5. Austin
AUSTIN
S howing up late is kind of my thing.
Not on purpose. Not really. But if I walk in after everyone’s settled and halfway tuned out? Well, that’s just good timing.
I shoulder the door open, and the low hum of the lecture falters just enough for a few heads to turn.
A couple of girls glance back. One of them is in the middle row—blonde, in a tight tank top, glossy lips parting slightly. She’s practically preening in her seat, her notebook open but untouched.
And, yeah, I know that look. She doesn’t smile with her mouth, just with her eyes and the slightest curve at the corner of her lips. She shifts her bag off the seat next to her and lets it drop to the floor.
An invitation.
My mouth quirks up, just a little.
I take a step. Then another.
But just as I take the next step, my eyes drift to the side.
Back row. Five seats from the left.
Maisie .
I freeze for a second.
She’s in this class, too?
How the hell have I never noticed her before?
I mean, okay, this class is huge. And yeah, I’m not exactly memorizing faces while I’m rolling in ten minutes late. But… she’s at the rink, she’s in my classes. She’s always around.
And somehow, I’ve missed her all this time?
She’s hunched over her laptop, staring at the screen.
Her soft, faded pink cardigan slips past her wrists, and her messy bun is barely holding itself together.
A few strands keep falling into her face, and she pushes one away without looking up.
Then she pauses, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a tube of Chapstick.
She smooths it on, caps it again, and goes right back to typing.
My eyes drift to the sticker on her laptop—a cartoon frog in glasses, reading a book.
It’s dumb. And kind of weird.
But I can’t stop looking at it.
She’s completely alone. No one within a three-chair radius.
And for some reason, I stop walking.
Blonde girl is still looking at me. Still waiting. That half-smile flickers when she realizes I’m not moving toward her. She shifts in her seat, and glances away.
I drag my feet up the stairs without really thinking about it, like my body’s decided before my brain can catch up.
Straight past the empty seats. Past the perfume, perfect hair, and easy flirtation.
Right toward the one girl who hasn’t looked up once.
I slide into the empty seat beside her, making sure to keep my movements quiet. The lecture’s already started, and I’m not about to be the guy who interrupts, so I lean in close, my voice low enough that only she can hear.
“Hey.”
She doesn’t look up. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
I grin anyway. “You always this friendly, or am I just getting the VIP treatment?”
Still nothing. Her fingers are flying across the keyboard like I don’t exist, like my presence doesn’t even register.
I lean in a little closer, enough that her scent hits me—vanilla. Warm, sweet, and stupidly distracting. Like she showered in a bakery this morning.
“Not even a glance? That hurts, Maisie.”
That gets her. Barely. Her fingers pause just long enough for her to turn her head and hit me with a single raised brow. Her eyes are glacier blue and sharp as hell, knocking me in the chest and making me forget what I just said.
“What are you doing here?” she grits out.
I shrug, throwing her my best grin. “Saw you sitting all alone. Thought I’d keep you company.”
Not even a twitch of a smile. No eye roll, no smirk. Nothing.
“Lucky me,” she mutters, already turning back to her screen like I’m not even here.
I chuckle under my breath, settling into the chair and leaning back. “There’s the warm welcome I was hoping for.”
She keeps typing, her focus locked in on whatever’s on her screen.
Honestly, it’s kind of impressive.
Most people fake a little interest. A laugh, a compliment, something . But Maisie? She’s not faking a damn thing.
I rest my chin on my hand and watch her fingers move. There’s something hypnotic about the way she types, like her fingers are dancing over the keys.
I glance at her screen with no clue what I’m actually looking at. Whatever it is, it looks like a foreign language. I let my eyes drift to the weird-ass frog sticker on her laptop instead.
I huff a laugh under my breath. “What’s with the frog?” I whisper.
She doesn’t answer.
Of course she doesn’t.
I don’t even know why I’m still trying. She’s clearly not in the mood for conversation.
But there’s something about how focused she is. Like the rest of the world’s background noise and she’s just tuned it all out.
She’s different. Definitely not like anyone else I’ve met.
“You know…” I murmur, leaning in a bit closer, just to test her limits, “you’re really quiet.”
Her fingers hover above the keys for half a second. Then she turns, lifts one perfectly arched brow at me.
“You should try it sometime.”
I can’t help but laugh. “What, being quiet?”
“No. Being tolerable.”
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Damn, Maisie. You got jokes.”
Her eyes snap to the professor, who starts speaking again.
I try to follow her lead and focus on the lesson. Really, I do.
But the second I glance at the board, the words start doing somersaults. Swirling together, twisting into a blur of shapes and symbols that don’t mean a damn thing. My brain taps out instantly.
I blink hard, shift in my seat with a sigh and let my gaze drift right back to her.
Maisie’s still completely absorbed, her face lit by the soft glow of the laptop screen, highlighting the curve of her cheekbones and the faint pink of her lips.
They’re parted just slightly as she reads, her brows pinched with concentration, that tiny crease between them practically begging to be smoothed out with my thumb.
I catch myself smiling before I even realize I’m doing it.
She’s cute.
Like, stupidly cute.
I lean over again, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Psst. You got a pen?”
Her fingers don’t pause. “No,” she grits out.
“But I need one.”
“Then go get your own.”
“You really won’t share?”
She turns slowly, her eyes narrowed, sharp, and still so unfairly gorgeous.
“You really won’t shut up?”
I shake my head, tutting. “Afraid not. Not how I roll.”
