Page 72 of The Play Maker

Something shifts in my chest. Does he really see me that way? As a place he can breathe? I don’t know what to say to that, so I just cross to the other side of the bed and sit, tugging absently at the hem of my sleep shorts.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“The guys are at the away game,” he explains. “I’m suspended, remember?”

My brows knit together. “You didn’t want to go with them?”

He shakes his head immediately. “Sitting in the stands would be torture,” he admits, dragging a hand through his hair. “Being at home alone was fucking agony, though.” His eyes meet mine and he smiles, tilting his head slightly. “I needed company.”

I laugh quietly. “And no other girls were free to keep you company?” I ask him. “You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel, huh?”

His eyes narrow slightly, his lips tugged into a frown. “You were my first choice.”

My breath catches.

“There might’ve been other people who I could call over,” he adds with a shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t check. I wanted to hang out with you.”

The room feels warmer. Too warm. The thin pajama shorts feel like I’m wearing a parka right now, because every inch of my skin flushes with each second his eyes are on me.

I shift back on the bed, lifting my shoulder in a shrug. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I might not be as fun as they would’ve been,” I add with a small chuckle.

He shakes his head, his lips lifting in a smile. “You’re more fun than any girl I’ve ever met.”

God, how can he say these things? How can he be here, look at me like that, and expect me not to feel the fluttering in my stomach?

His gaze flicks to the laptop. “Wait, is this—” He grins, turning his body to face the screen where He’s Just Not That Into You is playing. “I love this movie.”

My eyebrows lift, surprised. “You do?”

He meets my eyes and shrugs. “My mom and sister are obsessed with this movie,” he says a little sheepishly. “They used to have romcom nights. I always ended up watching with them.”

My heart melts a little. “That’s actually really cute.”

“Don’t spread it around, Freckles. You’ll ruin my street cred,” he teases, bumping my shoulder. “Scooch over.”

I shift over without thinking. He climbs in beside me, his long legs stretching out, arm brushing mine as we settle. He’s warm and smells so good.

He looks over at me with that half-smile. “Bet you’re not used to having a hockey player crash your movie night, huh?”

I bite my lip, twisting the blanket in my hands. “I’m not really used to having anyone over.”

He blinks, like he didn’t expect that. “What do you mean?”

I look down at my hands, twisting a loose thread on the blanket. “I don’t… really have any friends, I guess.”

His brow lifts, surprised, but he stays quiet.

I let out a laugh that feels hollow and my chest tightens. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me, I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I mean there must be, if no one ever wants to be around me.”

“Maisie.” I look up and catch the frown on his face, his hazel eyes narrowing on mine. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. I could punch the people who made you feel like you weren’tenough. If I didn’t want to be around you, I wouldn’t have come here. When I was alone in my room all I could think about is you.”

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard.

“The only person I wanted to see tonight, was you.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t even know what I’d say to that. He doesn’t say anything either. Just watches me, his expression softening, like he’s waiting for me to catch up.

I rip my gaze away from him and pull the blanket tighter around my legs, shifting the laptop between us, trying not to think about how close he is—or what he just said.