a laugh. “That explains the red cheeks.”

She blinks back at me, all slow and dazed, and then reaches out to poke my chest. “You’re sotall,” she says. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

My lips twitch at her adorable drunken state. “Once or twice.”

“You’re so handsome,” she adds, with a sigh. “I mean, like, obnoxiously handsome. I should be mad about it.”

That makes me laugh. I loop an arm around her waist when she leans a little too far sideways. She fits there so easily, completely relaxed against me.

“Alright, sweetheart. Maybe we call it quits on the drinks tonight, huh?”

She tilts her head back and rests it on my chest for balance. “Don’t call me sweetheart,” she says, a line forming between her brows. “Makes me feel things.”

Her fingers curl into the hem of my hoodie like she’s anchoring herself. She smells like vanilla lotion and fruity alcohol.

I duck my head, inhaling the sweet scent of that vanilla stuff she always puts on after a shower, and the fruity alcohol on her breath.

“Want to go catch some air?” I ask, pressing my lips against her cheek.