She stares at me for a second, like she’s trying to decide if I’m worth the energy. Then she exhales, drops her hands from the keyboard, and finally turns to face me head-on.
“What do you want?” she asks.
I blink. “A pen?”
“No.” Her voice is flat, but her eyes never leave mine. “I mean, from me. Why are you here? What do you want from me?”
Her words throw me off balance, and I lean back in my seat. “I want you to tutor me.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. She lets out a breathy, humorless laugh and shakes her head. “Seriously? You didn’t even know who I was five days ago.”
I scratch the back of my neck, glancing down at my notebook. Still blank. “In my defense, I’m around a lot of people. Doesn’t mean I remember all of them.”
She gives me the slowest blink I’ve ever seen, then turns back to her laptop like she’s officially done with me.
“Amazing. You’re not only unprepared, you’re also self-centered.”
I lean in again, trying to close the distance between us just a little. “Come on. Help me out. I’ll owe you. Name your price.”
Maisie doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look up. She’s locked into that screen like I’m just another annoying buzz she’s trying to ignore.
I ease back in my seat, letting the silence hang for a moment. I don’t really know her, but one thing’s clear. She’s not the type to jump at an offer. Definitely not the type to make it easy.
“Alright,” I say, watching her from the corner of my eye. “You want something in return. That’s how this works, right?”
Finally, she pauses. Her fingers hover above the keyboard for a beat, then she turns her head toward me. Not all the way. Just enough to make it clear I’ve got exactly ten seconds of her attention before she decides I’m not worth the effort.
I tap my fingers on the desk, thinking it through.
“Okay. You want my lecture notes? Wait, no, I don’t have those.” I sigh. “How about I carry your books to class?”
She blinks once, no change in her expression.
I nod to myself. “Noted. Too cliché.”
She shifts in her seat, adjusting her cardigan slightly, but she’s still watching, still waiting for me to come up with something that might catch her attention.
“Free coffee every morning?” I offer, watching for any flicker of interest.
Her brows lift a fraction, still not impressed.
I blow out a harsh breath. “Tough crowd,” I mutter.
She turns her focus back to the screen, and I curse under my breath. I’ve lost her.
“Silence?” I continue. “I can give you, like, five minutes of that. Max.”
She turns her head slightly, like she’s considering it, but that unimpressed look never quite leaves her face. Zero for three.
“Okay, an hour,” I say, leaning in a little. “No talking, no jokes. What do you say?”
I can tell by the puff of air she lets out through her nose that it’s also a no.
I squint at her, smirking. “You’re hard to read, you know that?”
Maisie just raises an eyebrow, still not giving me an inch. I sigh, glancing around the lecture hell. The professor is still rambling on about God-knows-what, and some dude is tapping his pen on his desk two rows down. The noise starts to fade as I turn my attention back to Maisie.
“Okay, then.” I pause, studying her profile. The way the light hits the slope of her nose, the small freckles scattered across her cheeks. Tiny details I didn’t notice before but can’t seem to look away from now. “Is there a guy you like?”
Her fingers freeze. Just for a split second. Barely noticeable. But I catch it.
Bingo.
I grin. “You do.”
She stiffens, just a fraction, but then—bam—she’s back to typing, like her life depends on it.
“No way,” I tease, leaning in a little. “You’ve got a crush.”
“I don’t,” she snaps, way too quickly.
I chuckle. “Lie to me all you want, Freckles. But I can see it clear as day.”
Her gaze flicks to mine at the nickname that slips out, but she quickly shakes her head, trying to dismiss it by diving back into her screen.
“You want me to help with that?” I ask her.
Her eyes lock with mine, a crease forming between her brows. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you didn’t not say it,” I counter, shooting her a grin. “Come on. Let me help you.”
Her lips press into a tight line, and she looks away. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
“Why not?” I smirk. “I’m a guy. I know how guys think. I could be a valuable resource.”
Maisie exhales sharply, an annoyed puff of air, then glances sideways at me. “You’re the last person I’d go to for advice.”
“Exactly why you should reconsider.” I tilt my head, studying her reaction. “No one would expect it.”
She doesn’t answer right away, just stares at me for what feels like forever. “You’re exhausting,” she mutters.
“Yeah, but in a charming way,” I say with a grin.
She lets out a sigh and her eyes flick down to her screen again, but she doesn’t start typing. “I don’t have time to babysit you,” she mutters under her breath.
I shrug one shoulder. “Don’t need a babysitter. Just someone to help me understand this shit so I can pass my classes.”
She frowns, probably weighing the pros and cons of punching me in the face. Can’t blame her.
I brace myself, blinking a couple of times, my shoulders slumping in defeat, bracing myself for the inevitable rejection. But then she sighs, and my eyes flick to hers.
“Fine,” she says, with a sharp exhale. “I’ll tutor you.”
I blink. “Wait. Really?”
Maisie holds my gaze for a long moment, like she’s double-checking that she’s not about to make the biggest mistake of her life. “I’m not doing it for you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”
She glares at me. “I just can’t listen to you annoy me for another lecture.”
I can’t help but grin. “So… this is a mercy mission.”
“No,” she says flatly. “It’s damage control.”
I chuckle, leaning in just a little, trying to keep the mood light. “Knew you’d fold eventually, Freckles.”
Maisie rolls her eyes. “I’m already regretting this.” She shoots me a deadpan look. “Say one more word about crushes and I’m out.”
A grin tugs at my lips before I can stop it. I sling my arm over the back of her seat. “No promises.”
She shakes her head, but just before she turns away, I catch the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth.
Yeah. Game on.