Page 58 of The Play Maker

He stills mid-lace, his head lifting slowly, and when his eyes find mine, his whole expression hardens. “Has anyone said anything to you to make you feel like you’re in the way?”

“What? No,” I murmur, too quickly. It’s technically true. No one ever had to say it out loud. I’ve always just… known.

He watches me for a beat, like he’s reading between every line I didn’t say. Then his jaw tightens, his eyes darkening just slightly. “If anyone ever makes you feel that way,” he says, voice rough, “you come to me. I don’t care who it is. I’ll make sure they never do it again.”

I stare at him, caught completely off guard, my chest going tight.

“Whatareyou doing here?” I ask him.

He finishes lacing his skates up, then stands, taps the gate open with his stick, and hops over the boards. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says, skating a slow lap around me, tipping his head back to look at the rafters. “And I miss the ice like crazy. I figured I’d come sneak a few laps before Coach drags us into another 6 a.m. hell practice where I have to set up fucking cones again.”

I track him as he glides on the ice. He’s not even trying, and he still moves like the ice was made for him.

I let out a breath. “Well. Sorry. You’ll have to share.”

He grins, turning back toward me. “Oh, I don’t mind sharing,” he says, with a smile that makes me feel warm, even though I’m on the ice. “Especially not with you.”

Austin flirts like it’s his native language. It’s so baked into his personality that I don’t think he even knows when he’s doing it. And normally, I’d dismiss guys like him. Cocky athletes withpretty faces and permanent smirks don’t usually earn space in my brain.

But then he had to go and be my tutoring assignment. And now he’s not just an annoying jock, he’s thoughtful and has dimples and a way of looking at me like I’m not invisible.

And it’s messing with me.

He circles around again, then slows to a stop in front of me, his toe picks digging into the ice.

“Alright,” he says, tapping the end of his stick against my skate. “Teach me some moves.”

I raise a brow. “You’ll break your tailbone.”

He shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

He’s watching me too closely now, and his attention on me makes my skin buzz and my brain glitch.

I glance toward the other end of the rink. I was planning to try the jump again. Just one more go before I called it for the night.

“Fine. But don’t sue me when you dislocate something.”

He skates closer. Close enough that I have to look up to keep my eyes on his.

“I’d never sue you,” he says, voice dipping low. “Might make you kiss it better, though.”

I groan, pushing at his shoulder. “Gross.”

He chuckles, but waits for me to show him some moves. And maybe I should tell him to stop looking at me like that, to go skate his laps and leave me be.

But instead, I roll my eyes and skate backward into position. My blades bite into the ice, and I keep my arms tight to my sides as I launch into a simple waltz, landing clean and smooth, coming to a soft glide.

When I straighten and blow out a breath, I sneak a glance toward Austin, who’s watching me carefully.

He skates a slow, thoughtful circle, his brow furrowed.

“Okay,” he says, lips pursed as he drops his stick onto the ice. “I got this.”

He skates in a circle to gain momentum, and then pushes off the ice, his arms spreading out as he attempts a spin. His knees lock at the wrong time, his arms flail in opposite directions, and by the time he finishes his sad little turn, I’m doubled over, clutching my ribs.

“Okay, no, stop.” I can barely breathe. “You look like a baby giraffe learning to walk.”

“I’m insulted,” he says, placing his hand on his chest.