Page 8 of The Play Maker

“Can you—” She lifts a hand, stopping me mid-ramble. Then she looks at me again, and my chest fucking tightens.“Just…shhhh,” she mutters, closing her eyes. “I just need a minute.”

I shut up instantly, watching as she takes a deep breath.

Her lips part on a breath, and my gaze drags down, catching the way her pink jacket hugs every curve, her leggings stretched over thick thighs. One foot is still strapped into a scuffed white skate, the other bare, resting on the ground.

She must have been taking her skates off when I nailed her in the head.

The girl lifts her head with a sigh, and our eyes meet again. Andfuck me.It should be illegal to have eyes that distracting. I don’t know if it’s the contrast against her dark brown hair or just some kind of witchcraft, but they’re unreal. Siren-level hypnotic. The kind that could probably convince me to do something really fucking stupid.

Not that I need much help in that department.

“You can go now,” she says, completely unimpressed.

My brows shoot up, but before I can respond, Coach’s voice cuts through my soul like a goddamn executioner. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Jesus Christ. First, I fail my class, get benched, and now I’ve apparently decided to start assaulting innocent women with water bottles. Today is not my fucking day.

Coach stomps over, staring me down. “What the hell did you do to the girl, Rhodes?”

I lift my hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to. I was pissed at Cole, threw a water bottle, and?—”

“Are you five years old?” He rubs his temples. “Christ. Did you at least apologize?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding aggressively. “Multiple times. She told me to shut up.”

Coach scoffs. “She did what all of us want to do.” He faces her, his expression softening a fraction. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call a doctor?”

She shakes her head, glancing up at him. “I’m okay.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you sure? Do you remember your name? That’s a sign of a concussion, you know. You might want to?—”

“Iknowmy name,” she interrupts, those blue eyes cutting through me. “It’s Maisie.”

My shoulders relax. “Oh. Okay. Good.”

Then the name actually registers, and I blink, a lightbulb practically flashing above my head. “Wait.Maisie?” I ask. “As in Maisie Wilson?”

She nods warily. “Yeah… how do you know that?”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “The universe is fucking with me today, I swear.” I glance down at her—the girl who can literally save my ass. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Her brows furrow. “You have?” she asks, skeptical as hell.

“Yeah. Professor Carlisle said I needed a tutor. Suggested you. But I had no idea who you were, so I’ve been?—”

“Typical,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

I blink. “Anyway… will you tutor me?”

Maisie tilts her head, giving me a once-over before flicking her eyes away. She grabs her other skate and stands, and that’s when I notice just how short she is—gotta be a whole foot under my 6’3. Still manages to level me with that unimpressed stare, though.

“My schedule is full,” she says before she steps past me, heading down the hallway.

“Hey, wait up,” I call out, jogging after her. “He said you had an opening.”

“Not anymore,” she says flatly, limping slightly as she walks, one skate still strapped to her foot, the other in her hand.

“C’mon,” I groan. “Don’t be like that. I apologized—a fuck ton—and you said you were fine.”