Page 95 of The Play Maker

I shake the thought away and scroll back to the message I sent him this morning.

Me:

You’ve got this. I know you do. Good luck today, Austin.

I pocket my phone a second later when I see he still hasn’t answered me. I understand, though. I can only imagine how stressed he would have been today for his exams.

Still, I’ve been thinking about him all day. Wondering how practice went. If he was nervous. If he remembered any of the stuff we went over at the library yesterday. He did well on his practice test. I just hope everything goes well. He deserves this. He’s been trying, showing up, working hard.

And I’d never say it out loud, but… I actually like being around him. I think I’m even starting to miss him when he’s not around.

I shift my grip on the hot chocolate, holding it with both hands, trying to warm my fingers.

The library doors come into view ahead, and just as I step onto the first stair, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out, a small smile tugging at my lips when I see his name on the screen.

Six:

Confession.

I blow out a breath, the warm puff of air fogging in front of my face, as I watch the typing bubble.

Six:

I almost called you today. I stared at your number for so long before I talked myself out of it. Heard your voice in my head and everything.

My cheeks flush hot, and I’m grateful for the cold air and empty quad so no one can see how much that text messes with my brain. I’ve thought about what his voice would sound like more times than I want to admit.

I imagine it’s a little rough, not too deep, but still enough to make me shiver.

God, I want to hear it so badly.

With a sigh, I slip my phone into my pocket and head toward the library, my boots crunching against the frozen grass.

I push open the doors and head inside. It’s warm and quiet as I weave between study tables and disappear into my usual corner behind a tall row of bookshelves.

Dropping my bag to the floor, I pull out my Psych notes, trying to focus, to read, to absorb. But my eyes don’t cooperate—they skim, skip, and blur, because my mind keeps drifting back to Austin.

I wonder how it went.

Did he pass?

Did he feel good when he walked out?

Did he smile?

I hope it went well. I really do.

He looked so nervous yesterday, pacing around the library, reciting the answers back to me. He wanted it so bad.

My phone buzzes, jolting me out of the memory.

Austin:

where r u?

I blink at the screen, then type back.