24. Austin
AUSTIN
I ’ve never been to a figure skating competition before, and I sure as hell didn’t expect to be walking into one on a Saturday afternoon with the entire hockey team dragging their sorry asses behind me like we’re headed into a group dental appointment.
The second we step through the arena doors, Logan groans. He yanks his hoodie over his head. “Are we seriously doing this?” he mutters, his eyes glued to the rink. “We’re watching a figure skating competition?”
I slow my steps just enough to shoot him a look over my shoulder. “Any of you say another word and you’re getting a kick to the teeth.”
Cole arches a brow. “Chill. We’re here, aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, turning back around and shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “To support Maisie. So zip it.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I know that silence. I feel the look they all exchange behind my back. Teammates or not, they’re vultures when they smell something.
“Is there something going on with you and your tutor?” Ryan’s voice, dripping with amusement. I don’t even have to look at him to know he has a smug smirk on his face right now.
I keep walking, keeping my eyes trained ahead.
Normally I’d toss something back. Push the joke further. Brag, maybe. I’ve done it before—told a story about a girl just to make the guys laugh.
But with Maisie?
Fuck no.
Even the idea of turning her into some locker room punchline feels wrong.
I don’t want to explain that I’m not hooking up with Maisie, that I’m not doing anything with her—at least not in the way they’re imagining. I just kissed her.
And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
That kiss is burned into my brain. Every second of it. The way she looked up at me. The way she leaned in. The way her lips tasted.
That kiss was mine.
For once, I don’t want to share. I don’t want to joke about it or toss it around for laughs. I just want to keep it, hold it somewhere private. Something that no one else can touch.
My jaw ticks. “Mind your business.”
Ryan lets out a low scoff, clearly amused. “Excuse me? Coming from the guy who wouldn’t stop harassing me last year to tell him who I was texting?”
A grin tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “And I was right about who it was,” I shoot back.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and now it’s your turn in the hot seat.”
I just shake my head and keep walking, quickening my pace as we start up the stairs toward the bleachers.
I don’t want to talk about this with them. Hell, I don’t even know what’s going on with Maisie, let alone how to explain it.
She’s my tutor, but she’s also the girl I can’t stop thinking about. The one whose laugh plays on a loop in the back of my mind when I’m trying to sleep. The one who walked into my life like she wasn’t going to take up space—and then quietly took all of it anyway.
And now I’m here. At a goddamn figure skating competition. On a Saturday. With my teammates glaring daggers into the ice and acting like their balls are shrinking just by being inside the rink.
All for her. I’d sit through a thousand toe loops and sparkly costumes if it means I get to be around her.
The stands aren’t packed, but there’s a decent crowd. Parents. Couples. People holding warm drinks and chatting quietly.
We find seats halfway up, smack in the middle of the bleachers. The second I sit, my knee starts bouncing.
My eyes go straight to the ice.
Scanning. Waiting.
And then I see her.
Maisie steps out from behind the partition, her coach beside her, and the rest of the arena blurs out. My mouth goes dry. I rub a hand over it, like that’s going to help me breathe again.
Holy. Shit.
She’s wearing this soft pink dress that sparkles as she walks. The skirt moves when she walks, just enough to tease the curve of her hips, and the neckline dips into this soft V that rests across the top of her chest in a way that makes my heart jackhammer against my ribs.
Her thighs—thick, strong, fucking gorgeous—peek out from under the hem as she steps forward. Her calves are wrapped in clean white skates. Every step is confident. Controlled. Like she belongs out there.
And I can’t fucking breathe.
Pretty sure I stop blinking.
I don’t even realize I’ve stood up until Logan leans over and mutters, “Dude. Sit your ass down.”
I ignore him.
I’m already moving, pushing past knees and bags and elbows, weaving my way down the steps toward the edge of the rink. The closer I get, the tighter everything inside me feels. My throat, my chest, my fists tucked into my jacket pocket.
Maisie’s crouched near the gate, lacing up her skates.
She glances up, probably expecting her coach or a judge or a clipboard, and then her eyes catch mine, and she freezes.
