Page 43 of The Play Maker

Cherry:

I like talking to you.

My chest does that weird tight thing again. I try to ignore it. Can’t, though. It always happens when I talk to her, or think about her, or picture her, not that I can, but still.

Coach’s whistle pierces the air.

“Rhodes!” he shouts. “Phone away. Now.”

Fuck. Busted.

I quickly lock my screen, slipping it into my hoodie pocket, pretending like I wasn’t just flirting with my anonymous pen pal in the middle of practice. Not that Cherry and I areflirting, really. We’re just… talking. A lot. Constantly. Every night. Most mornings. And sometimes when I’m supposed to be focusing on practice.

“C’mon, Coach. Let me on the ice,” I groan, pleading with him.

Coach doesn’t even look at me. Just points to the stack of pucks.

I lift my ass off the bench and do the work. With a lot of heavy sighs and theatrical grunts for good measure. But I do it. Because deep down, as much as I hate every second of this, I want back in. I want to play. I miss the adrenaline, the rush, the sound of my name being shouted from the stands.

And if shoveling pucks and setting up cones is what it takes to get there again?

Fine.

But I’m still complaining about it the whole damn way.

10

MAISIE

Austin has been staring at the same anatomy diagram for fifteen minutes.

Not labeling it. Not even pretending to try. Just sitting there with his pencil hovering midair, brow furrowed like he’s waiting for the drawing to whisper the answers straight into his brain.

Honestly? It’s impressive. The sheer commitment to doing absolutely nothing while looking like he might be working.

I cap my pen and lean back in my chair. “You know staring at it harder won’t make the labels appear, right?”

He lets out a sigh and drops his pencil, flopping back in his chair. “There’s got to be an easier way to learn this crap.”

“Therewas,” I say, flipping to the labeled diagram in my notes. “It’s called going over it again until it sticks.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy,” I say, leaning in a little. “It’s repetition. And focus.”

He shifts in his chair, glancing at the page. “My brain doesn’t want to focus. It wants to set this paper on fire.”

I smile. “Unfortunately, setting it on fire won’t help you pass.”

“Are we sure?” he asks, arching a brow. “Feels like a solid option.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Well when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound too bad.”

God, he makes it impossible not to get distracted when he says things like that. I swear, tutoring Austin Rhodes is less about actually teaching him and more about surviving his constant flirting.

He blows out a breath, swiveling in his chair to face me. “What if I circle back to the bribery thing?”