Page 73 of The Play Maker

His arm brushes mine when he shifts slightly, close enough that I can smell the faint hint of whatever cologne he wears—clean, a little woodsy. It’s distracting.

He’s right there, just a couple of inches away, and it feels weird and kind of nice all at once. I want to look at him, but I don’t want to mess up whatever this is between us right now.

“I’ve watched this so many times,” I say, my eyes still on the screen, “and I still don’t get it.”

Austin shifts slightly beside me. “Get what?”

“How you’re supposed to know if a guy actually likes you,” I murmur, my fingers tugging at a loose thread in the blanket. “Not just… stringing you along.”

He pauses for a moment. “This about your guy?”

I finally glance at him and catch his hazel eyes slightly narrowed. “My guy?”

He nods, but his usual smile’s long gone. “Yeah.” I notice a muscle in his jaw tick. God, even his jaw is perfectly chiseled. “The guy you’re into.”

I drop my gaze. I shouldn’t be thinking about Six right now—not with Austin right here, on my bed, with his body angled toward mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Maybe,” I mutter.

He doesn’t smile. Instead, his jaw tightens ever so slightly, and then turns his attention back to the screen. “I don’t know who your guy is or if he’s leading you on or not, but… this movie does get one thing right.”

“What’s that?” I ask, glancing at the movie playing.

He nods toward the screen. “If a guy likes you, he’ll find excuses to be near you. He’ll touch you when he doesn’t need to. Look at you more than he should.”

My eyes flick to his, and he’s already watching me.

My brain races through everything that’s happened between us.

That night on the rink, when he skated circles around me, trying to pull off a move.

The day he showed me how to hold a hockey stick, his hands steadying mine. How close he leaned in. How he knocked on my dorm room door tonight. How he’s sitting here now, his arm brushing against mine.

Is this… something?

Or is he just like this with everyone? Am I reading into it more than I should?

I swallow, looking away.

He shifts beside me, running a hand through his hair. “My mom used to watch this movie a lot. Especially when a guy broke up with her,” he continues. “She’d put it on and grab a glass of wine and a bowl of ice cream.”

“Was it just you guys growing up?” I ask.

He nods. “My mom, me, and my sister. Our dad left when I was eight. Walked out and never really came back,” he says with a shrug. “It’s just been the three of us since then.”

I nod slowly, letting the silence hang for a moment before I speak. “After my dad died, it was just me, my mom, my sister, and my brother. We kinda had to be everything for each other.”

He looks at me, letting me go on.

“I didn’t really have a friend group like you growing up. Or a best friend. Or… anyone, really,” I admit with a laugh. “My sister was, and still is, my only friend, pretty much,” I admit, pressing my lips into a thin line.

Austin turns to me, his brow furrowed. “That’s not true,” he says.

“What isn’t?”

“That she’s your only friend,” he clarifies. “You have me now.”

I blink. I guess I do.