Her mouth parts slightly, her fingers still wrapped around the lace of her skate.
“You came?” she says, voice soft, almost unsure. The top of her hair’s pulled back with a white bow, and her cheeks are already flushed pink. Could be nerves. Could be me. Hope it’s me .
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
I swallow hard and glance down and then back up, trying not to stare at her legs or the way her dress sparkles under the lights. Trying—and failing—not to look completely gone over this girl.
Because I am.
And there’s no hiding it.
Her lips part like she’s about to say something else, but then her gaze shifts over my shoulder. “You brought your teammates?”
I scratch the back of my neck, wincing. “Don’t hold that against me. They insisted.”
A shout echoes from a few rows back. “We did not!” Logan yells.
I shoot him a glare, but he just grins like the little shit he is.
Maisie’s chuckling when I turn back around.
God, she’s so pretty when she smiles. Soft and secretive and a little shy. Like she doesn’t even know she’s the most beautiful thing in this whole arena.
Her eyes drop to my chest, her lashes fluttering. She looks like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, and the pink on her cheeks spreads down her neck in this slow, gorgeous wave.
I lean in slightly and reach out without thinking. My hand curves against the side of her face, my thumb skimming gently across her cheek.
“You’re so fucking cute when you blush.”
I want to kiss her again.
Right here, rink-side, under these god-awful fluorescent lights.
“Maisie, you’ve got five minutes.” My hand drops from her face and we both turn at the sound of her coach’s voice.
Maisie nods quickly, then glances back at me. “Wish me luck?”
I shake my head. “Don’t need to. You’ve got this.”
She gives me this tiny, nervous smile, and then heads for the bench. I watch her go, unable to look away.
A few seconds later, Isabella and Aurora walk into the rink, and weave through the bleachers, sliding into the row behind the guys.
Maisie glances up as they call her name, grinning wide, then looks down at her skates.
“Okay,” she says, blowing out a breath. “Don’t let me down, you two.” She taps her fingertips against the tops of her skates. It’s quiet, barely audible, but I catch every word. My brows shoot up in surprise, and my lips curve into a grin before I can stop them.
My fucking soulmate.
I drag myself back to my seat, eager to watch her kill it out there.
The lights shift, and a low hum rolls through the speakers as the first note of her music cuts in.
Then she steps onto the ice.
And the entire goddamn arena goes still.
Even the guys shut up. Logan doesn’t say a word. Ryan leans forward. No one breathes.
Maisie glides into the center like she was made for it—like the ice isn’t just beneath her, but a part of her. Like it listens when she moves. Like it answers only to her.
And right now, it does.
Every eye follows her. Every breath in the place holds.
She moves slowly at first, arms lifting with the rise of the music, fingers carving something soft into the cold air. There’s this quiet confidence in her body, this ease that makes it impossible to look anywhere else.
Then she turns and picks up speed. The wind pulls at her hair, her skirt fluttering as she gathers momentum, and launches into a jump so smooth it barely looks real.
She spins in the air before landing it effortlessly, her arms wide, chest lifted, like she was never not meant to fly.
I’m frozen. Jaw hanging. Completely fucking gone.
I’ve seen talent. I’ve played alongside guys who were born with a stick in their hands. Athletes who could make a puck do things that shouldn’t be possible.
But this is something else entirely.
This is more than a sport or technique. It’s art.
And I’m watching her heart speak in a language I’ll never quite understand, but somehow still feel.
That pink dress catches the lights with every turn, glinting like stars. Her thighs flex, her back curves, and her skates carve the ice like she’s painting on it.
I think half the guys in here just fell in love with her.
Too fucking bad.
She’s mine.
And yeah, I only kissed her once—twice if you count the library—and I haven’t touched her since. But it doesn’t matter.
Because the second she looks up at me and her eyes soften and her mouth tips into the smallest, most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, I know there’s not a single other person in this world that can make me feel like she does.
The final note hits, and the crowd goes wild. People leap to their feet, clapping, cheering.
