Page 89 of The Play Maker

“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Me too.”

Her smile stretches, and she snuggles deeper in bed.

We watch the rest of the movie together like that. Talking. Laughing. Just being here with each other. I don’t want the movie to end. I don’t want to say goodnight, or hang up.

I want more of this. Of her.

I want all of it.

18

MAISIE

The moment I step onto the porch, I know something’s off.

A few people are out here smoking, someone laughing too loud over the thud of music bleeding through the open door. The bass rattles the floorboards under my feet, even all the way out here.

There’s no way Austin threw a rager and forgot to mention it. Right?

I pull out my phone and check it again, just to make sure I didn’t misread.

Austin:

still good for 8 tonight?

That was hours ago. And he’s the one who said studying at his place would be better. Quieter. Less distracting.

Right.

My tote bag feels heavy on my shoulder, stuffed with notes, flashcards, and a granola bar—because I knew he’d get hungry. He always does.

But this? This doesn’t look like a guy ready to study anatomy.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, hovering on the porch. There’s yelling from inside, and the smell of weed drifting through the open window. Someone’s singing off-key, horribly.

This is so not my scene.

It never has been.

Still, I came here for a reason.

I came for him.

So I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder, suck in a breath, and push open the front door.

It’s warm inside. Uncomfortably so.

The second I step in, my sneakers stick to something suspiciously tacky on the hardwood. I wince and try to keep moving, hugging my tote close, eyes scanning for any sign of him.

I try to weave through without brushing against too many people, but it’s impossible. My shoulder gets bumped. A guy I’ve never seen before gives me a slow, curious once-over. I duck my head immediately, mumbling sorry under my breath, heat crawling up my neck.

I clutch the strap of my bag tighter, pushing past a couple making out so aggressively against the wall I have to physically sidestep them.

This was a mistake.

I should just go, text him later, say I swung by but he was clearly busy. I’m halfway to turning around when I see him.

He’s in the middle of the living room, his shirt untucked, hair a mess, and a stupidly bright smile as he laughs at something one of his teammates says.