17. Austin
AUSTIN
C herry goes to my school.
That sentence hasn’t stopped echoing in my skull for days.
It’s almost midnight, and I’m still lying here in the dark, one arm flung across my pillow, the other holding my phone above my face as I reread our messages for the hundredth time.
She goes to my school.
She’s not some mystery girl in another state I’ll never meet. She’s here. Right fucking here . Walking the same sidewalks. Sitting in the same lecture halls. Probably stood behind her at the café without even realizing it.
It’s driving me insane.
I let my thumb hover over the screen for a second before typing.
Me:
Confession. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s actually messing with my head. You’re so close to me and I still don’t know who you are.
I press send before I can overthink it.
Cherry:
I think about you too. More than I probably should. But please don’t come looking for me. Please, Six. I’m not ready.
The words punch through my chest.
She’s not ready.
I get it. I do. I respect it. But it doesn’t stop the restless, gnawing feeling in my ribs. The ache of wanting to know who she is—to finally see her. Talk to her. Look her in the eye and say, It’s you. You’re the one who’s been inside my head all this time.
I rake a hand through my hair and drop the phone onto my chest, staring at the ceiling for a minute.
I flip open my laptop and scroll, trying to distract myself with something— anything —else. I click on a movie without thinking, and it takes about five minutes for the memory of watching He’s Just Not That Into You with Maisie that night in her dorm to crash in.
How she quoted every line toward the end. How she snuggled up against me. How I didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want to leave.
Before I know it, I’m reaching for my phone again.
Me:
hey u awake?
It’s a long shot. She’s probably asleep, with Waddles tucked under her arm. But I can’t sleep. And I want to talk to her.
The second my phone lights up, my chest gives this stupid, involuntary squeeze.
Maisie:
Yep. Can’t sleep.
A smile creeps across my face before I can stop it.
Me:
me neither. what are you doing right now?
Maisie:
Watching a movie.
Me:
me too. which one?
Maisie:
Crazy, Stupid, Love.
I sit up, resting against my headboard. I search it quickly, hit play, then FaceTime her. She answers with a small surprised smile. She’s curled up in her bed in soft pink pajamas with hearts all over them, clutching the penguin to her chest—called it by the way.
God, she looks so fucking adorable. I kinda want to head over there right now.
“Hey,” she says, voice soft and sleepy as she blinks at me.
“Hey. I’m syncing up with you. What part are you at?”
“Right after the scene where Ryan Gosling tells Steve Carell he’s lost his manhood.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw and find the scene. “Okay, synced. Ready.”
Maisie shifts, getting comfy again, and props her phone up against something. The screen wobbles and steadies. She’s close now, her face filling most of the frame.
Have I mentioned her face?
That warm, freckled skin. Those tired, pretty eyes. The way her nose wrinkles when she smirks. Every damn time I see her, it gets worse.
“Have you watched this one before?” she asks, chin tucked into her penguin.
I let out a scoff. “Of course. This is a classic.”
Maisie raises her brows, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“You seem shocked,” I say, tilting my head at the screen.
She shifts on the bed, hugging that penguin tighter. “No, just… a little surprising the hotshot hockey guy would be watching a rom com with his tutor this late at night.”
The grin on my face widens. “You think I’m hot?”
She rolls her eyes. “I said hotshot. Get over yourself.”
“Too late,” I reply with a shameless grin.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “What’s your favorite rom-com?” she asks, settling back against her pillows.
I blow out a breath. “God, that’s hard. How the hell do you expect me to just choose one?”
She lets out a quiet laugh—makes my heart race.
“I think it has to be 10 Things I Hate About You,” I say. “That poem scene? Paintball date? Iconic.”
She grins, her cheek resting on her penguin’s head. “Mine’s You’ve Got Mail.”
I blink. “Oh yeah?”
She nods. “I like the idea of falling in love with someone through words—without ever seeing them.”
I glance at her, her words resonating with me more than she knows.
“I’ve always thought of opening a bookstore one day. Like she did in the movie,” she continues. “With a little café in the back. Tables by the windows, fresh flowers everywhere. Maybe a community board where people can leave poems or Polaroids or stuff they want someone else to find.”
I watch her eyes drift away like she’s imagining it all.
She bites her lip, then shrugs. “Who knows if it’ll ever happen. But it’s what I think about when everything else sucks.”
I sit there for a second, watching her fingers brush over the frayed edge of her blanket.
“That’s probably why I like watching rom coms,” she adds, her eyes flicking down. “Because it gives me hope. Like maybe someday I’ll find someone who looks at me like that.”
