Page 23 of The Play Maker

She blinks once, no change in her expression.

I nod to myself. “Noted. Too cliché.”

She shifts in her seat, adjusting her cardigan slightly, but she’s still watching, still waiting for me to come up with something that might catch her attention.

“Free coffee every morning?” I offer, watching for any flicker of interest.

Her brows lift a fraction, still not impressed.

I blow out a harsh breath. “Tough crowd,” I mutter.

She turns her focus back to the screen, and I curse under my breath. I’ve lost her.

“Silence?” I continue. “I can give you, like, five minutes of that. Max.”

She turns her head slightly, like she’s considering it, but that unimpressed look never quite leaves her face. Zero for three.

“Okay, an hour,” I say, leaning in a little. “No talking, no jokes. What do you say?”

I can tell by the puff of air she lets out through her nose that it’s also a no.

I squint at her, smirking. “You’re hard to read, you know that?”

Maisie just raises an eyebrow, still not giving me an inch. I sigh, glancing around the lecture hell. The professor is still rambling on about God-knows-what, and some dude is tapping his pen on his desk two rows down. The noise starts to fade as I turn my attention back to Maisie.

“Okay, then.” I pause, studying her profile. The way the light hits the slope of her nose, the small freckles scattered across her cheeks. Tiny details I didn’t notice before but can’t seem to look away from now. “Is there a guy you like?”

Her fingers freeze. Just for a split second. Barely noticeable. But I catch it.

Bingo.

I grin. “You do.”

She stiffens, just a fraction, but then—bam—she’s back to typing, like her life depends on it.

“No way,” I tease, leaning in a little. “You’ve got a crush.”

“I don’t,” she snaps, way too quickly.

I chuckle. “Lie to me all you want, Freckles. But I can see it clear as day.”

Her gaze flicks to mine at the nickname that slips out, but she quickly shakes her head, trying to dismiss it by diving back into her screen.

“You want me to help with that?” I ask her.

Her eyes lock with mine, a crease forming between her brows. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’tnotsay it,” I counter, shooting her a grin. “Come on. Let me help you.”

Her lips press into a tight line, and she looks away. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Why not?” I smirk. “I’m a guy. I know how guys think. I could be a valuable resource.”

Maisie exhales sharply, an annoyed puff of air, then glances sideways at me. “You’re the last person I’d go to for advice.”

“Exactly why you should reconsider.” I tilt my head, studying her reaction. “No one would expect it.”

She doesn’t answer right away, just stares at me for what feels like forever. “You’re exhausting,” she mutters.