10. Maisie #2
No matter what I eat, I can feel their eyes on me. Like every bite is being judged. Too much, too little, too fast, too greedy. If it’s healthy, I’m pretending. If it’s not, well… no wonder I look like this. There’s no winning.
So I stopped eating around people altogether, because every bite feels like it’s under a microscope, like everyone’s just waiting for me to mess up.
Aside from the sad little yogurt cup I had this morning, I haven’t had a chance to eat anything. But the thought of eating in front of him, of shoving fries into my mouth while he sits across from me looking like a damn Calvin Klein ad… nope. No thanks.
Of course, that’s the exact moment my stomach betrays me with an embarrassing growl.
Austin raises a brow and turns back to the waitress. “Add an order of mozzarella sticks, too.”
The waitress nods, and leaves.
My head snaps up. “Austin, you didn’t?—”
“They’re for me,” he says, cutting me off before I can finish. “I’m starving. You’re not gonna judge me, are you?”
I breathe out a laugh. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Just… impressed.”
He chuckles, running a hand through his messy hair. “Appetite of a hockey player,” he says with a shrug. “I work out a lot, so it kinda cancels out. Clears my head also. Though, I haven’t exactly been going to the gym since the whole suspension thing.”
I shake my head, my eyes falling down the length of his torso. “Well, you can’t tell.”
I blink. Shit .
His grin spreads, slow and smug, and he lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Maisie Freckles Wilson… have you been checking me out?”
“Not my name,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes. “And no, I wasn’t checking anything out. Just making an observation.”
“That I’m attractive,” he says, the teasing obvious in his voice and in the way his eyes are actually sparkling . Who the hell has sparkling eyes in a dim diner?
“Hate to break it to you,” I deadpan, “but I don’t think that.” Oh look, I’m lying again .
He laughs again, leans back in his chair with ease. “No?”
“No,” I say, crossing my arms and dragging my gaze away from his annoyingly perfect face. “I mean, yeah, objectively, sure. You’re attractive. Every single girl on this planet seems to crawl at your feet. But you’re not my type.”
His brow lifts as he reaches for his milkshake. He takes a slow sip, tilting his head, eyes still locked on mine. “And what is your type?” he asks.
My mouth opens, then closes.
Because I don’t have an answer. Not a real one.
I don’t think I have a type. Not physically, anyway.
I just want someone who’s kind. Someone who listens.
Someone who doesn’t make me feel like I have to shrink myself to be worthy of attention.
But if I did have a type? It would probably look a hell of a lot like Austin.
Messy light brown hair, hazel eyes that somehow always look lit from the inside.
Broad shoulders. That stupid smile that makes it hard to breathe if I stare too long.
But I am not telling him that.
Because as much as he drives me crazy—and he does, constantly—he’s also been… kind. He doesn’t make me feel like an obligation. He doesn’t act weird about being seen with me, or talk over me, or look through me like some of the other guys I tutor.
But if I admit I might have the tiniest crush on him?
Everything would shift.
He’d stop looking at me the way he does. Stop flirting and teasing and calling me Freckles . He’d say that I’m a nice girl, but he doesn’t want to lead me on. That I’m not his type.
And that would be worse than lying.
He leans forward, his arms braced on the table. “So… no type?”
“Not really,” I say, with a shrug. “I like people who are… decent. Who aren’t full of themselves.”
He gasps, hand over his chest. “Are you calling me full of myself?”
“If the shoe fits.”
I glance at him, and of course, he’s already looking at me, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to my pulse. And maybe he does.
God, he’s annoyingly attractive. And worse, he knows it.
“I just think it’s funny,” he says after a second. “You claim I’m not your type, but you can’t stop looking at me.”
“I’m looking because you keep talking,” I shoot back. “If you’d shut up, maybe I wouldn’t have to.”
He grins, a low chuckle leaving his lips. “Are you flirting with me, Wilson?”
I shake my head, but I can’t stop the heat creeping up my neck. “I think you’re confusing bullying with flirting,” I mutter.
“Nah,” he says, still watching me. “I just think you’re a lot more into me than you let on.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“And you’re a little liar,” he teases.
