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NINE

AUGUSTE

Samson is squirming like mad underneath my hoodie as I unlock the door, his little paws scrabbling against my stomach like he’s trying to break free.

“Chill, man,” I mutter, easing us both inside and shutting the door quietly behind me. The last thing I need is him yapping loud enough to alert Courtney to our presence. A couple times today she’s made comments about me stalking her—which I’m not…

Okay, maybe I am… a little.

Not enough for it to be creepy or sleazy, though. Just enough for me to get to know her without fucking my season over with Coach.

As soon as I set him down, he bolts for the front door, scratching at it, desperate to barrel straight back across the hall.

“You miss her already?” I ask, crouching beside him.

His head tilts, giving me a high-pitched whine to match his sad eyes.

Oh man, he’s as bad as the twins.

“I kind of miss her too, bud.”

He lets out another soft yip and curls up beside the door, tail wagging slow and steady like he knows Courtney’s just a few feet away. It gets to me more than I want to admit.

Picking the little guy up, I cradle him to my chest. Where he spent most of the day attached to Court, her perfume has clung to his fur, and I can’t stop myself from nuzzling my face into his head as I drop into the couch and let him slather my face in doggy kisses.

I never thought this would be me. Sure, I love animals, but I never saw myself getting a dog. They need love and attention and come with way more responsibility than I have time for outside of hockey.

When he’s satisfied with my sloppy face, Sammy curls up high on my chest and I lay back into the cushions. Wrangling the coffee table closer with a sharp tug, I open up my MacBook. Boot it up and get the live feed from Court’s apartment going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to exit it and just exist in the same building like normal people. Drop off a coffee here. Walk her to her door there. Keep it simple. Keep it sane.

But I can’t help it. Especially not after today.

Mom was right about the cake. I send her a quick text at the same time as Court walks into the living area of her apartment, a plate of cake in one hand, adrink in the other and her book under her chin.

The vision of her so at ease with herself pangs deep in my chest cements the only certainty I have right now:

I need Courtney.

Even if it’s just from a distance.

I change cameras to the one with a direct view of the couch. The new screen loads slowly, glitching once before sharpening into a crisp image of her lying on her front with her legs kicked up in the air, eating cake and reading while a bass-heavy track plays in the background.

She’s perfect.

The brand of perfect that makes the world outside of her fade. Pale to nothing.

Courtney is the kind of perfect that’s already changed my life in the one week she barreled into it.

Samson perks up, clearly agreeing with my unspoken thought with a goofy expression on his face while he watches our girl on the screen like it’s his favorite show.

“Yeah,” I whisper, stroking between his ears. “She’s pretty great, huh?”

He keens contently, resting his jaw on his paws while I continue scratching the scruff of his neck.

We stay like that for hours. Courtney potters around, folding laundry and checking her camera’s memory cards in between chapters. We watch.

When she settles on the couch for good, curling up with her book, I carry the laptop into the bedroom, dim the brightness, and set it on the nightstand .

Just before I kill the video, I see her yawn. Hear the soft thump of the blanket as it settles over her hips.

Then I lie down. Samson wriggles into the space between the pillows. Every time I try to force myself to sleep, a thought pops up in my head to check on her again.

I’m too fucking wired. Too buzzed by her.

Wondering what she’s looking at on her phone while her book rests open on her chest. She’s like that, for a while.

On her phone, swiping back and forth, pinching at her screen.

Then she goes back to her book and I kill the video, leaving only the audio like a lullaby when I roll onto my back.

In the dark, staring at the ceiling, her face is still the only vision in my head—lit up by string lights with the most delicious blush on her cheeks.

She’s branded on my brain. That look she gave me at dinner—when I talked about my family.

Like I matter to her. Beyond the arena and the stats and everything that makes my number, 39, popular.

She saw past all of that. She saw me. And I can’t stop obsessing over the soft, curious smile she held me with.

I zone into the rustle of pages, the creak of the couch… Courtney’s breathing, soft and steady. Allowing it to blanket me.

Then— another sound.

Quieter. But… I recognize the breathy hum, a pleasured sigh like the ones she was making over the cake this morning. My cake.

Some shifting…

A hitched breath in her throat.

Holy fuck.

My pulse races out of the stocks at the realization that followed by the very vivid image of Courtney touching herself.