She glides toward the edge, slowing down, her breaths fast and shallow as she coasts to a stop at the barrier. Her eyes scan the crowd, and then land on me.
And when she sees me, she smiles. And my whole fucking chest caves in.
I stand up without thinking, my heart pounding as I make my way down the steps toward the rink.
She steps off the ice just as I reach the barrier, still catching her breath.
“You were amazing,” I say.
Her smile widens, but before I can say anything else, Isabella and Aurora explode toward her, full squeals and flailing arms, nearly knocking her sideways as they wrap her in a hug.
I take a step back, jealousy bubbling sharp and fast in my throat.
It’s just… I want it to be me. I want to be the one she collapses into, the one holding her while she laughs like that. I want her glow to be for me—because of me. I want her looking at me like I’m the reason she’s still buzzing from the ice.
They’re all over her—fixing her hair, adjusting her jacket, whispering about the routine, her dress, how perfect she looked out there.
And they’re not wrong.
She was perfect.
She is .
And I just stand there.
Hovering.
Waiting.
My hands twitch at my sides, and I hate how badly I want her attention, how desperate I feel for her to look at me, just for a second, and let me in.
Finally, I clear my throat and step forward. “Mind if I cut in?”
Aurora raises a brow, amused. “We were just leaving.” She throws Maisie a wink as they both disappear toward the hallway.
I watch them go, then finally step closer to Maisie.
She’s still got that post-performance shine, her lips parted, cheeks glowing, eyes wide and warm and a little dazed.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more beautiful in my life.
“Maisie,” I say softly, blowing out a breath. “You were…” I trail off, searching for words. Can’t find them, not the right ones, anyway. Nothing I come up with feels big enough. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, surprised. Like she wasn’t expecting that. Like maybe no one’s ever said it to her and actually meant it.
I lean in slightly, tilting my head so I can really look at her. Take her in. “You were incredible. I knew you skated, but holy shit, Maisie. I didn’t know you could do that.”
A shy smile forms on her lips. “Thanks,” she murmurs.
“I didn’t breathe for three minutes,” I tell her. “Forgot how lungs work. Might still be struggling, honestly.”
She lets out a quiet laugh. “You’re dramatic,” she says, rolling her eyes.
I step a little closer. “You’re talented,” I say, not backing down. “And you looked so beautiful out there.”
Her cheeks flush deeper, a light pink spreading from her ears down her neck. My favorite fucking color.
“Thanks. It was… a lot. I was nervous.”
I shake my head. “Couldn’t tell. You looked like you were born on that ice.”
I reach into my jacket and pull out the plush hockey puck I picked up before the performance, and hold it out to her.
Her eyes flick down, then lift back to mine, her eyebrow raising a little.
“I heard people usually toss stuff like this onto the ice after a routine,” I say, shrugging. “But I wanted to give it to you directly. ‘Cause, well… yeah.”
Maisie’s fingers brush over the stitching. She smiles, tilting her head. “You know I’m not a hockey fan, right?”
I laugh. “Don’t break my heart, Freckles. Hockey’s the best damn sport in the world.”
“Mmm.” She chuckles, taking the puck from my hand. “I’m just kidding. Thank you, Austin. Seriously, I…” She trails off, shaking her head like she’s trying to clear it. “I didn’t think anyone would be here. And you?—”
“I’ll always be here for you, Mais,” I say, stepping in closer. My voice goes quiet without meaning to, eyes flicking down to her mouth—the same one I kissed not even a week ago. The same one I still think about way too often.
“So,” she says, raising her brows, that teasing glint slipping into her voice. “Does this mean I have to come to one of your games now?”
I chuckle, reach up, and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers brush her skin for half a second too long. “Hell yes, it does.”
She smirks, that little spark lighting up in her eyes. “We’ll see.”
I bump her shoulder lightly. “We both know you’ll say yes.”
Maisie rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. She turns toward the locker room, but not before glancing back at me. One last look. One last soft smile that curls at the corners of her mouth and punches straight through my chest.
And then she’s gone.
But my eyes stay on the spot she left, already counting down the seconds until I get to see her again.