19. Maisie
MAISIE
I tug my hoodie tighter around me as I cross the quad, my thighs aching with every step.
Practice was hard today. It’s getting closer to the Regionals, so Coach is working me harder, expecting more, demanding perfection. And I feel the effects of it in my muscles.
I shift my bag higher on my shoulder and pull out my phone for the fifth time since leaving the rink.
It’s been a little over a week since… the whole waking up next to Austin fiasco, and whilst it was awkward as hell when I saw him for tutoring the next day, he acted like it didn’t mean a thing.
Which it probably didn’t. It was just him being his naturally flirty self and me overthinking every little interaction as usual.
I frown when I see there are no new notifications, which scares me a little. He should be done with his exams by now, and if he didn’t text me then…
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.
Me:
West Library. Why?
Austin:
be there in 5.
Oh god. Does this mean he didn’t pass? I shake the thought away and place my phone down on the table and flip open my notes again, highlighting the same sentence three times, but the words don’t register.
Footsteps echo down the row, and I glance up just as Austin rounds the corner.
There’s a soft smile playing at his lips, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. He looks so happy. Like his whole face is glowing from the inside out.
Without meaning to, I smile back. It blooms on my face before I can stop it.
“Hey,” I say, lifting onto my feet. “How’d it go?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just grins harder—so wide his dimple shows—and shakes his head once. He moves toward me and before I can say anything else, his hands are on my face.
And he kisses me.
My heart stutters and nearly stops the second I register what’s happening. His lips press against mine, and I’m too stunned to do anything but feel it—the heat, the curve of him fitting perfectly into me, the sharp little gasp that slips from me and melts somewhere between us.
It’s quick. Barely a second.
But it lights something deep in my chest I can’t explain.
My hands freeze at my sides. My whole body is still, except for the tremor in my knees and the rush pounding in my ears.
And just as quickly as it happened, it’s over.
He pulls back fast, blinking like he’s trying to figure out what just happened.
His hands drop away and he takes a step back. “Shit,” he breathes. “Fuck, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do that.”
I swallow, nodding. “It’s alright.”
His fingers run through his hair, tearing his eyes away from mine. “I should, uh—I have… practice.”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Of course. Go.”
He backs away, then turns and heads toward the building.
I stand there, staring after him, my fingers brushing my lips, wondering if the kiss actually happened.
It did.
I felt it. His lips on mine.
Soft. Warm. Real.
And now he’s gone.
I draw in a slow breath, trying to quiet my spiraling thoughts. Maybe he was just caught up in the moment. Maybe he’s riding the high of getting back on the ice again, or maybe I just happened to be there, and he mistook adrenaline for… something else.
It didn’t mean anything.
Even if it felt like everything.