Page 76 of The Play Maker

I elbow him hard enough he grunts. “Shut up.”

He chuckles and heads into the lockers when the figure skating coach blows her whistle, signaling for the girls to get off the ice.

Maisie doesn’t see me at first. The other girls start trickling off the ice, heading for the locker room. She heads over to the bench and bends over, pulling out the rubber skate guards from her bag, snapping them over the blades. That’s when she looks up, and sees me.

Her eyes widen just a little, then she smiles. It hits me straight in the chest. Those eyes. Those freckles. I swear it does something to my ribcage. Like my heart expands just a little too fast for the room it’s in.

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless, her cheeks flushed pink in the most adorable way.

“Hey.” I grin and lean back against the bench, like I haven’t just been staring at her like a creep for ten straight minutes. “Didn’t know I’d get a pre-practice performance.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s still smiling. “That was just practice,” she replies with a shrug. “Nothing special.”

“Well,” I say, blowing out a breath, “ten out of ten. Judges are floored.”

Maisie chuckles as she bends to adjust her skate guard, her top riding up slightly, revealing the waistband of her leggings and a peek of her lower back.

I try—really try—not to be obvious about how I look at her. But I just… can’t look away from her. The curve of her waist, the way her leggings hug her hips and thighs and don’t hide a damn thing.

As she straightens up, the sound of voices echoes through the tunnel as the guys saunter out of the locker room in gear.

Logan gives me a mock-sympathetic pat on the shoulder as he passes. “Let us know if you need us to tape your ankles. Wouldn’t want you straining anything from all that sitting.”

Ryan chuckles, shaking his head, and even Cole arches a brow at me, his face tinged with amusement.

I flip them all off as they step onto the ice. “You bitches wish you looked this good doing nothing.”

Maisie scoffs beside me, and I glance down at her, arching a brow.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”

That gets a smile out of her. “A little,” she says, scrunching her nose in the cutest fucking way.

“Rhodes!” Coach’s voice rings out across the rink as he appears from the staff hallway, his whistle swinging around his neck. “Stop flirting and get back to the bench.”

Christ. Busted by the ball buster himself. “I’m not flirting, Coach,” I lie—because I was definitely flirting—and gesture toward Maisie. “She’s my tutor.”

Coach squints at her, probably remembering how I almost knocked her out with my water bottle.

Maisie flushes. “Hi.”

He grunts. “Hope you’re good, sweetheart. You’ll need divine intervention to pull this one through midterms.”

“I’m trying my best,” she says with a small shrug and a polite smile.

Coach eyes me. “Good. Because if Rhodes doesn’t pass, he’s not skating. And if he’s not skating, I’ve got to watch Logan try to run power plays, and I’d rather eat a jockstrap.”

“Hey!” Logan calls out. “I heard that!”

Coach waves him off. “Get on the ice.”

“Hi.” I turn my head, seeing Isabella, with her clipboard in hand, smiling at Maisie. “Maisie, right?”

Maisie blushes instantly. “Um… yes. And you’re Isabella.”

“That’s right,” Isabella says, flashing her a smile, her curls tucked into a messy bun today. “You were really good out there.”

Maisie’s voice softens. “Thanks.”