The next month flies by.
With only two weeks left in the fall semester, Madison has her grade up to a B in Algebra 111. I swear, I'm almost prouder of that than my own grades.
She still grumbles about math being pointless, but she shows up for every tutoring session—probably because she knows I'll hunt her down if she doesn't.
I try to keep up with our study dates, but with playoffs creeping closer, our practice schedule ramps up. More film, more conditioning, more strategy meetings; we've gone undefeated so far this season, and the team is locked in. Coach has us running drills until we're ready to collapse, but no one's complaining. We can all feel it—this season is special. And for me, it's not just about the team's record. It's about showcasing everything I can do before the draft.
My only saving grace? FaceTime.
Like right now.
I push through the doors of the athletic building, my duffle slung over my shoulder, my phone in hand as Madison's face fills my screen. She's sprawled across her bed, her textbook open in front of her, highlighter tucked behind her ear, hair pulled into a messy bun that somehow makes her look even prettier.
"You look thrilled," I tease, adjusting my grip as I make my way down the hall.
She groans, flipping onto her back, the camera momentarily showing her ceiling before refocusing on her face. "Jax, if I have to look at one more equation, I might actually throw myself out the window."
I chuckle, pushing open the locker room door. "You did get a B on your midterm. That's progress."
She huffs, her lips forming their familiar pout that always makes me want to kiss it away. "It would be more progress if I didn't have to do it at all. And it's only a B because you're basically forcing me to study against my will."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" I smirk, remembering our last study session that ended with her in my lap, books forgotten on the floor.
Her cheeks flush slightly. "You know what I mean."
"Do I?" I tease, enjoying the way she narrows her eyes at me.
"You're impossible," she mutters, but there's no heat behind it.
I shift the phone to get a better angle as I walk through the locker room. "So, what are you working on today? More quadratic formulas?"
She groans dramatically. "Worse. Applications of derivatives. Who even needs to know this stuff? When am I ever going to use it in real life?"
"Maybe if you become a rocket scientist?"
"Yes, Jax, because that's definitely where my career is headed," she deadpans, and I can't help but laugh.
I shake my head, dropping my bag onto the bench. "You're ridiculous, Mads."
She smirks, adjusting her position so she's lying on her stomach, chin propped on her hand. "And yet, you keep me around."
I roll my eyes but don't argue.
Yeah. Yeah, I do, and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon.
I sit down on the bench, kicking off my sneakers while keepingmy eyes on my phone, watching Madison scribble something down in her notebook.
She chews on the end of her pen, brows furrowed, her legs tucked beneath her on the bed. Even frustrated, she looks stupidly cute. The string lights in her room cast a soft glow across her face, highlighting the freckles scattered across her nose that only appear when she's been in the sun too long.
"So," she says, not looking up from her book, "big game this weekend, huh?"
I nod, even though she can't see it. "Yeah. Last regular season game. If we win, we go into the playoffs undefeated."
Now, she looks up, her expression softening. "You nervous?"
I consider lying, but this is Madison. She'd see right through it. "A little. There's gonna be a lot of scouts there. It's a big opportunity."
"You're going to be amazing," she says with such certainty, I almost believe her. "You always are."