I shift a little, propping the laptop against my knee. “Why do you say it like it won’t?”
She shrugs again. “I just… I don’t think I’m the kind of girl a guy would run through an airport for. Or fall in love with, for that matter.”
She says it with a little laugh, like she’s joking. But it doesn’t feel like a joke.
“Sometimes I feel like a side character in my own life,” she continues. “I don’t mind being single, but I just wish someone looked at me and thought, that’s the one . I wish I was loved like that.”
I swallow hard. I look at her, and all I see is someone I can’t imagine not being in my life. Smart and sharp and funny, and so fucking beautiful. Her fingers are still curled tight around that penguin, and I want to reach through the screen and hold her .
I shift closer to the screen. “Maisie?—”
She looks up.
I open my mouth to say something— though I’ve got no clue what—but my phone buzzes and lights up with a call.
Mom .
“One sec,” I mutter toward her, reaching for my phone.
I mute the FaceTime and answer. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hi sweetheart,” my mom says, her face filling my screen. “I just got home and wanted to check in. Did you eat yet?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “And don’t roll your eyes.”
I let out a laugh. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You always do,” she replies with an arched brow.
In the background, I hear my sister’s voice. “Wait. Let me talk to him!”
There’s some shuffling, and then Scarlett’s face fills the screen. “Hi, loser!”
“Hey, shrimp.” I smile. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“Shouldn’t you be studying?” she fires back.
“Brutal.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know where you get it from.”
“Who’s that ?” my mom asks, squinting at something behind me.
“What?” I glance over my shoulder, realizing the camera’s angled straight at my laptop, where Maisie’s face fills the screen.
I shake my head. “No one. Just a friend.”
“A friend?” she says, drawing the word out.
I groan. “Mom.”
“She’s pretty,” she says with a smile.
I look back at the screen. Maisie’s zoned in on the movie, totally unaware.
Yeah, she is.
“Is she your girlfriend?” Scarlett shouts in the background.
I let out a laugh, dragging a hand down my face. “Alright, you two have officially butted into my life enough tonight. I gotta go.”
“I can see that,” my mom says, with a teasing look. “Remember. Use protection. I’m too young to be a grandmother.”
“Jesus, mom,” I groan.
She laughs, blowing me a kiss, and I end the call before they can embarrass me more. I roll back onto the bed, grab my laptop, and unmute the FaceTime.
“Sorry about that. My mom just got home,” I tell her. “She always calls to check in.”
Maisie’s head lifts a little from her pillow. “That’s okay.” She sinks further into her blankets and glances back at the screen. “So when’s our next study session? Or are you hoping this counts?”
I let out a low laugh. “Hey, this was extremely educational.”
She arches a brow. “Oh yeah?”
“Definitely. I learned you like to sleep with Waddles. Very important intel.”
She chuckles. “That’s not anatomy, Austin.”
“Sure it is,” I say with a shrug. “I’m studying your brain.”
She gives me a look. “God help me.”
I let out a laugh and sit up a little. “Seriously though, I do need to actually study if I wanna get back on the ice.”
“What time are you free next week?” she asks.
I scratch at my jaw, grabbing my phone to check my calendar. “Monday’s out, I’ve got team lifts and a meeting with Coach. Wednesday I’m free after practice.”
She hums. “Wednesday works. We can do the library again if it’s not packed.”
I pause. The thought of her curled up beside me again, brushing against me every time she leans over my notes—it’s dangerous. Especially now, when I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling anymore.
I clear my throat. “You could come to my place instead. Fewer distractions.”
She lifts a brow. “Right. No distractions at all in a house full of hockey guys.”
“They won’t be there,” I say. “The guys have a banquet thing for alumni donors. Coach is making them go. I got out of it since I’m suspended and, quote, ‘not a good look for the program right now.’”
Maisie scrunches her nose. “Ouch.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll take the quiet house.” I meet her eyes again. “Come by around seven?”
She bites her lip, like she’s thinking it over.
“I’ll even make sure my room’s semi-clean,” I add.
She chuckles. “Okay.”
Her voice is soft, kind of sleepy. Like maybe she’s starting to drift.
“You tired?” I ask, sitting up. “I can go if you want to sleep.”
She shakes her head quickly. “No. I wanna stay here with you.”
A warm feeling nestles deep in my stomach and I breathe out a laugh, my eyes glued on those pink cheeks scattered with freckles, and those eyes I can’t stop thinking about.
“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.