Page 78 of Falling Offsides

I opt for the first one he mentioned both times he answered the question. Even if he thinks he can’t pick a favorite, I’d bet thatScreamis it.

By the time I’ve found the movie on the complex entertainment system, Auguste is sitting next to me with Samson curled into the corner of the couch. The apartment is dark now and my pulse is going fast as the opening credits roll. Auguste is so relaxed that it makes me super aware of myself as silence settles between us. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Then Auguste shifts beside me, thigh brushing mine, warm and solid.

“You asked me once,” he says, low. “Now I’m asking you.”

I turn toward him, relieved to be missing out on the nervy scene on the screen. “What?”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

I exhale a soft laugh. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to. But… I don’t even know if I believe in love, to be honest.”

His brows knit. “But you’re a romantic.”

A chuff escapes me. “Yeah. Weird, right? A romantic who doesn’t believe in love.”

Dark glinting eyes course over my face. “Tragic.”

That’s all he says, but the word lodges twists inside me. That lasso around my insides reeling me into him.

I don’t think. I just move. Leaning closer.

Until he stops me, barely pulling back. “Courtney… Court…”

“Auguste.”

His pinkie hooks over mine at the side of my thigh. “I’m not here to take advantage of you.”

“I know,” I whisper. My fingers tremble as they lace with his. “But I… I want you to.”

I crawl into his lap. Straddle him. Every hard line of him beneath me stiffens with his raspy breaths.

“Princess…” The words are ground between his clenched teeth as I lower my face to his, skimming the tip of my nose along his.

I’m not sure where this confidence has come from. Anything to do with intimacy normally scares me, but Auguste is so easy. So warm justlike his name that he makes it impossible to do anything except give in to the need roiling in my veins.

His face tips up. Our lips meet.

Oh my God, I shudder at the throaty growl that vibrates in the back of his throat as his hand clasps mine tighter while the other grips my waist.

His breath, hot and humid, whispers through my parted mouth before he kisses me—slow at first. Lips rolling together. Tongues teasing. Then deeper.

Auguste’s mouth claims mine with a hunger I didn’t know I’ve been yearning for. His teeth scrape over my tingling lips. Nipping at the tip of my tongue with teasing possessiveness.

I like it. I like the way it feels when his fingers claw into my waist and the back of my hand. Promising to leave a mark. To make this real for more than just the here and now.

I like that too. The idea of having a visual souvenir of Auguste’s touch.

When my hands slide under his shirt, he catches my wrists gently.

“I’m not gonna?—”

I take his hand. Guiding it between my thighs before he can finish his protest.

“Please,” I whisper.

“Fuck,” he groans the mangled curse as his palm settles against the heat of me. “Snow…”