Page 53 of The Play Maker

Her eyes are impossibly bright—an unreal kind of blue, like something straight off a beach postcard or through a perfect lens filter. Except there’s no filter here. Just her. Staring up at me, wide-eyed and blinking, full of surprise.

And then there’s her face.

Her round cheeks are flushed pink. A scatter of freckles dust her nose and cheekbones like some perfect little constellation. I wonder how many she’s got. Too many to count, probably. But damn, I kinda wanna sit and count every single one.

I feel the warmth of her body under my hand, soft and full in all the ways that make my brain glitch. My fingers spread slightly, instinctive, like my body’s trying to memorize the curve of her. There’s something about the way she fits against me that makes me grip tighter instead of letting go.

She smells so fucking sweet, like peaches or candy or some other thing I can’t quite place. Can’t think straight right now, not when she’s still looking at me like that.

Without even realizing it, my head dips a little closer, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo.

No clue what the hell I’m doing, but fuck it, I’m doing it anyway.

“Hey,” I say, voice low and rougher than it should be. Her breath catches. “There you are.”

She blinks fast. Her cheeks are flushed and so fucking pink it’s almost unfair.

“What are you—” she starts.

But before she can finish, I shift closer, brushing my hand along her side as I glance up at the guy she was with.

Huh.

Shorter than me by a good few inches. Blond. Dressed like he’s about to present a PowerPoint—pressed button-down shirt, stiff as hell.

Is this her type?

Pfft.

I’m better looking than that. And I don’t wear beige slacks to house parties.

Maisie glances awkwardly between us, then offers the guy a tight smile.

“Sorry, I’ll uh… I’ll catch up with you later.”

The guy doesn’t even look mad that I just stole her away.

I guide her off before she can rethink it, my hand still curved around her waist, my thumb brushing the soft cotton of her shirt.

She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say a word.

She just walks with me, quiet and slightly breathless, like she’s still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

It’s not until we’re out of the room and into the quieter hallway that she finally turns to me, her eyebrows scrunched in disbelief.

“What was that?” she demands.

Good question.

Because now that I’m here, feeling my heart slam against my ribs like it’s about to bust out… I have no clue.

“Was that him?” I blurt before I can stop myself.

“What?” She blinks up at me in confusion.

“The guy you like,” I clarify.

She makes a face. “What? No. He’s just someone I tutor.”