Page 98 of Falling Offsides

Courtney steps out of the bar a few minutes later, her face scrunched up, but the moment she sees me standing there, waiting for her, her shoulders go stiff. Her eyes narrow to volcanic slits.

“Weren’t you leaving thirty minutes ago?” Her tone is sharp.

I just shrug, my gaze never leaving her. “I’m waiting for you.”

Shit,her jaw clenches. She’s about to argue, I can see it in the way she shifts her weight, teeth sinking into her lip.

“Thank you, but I’m capable of getting myself home,” she retorts, looking around.

The night temperature has dipped and along with the tremor in her voice, she’s shivering. The thin fabric of her dress does nothing against the cool night air, and I’m not going to stand by while she freezes to death.

“I know you can, Court,” I say, moving towards her, pulling my jacket off. Before she can protest, I drape it over her shoulders, and she stares at me, eyes wide, brows pinched. “Don’t be stubborn. Please.”

She opens her mouth to argue again, but it dies in her throat when I flatten my hand between her shoulders and guide her to the waiting car.

“We’re going the same way,” I continue, ignoring the flare of discontent in her gaze. “Let me make sure you get home safe. That’s all.”

She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t argue. But I know she’s stewing all that mouthwatering frustration beneath her skin.

Courtney shuffles all the way across the seat, sitting stoically. Hands gripping her purse in her lap.

I sit on the other side of the bench. There are so many things I want to say and somehow I can’t find the right words to vocalize. To iterate them better than I already have.

Instead, we spend the ride home soaked in silence. The weight in the air bearing down on us. Every breath she takes beside me is tight, sharp, controlled.

I’m no better—forcing myself to stay glued to my seat even though I’m desperate to scoot over. Just a little closer.

That’s how I end up getting out of the car after her. Following her inside, all the way through to the elevators.

I’m wound up so tight I don’t even think about hiding the fact that I live in the same building anymore.

“You don’t have to walk me to my literal door,” Courtney speaks.

Finally.Something.

“I know.” I nod in return, following her inside the elevator and standing on the opposite side.

Courtney is stunning but in that little black dress with the puffy princess sleeves and corset-like waist… she looks insane. Not a strand of her hair is out of place, flowing down to the small of her back. And those high heels that put her almost nose to nose with me—almost—have her legs going on and on for days beneath the micro skirt that just covers her full ass.

This woman is fucking mesmerizing with her churlish pout and upturned nose. She’s bouncing gently with the movement of the floor, arms wrapped around herself, eyes forward.

Even though we’re not touching, we’re seconds away from combusting.

Every floor we pass makes it worse, choking the air until it’s so thin it’s not enough to keep me seeing straight.

By the time the doors open on our floor, her voice is a steely whisper. “We’re even… you’re forgiven…”

I don’t move. Don’t even blink. Nothing.

“You’ve done enough,” she continues, looking up at me. Blinking and rolling her lips like the words need to be lubricated out of her mouth. “I think… I think we need space. Perspective…”

Perspective?What other perspective is there other than I am fucking losing it over her?

Still, I keep my cool, forcing my voice to stay level as I say, “If that’s what you want.”

It’s not. We both know that. It’s written in her frown. Brimming in her eyes.

But Courtney doesn’t say that. She turns for her door, fingers curling around her keys. While I… I’m so fucking exhausted of hiding. Of playing a game that I’m clearly not winning, that I traipse behind her.