Page 24 of The Play Maker

“Yeah, but in a charming way,” I say with a grin.

She lets out a sigh and her eyes flick down to her screen again, but she doesn’t start typing. “I don’t have time to babysit you,” she mutters under her breath.

I shrug one shoulder. “Don’t need a babysitter. Just someone to help me understand this shit so I can pass my classes.”

She frowns, probably weighing the pros and cons of punching me in the face. Can’t blame her.

I brace myself, blinking a couple of times, my shoulders slumping in defeat, bracing myself for the inevitable rejection. But then she sighs, and my eyes flick to hers.

“Fine,” she says, with a sharp exhale. “I’ll tutor you.”

I blink. “Wait. Really?”

Maisie holds my gaze for a long moment, like she’s double-checking that she’s not about to make the biggest mistake of her life. “I’m not doing it for you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She glares at me. “I just can’t listen to you annoy me for another lecture.”

I can’t help but grin. “So… this is a mercy mission.”

“No,” she says flatly. “It’s damage control.”

I chuckle, leaning in just a little, trying to keep the mood light. “Knew you’d fold eventually, Freckles.”

Maisie rolls her eyes. “I’m already regretting this.” She shoots me a deadpan look. “Say one more word about crushes and I’m out.”

A grin tugs at my lips before I can stop it. I sling my arm over the back of her seat. “No promises.”

She shakes her head, but just before she turns away, I catch the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Yeah. Game on.

6

MAISIE

The first time Austin Rhodes asked me to tutor him, I assumed he was joking.

Not because he’s the kind of guy who makes jokes like that—at least I don’tthinkhe does—but because I didn’t think someone like him would ever think of asking someone like me for help.

There are at least five other tutors in our program who would leap at the chance to spend an hour alone with Austin Rhodes. And I’m not one of them.

He’s a cocky hockey player. Loud, always surrounded by people, the kind of guy who walks into a room like he owns it. Girls orbit him like he’s the sun, and he never seems particularly fazed by any of it. I doubt he even notices. That easy kind of popularity only comes to people who were born into it.

I, on the other hand, was not.

So, no, I didn’t understand why he asked me. He’d never spoken to me before. I sit in the back row, take detailed notes, color-code my planner. He shows up ten minutes late and spends most of the lecture half-listening and half-whispering to his friends.

We exist in different academic ecosystems.

Still, he asked. And I said yes.

Because… well, he wouldn’t shut up unless I agreed. But also, I am good at this. Smart. Organized. Straight A’s since high school. I know how to explain things clearly, how to break down information into manageable pieces.

And helping Austin—no matter how often he flashes me that pearly white smile of his—will be no different.

Still, I’d be lying if I said my heart wasn’t hammering when I packed my books after class the other day, because my brain doesn’t know how to not catastrophize.