I know it’s in my head, but it couldn’t be clearer. My throbbing cock doesn’t need any more than the B-roll playing in my thoughts.

Her dainty, manicured hands roaming over her body. Her bratty mouth gaping open with her hoarse gasps. Those fucking hypnotizing baby blues darkening to a wanton midnight.

I can see it all like it’s right there in front of me like her throaty mewls are surrounding me.

Soft sighs. Muffled moans.

Then— fuck —the whisper of my name.

My. Name.

“Auguste.”

Again.

“Auguste. ”

It’s all breathy and fuuuuuck it shreds everything in me.

My control. Check.

My sanity. Gone.

My need. Out of fucking control.

My hand… slides under the waistband of my sweats. Gripping my hard-on so fucking tight, my world tilts off its hinges. A second heartbeat pounds in my palm. Blazing through my veins.

This is bad.

This is wrong.

This is crazy.

It’s so fucking good. So fucking maddening.

I can’t stop.

I don’t care what it makes me. I don’t care about anything except her goddamn mewls. Needy moans that wrap themselves around my grains like the perfect goddamn melody to my unraveling. My lust. My madness.

I stroke myself to the sound of her gasping—quiet and desperate, hidden in the hush of her apartment and the privacy of her mind.

Courtney doesn’t know I’m here.

Right here with her.

Every stroke of my hand picking up with her pitched pants. Faster. Harder.

“Fuck, yes…” The air hisses from my lungs with her disheveled cry.

“So good… Augus?—”

Court comes as I come. So fucking hard I forget my name, the sound of my voice with hers burning in my ears, her name on my lips.

When I open my eyes again, the dark screen is still glowing faintly around the edges.

I’m past the point of no return. Of morals and high grounds…

So what does it matter if I shouldn’t turn up the brightness so I can see her. See the mess her thoughts of me have made of her.

It’s fucking beautiful.

Courtney’s stretched on the couch. Book thrown over her head. A hand still resting between her thighs while the other splays on her chest, over her sleep shirt.

“Fuck, Princess, you’re driving me crazy.”

A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth as though she can hear me.

All I can do is whisper her name into the dark.

Just once.

Like a prayer .

“Courtney.”

The next morning, I wake up extra early.

I get myself ready STAT before feeding Samson and focusing on the task at hand—baking another pound cake.

This time I follow the instructions to add fruit to the mix.

Mixing some of my frozen smoothie mix—mango, banana, strawberries, and blueberries—into the batter before I distribute it into the muffin cases I ordered online.

Once they’re done, I make two coffees to go—black for me and a couple of oat milk latte pods for her.

I’m staring down at a Snow White themed tumbler, debating whether I should just down my coffee and pour Courtney’s into my Comets’ one when the alarm on my phone tells me I have to leave now to get my car.

“Fuck it,” I tell myself, grabbing the paper bags with our muffins in one hand and hitching my kit bag over my shoulder before I tuck Samson into the semi-opened main compartment and grab the coffees.

“Don’t yap, okay?” They’re my last words to Sammy before I open my door.

I’m watching the feed on my phone as I leave the apartment; to be sure Courtney is still getting ready.

She’s slow in the mornings. Takes her time stretching before she gets out of bed and then debates what to wear even though she ends up picking the same outfits—skin-tight leggings, quirky t-shirt, and an oversized hoodie.

One of these days she’ll be wearing my hoodie. She’ll go around smelling of me all day.

I’m smirking to myself when I finally get to my car and unload Sammy into the front passenger seat followed by the coffees and muffins. Instead of stowing my kitbag in the trunk, I put it behind the front seats. Within reach.

Taking note of the time, I get in the car and kill the feed to her place. Last thing I need is for it to come up when she’s in the car. That would be… disadvantageous, and seriously fucking annoying.

We’re not at the right place for that little nugget of information to come out.

As soon as I coast back towards our building, the audiobook I downloaded yesterday, starts playing.

Right at the scene where the dude is railing the girl against a tree after he’s chased her through the woods.

It’s fucking nuts, and seriously hot. And my whole thought process since last night has been: What part got my girl hot under the collar?

Samson leaps up, nosing the passenger side window with his tail wagging in a blur, as Courtney pauses outside the building door.