Page 176 of The Play Maker

“What?” he says, looking way too pleased with himself. “It’s important to show I’m there to support my girlfriend.”

I breathe out a laugh. “You’re deranged.”

He just smirks. “And yet, you love me.”

“Yeah,” I say, my lips curving into a smile as I look into his soft hazel eyes. “I really do.”

His whole face softens. He breaks out into a grin and his hand slips into my hair, and then he kisses me again, like he’s saying it back without words.

And I swear I could drown in the way he touches me.

And I wouldn’t even mind.

38

AUSTIN

My heart hasn’t stopped pounding since we parked. I’m trying to play it cool—really, I am—but I’ve stood up three times in the last five minutes just to sit back down again. Logan has already threatened to tape me to the bleachers if I don’t chill out.

“Rhodes,” he says, balancing a comically large coffee in one hand and elbowing me with the other. “You’re gonna burn a hole through the rink with that stare.”

“Can’t help it,” I mutter, fingers tapping out an anxious rhythm on my jeans. “She’s skating today.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Ryan adds, seated beside me, his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. “We’re all aware. You’ve said it—what—thirty-seven times?”

“Thirty-eight,” Nathan deadpans from behind us.

Cole just folds his arms and stares ahead, his gum clicking between his teeth. “If you pass out, don’t expect me to carry you.”

“Not necessary,” I say, brushing them off. But honestly, I’m not sure I’m fooling anyone.

We’ve taken up half a section. A small army of hockey players, girlfriends, and friends, all here to scream our lungs out for the girl who somehow made me fall in love without even trying.

The announcer’s voice booms through the arena, calling the skaters for their warm-ups. I watch as competitors lace up their skates, stretch at the boards, and nervously tap their blades on the ice.

“She’s up next,” Aurora says over her shoulder, smirking. “Ready to embarrass yourself in front of everyone?”

I barely hear her. My eyes are already locked on the rink, searching for Maisie.

I freeze when I finally spot her, stepping out onto the rink like she’s always belonged there. The world gets a little quieter. A little slower. Her dress is an ombre pink, hugging her waist before flaring at the hips. It moves like liquid every time she shifts.

She skates toward center ice, glancing at the crowd like she’s searching for something—someone.

Me.

I stand again, cup my hands around my mouth, and yell, “You got this, Maisie!”

Her head snaps in my direction, our eyes lock, and she breaks out into a smile.

I feel it in my chest. Like sunlight cracking through clouds.

The announcer’s voice cuts through the air, calling her name.

She holds my gaze a heartbeat longer, then settles into her starting pose as the music begins.

And I stop breathing.

I lean forward, my heart in my throat, watching her start the routine she’s talked about, studied, practiced—each movement slow and precise, rising perfectly with the first notes of “Rewrite the Stars.”