Page 157 of The Play Maker

“Please do,” Nathan mutters, shoveling another bite of noodles into his mouth.

I snort under my breath, but let Austin pull me toward the stairs anyway, his grip still locked around mine like he’s not risking letting go.

He doesn’t say anything as we head up. Doesn’t look back. Just leads me straight to his room.

He kicks the door shut and flops onto the bed and I let myself sink onto the edge of his bed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Just tired,” I say with a shrug.

“Wanna talk about it?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

He doesn’t push. Just shifts closer and nudges my arm with his knee. “Cool. Then let’s not. Wanna cuddle and ignore the world for a while?”

I blink at him.

He shrugs. “We could also make out. Whatever works.”

I roll my eyes, but the moment he wraps his arm around me, I melt into him like I don’t have four papers due and a thousand unread emails in my inbox. My cheek finds his chest, and I close my eyes as he presses a soft kiss to the top of my head.

This is dangerous. How easy it is to relax here. How good it feels to be held without needing to say anything.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” he murmurs.

I sigh, my fingers curling in the hem of his T-shirt. “I have things to do.”

He shifts under me until I’m looking up at him. His brows pinch, his eyes serious. “You can take a break, baby. You’re like… the smartest person I know. You don’t need to go this hard all the time.”

I want to believe him.

Ido.

But my self-worth is so tightly wrapped around how well I do in school, how good I am at being good, it’s hard to let that go. Being the smart one, the responsible one—that’s who Iam.

“I’m taking one now, aren’t I?” I say quietly.

He chuckles, low and warm. “You’re the only person I know who has to schedule being a girlfriend.”

My gaze flicks up. I bite my lip—mostly to stop the smile trying to tug at my mouth.

He notices.

Of course he notices.

His eyes drop to my lips, and then his thumb is there, dragging slowly across them like he’s trying to memorize the shape.

“What’s up, baby?” he asks, voice all soft edges now.

“You called me your girlfriend.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Youaremy girlfriend.”

My face heats instantly. “You never actually asked.”

He stares at me for a beat, then laughs, his head falling back against the pillow. “Oh my God, you’re right. What a scandal. Should I draft a formal letter? Deliver it via pigeon?”