Luckily, the waitress comes back before he can say anything else, placing the copious plates of food down on the table.
God, it smells like heaven.
Austin digs into his burger, groaning when he takes a bite. “Holy fuck, that’s good.”
Without saying a word, he pushes the plate of mozzarella sticks toward me.
My eyes flick up, confused.
“You like these, right?” he asks, arching his brow a second later. “If you don’t then there’s something seriously wrong with you.”
I let out a laugh and nod slowly.
“Then have one.” He shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. “I won’t quit until you do.”
I blink. My hands are still in my lap, curled into fists under the table.
I reach out, trying not to overthink it as I grab one and take a bite.
The mozzarella stretches on the first bite, and he looks up again, his lips stretching out into a smile. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like everyone’s watching. Just him. And somehow, I don’t mind it.
“So,” Austin says, wiping his mouth with a napkin, keeping his eyes locked on me, “tell me about the guy.”
I almost choke on my mozzarella stick and have to swallow hard. “What guy?”
He raises one eyebrow, grinning like he’s got the answer before I even say anything. “The one you like.”
My chest tightens, and I fight the flush creeping up my neck. “There’s no guy.”
“Aw, Freckles.” He leans forward, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “You really think you can lie to me? I see right through your flushed cheeks.”
I swallow again, hoping he’ll drop it. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
He takes a slow sip of his milkshake. “Come on. Spill.”
But I can’t. Because the guy I like is anonymous. Just a faceless guy I’ve been texting and have no idea who he is.
I don’t know his hair color or his eye color or what his laugh sounds like. I don’t know if he’s tall or short or if he wears glasses or has a crooked smile. I don’t know what music he listens to, or if he’d look at me the way I’ve always wanted someone to.
Austin shifts in his seat. “I can help you out,” he says, breaking me out of my spiral. “Tit for tat and all that.”
I arch a brow. “Help me how?”
He shrugs, that cocky smile creeping back. “Make him jealous. Or help you find someone better. Dealer’s choice.”
My eyes narrow at him. “I’m not looking for help.”
He grins, completely unbothered. “Seriously though. Who is he?” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is he in here right now?”
I roll my eyes, heat prickling behind my ears. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you like it.” He winks. “Come on, he goes to our school, right?”
I don’t answer. Because honestly… I don’t know.
“Then he’ll probably be at the party tomorrow night,” Austin finishes when I don’t answer. “Perfect opportunity to get your man.”
I shoot him a glare. “First of all, never say that again. And second, I’m not going.”
“You are now.”
“Austin—”
“Maisie,” he says as he slides his plate closer and steals the last mozzarella stick, “don’t make me beg.”
He leans back in the booth, one arm slung casually over the seat, the other bringing the mozzarella stick to his mouth. That slow, amused smile curves his lips—the one that makes it way too hard to look at him for too long without forgetting how to speak.
“You need to let loose sometimes, Mais. You can’t spend all your time wrapped up in your head.”
A weird feeling swirls in my stomach, and I bite back the urge to argue.
Because he’s not wrong. I do live up there in my head, spinning circles and chewing thoughts until they’re paper-thin.
His smile softens. The teasing fades from his voice. “You helped me out a shit ton with classes,” he says quietly. “Let me do this for you. I’m a good wingman—I promise.”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
Because, as much as I hate the idea of being in a crowded room with sweaty bodies full of people I don’t know, I also don’t want to spend another night alone in my bedroom, staring at a screen, wondering if I’m ever going to feel anything real.
So I exhale slowly. “Fine.”
His grin widens. “I knew you’d cave.”
I roll my eyes, but the smile that tugs at my lips feels inevitable whenever I’m around him.
He takes a massive bite of his burger, chews, swallows, then turns back to me. “It’ll be fun. I promise,” he says, his mouth quirking into a boyish grin. “I’m going to help you get your guy.”
And even though I know the odds of Six being there are next to nothing, I can’t help the way my chest flutters at the thought of spending more time with Austin.
Because when I’m with him… I don’t feel like hiding.