Page 68 of Falling Offsides

But it doesn’t change what’s at stake.

“I have a job to do,” I say softly. “And you’re…”

“I’m…?”

“My dad’s player… and I… I don’t do this. Relationships. Especially not with hockey players…never.”

“You sure?” His voice is quiet. Dangerous.

“Positive,” I lie.

Then I shoulder past him.

But as I reach the door, his voice follows me. “For the record, I don’t want to bejust friends.”

I don’t turn around.

Because I already know that if I look back, I won’t be able to pretend I don’t feel the same anymore.

FOURTEEN

AUGUSTE

Thefuckitpart of my brain is activated. In full force. On switch jammed.

There’s no going back from the things I’ve said to Courtney in the last twenty-four hours. The worst part is that I don’t want to.

She doesn’t have a boyfriend, doesn’t do relationships, and is completely oblivious to all the heads she turns simply walking by. I keep running over all the conversations we’ve had, trying to figure out how and why she’s single. But aside from the small tidbits she’s shared about her family, she hasn’t divulged much about herself, and past relationships aren’t a topic that she and Delilah discuss, which leads me to only one possible conclusion why she is here… unattached…

Mine—even if she won’t admit it yet.

Someone’s fucked with my girl, and that’s got me all kinds of ready to fucksomeoneup. Once I’ve figured this mystery out, I’ll straighten it out. But first, I need to ease back into the comfort zone Court and I had before my poker face betrayed me and I laid my cards on the table.

Which is why I’m parked outside the facility where the Ubers pick up all the time, engine idling low, watching the entrance like a desperate fucking fool.

Since Matheo’s sister dropped him off earlier from doggie daycare, Samson’s been sniffing the air for Courtney. If he could have dragged me around the hallways looking for her, he would have.

Now, he’s squirming in the passenger seat, pawing at the window every time someone walks past.

“Calm down, boy,” I mutter, rubbing behind his ear. “She’s coming.”

He mewls as though he understands.

Like he feels it too—the sick pulse of need hammering through me—he throws himself at the dash, trying to get on top of it even though he’s had a growth spurt that means he can’t fit in the squat space anymore.

“Dude, you’re going to get hurt,” I grumble, lifting him up in front of me and watching the heart-shaped dog tag Court picked out dangle.

It reminds me of the lip gloss tube in my glove box. The one Court dropped yesterday. The one I picked up from her footwell and kept. For a reminder of the honeyed scent of her smile. For a brief taste of her lips. For?—

Samson’s high-pitched bark draws my attention back to him. Then to where he’s whimpering at.

Courtney.

Something’s off. Completely fucking wrong as she glances up at the sky with her face all twisted while holding her phone up to her ear.

Her slender five-foot-six frame appears smaller. Tired. And yeah, I’m gong to fucksomeoneup for making my girl look like that. Like her world is anything but the perfect it should be. Like she is.

Still, she’s beautiful. In a way that makes my ribs ache when she ends her call and swipes her hands down her face roughly.