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SEVENTEEN

COURTNEY

Samson is going crazy while I pack my backpack for the day. There’s been a knot in my chest since I woke up swaddled in Auguste’s hoodie and Sammy watching me. It almost felt like waking up next to his owner.

Panic hit pretty fast. How am I meant to face Auguste this morning? I told him we could only be friends and then I threw myself at him. I made the move, not him. He tried to stop me and I?—

I pause halfway out of the door when my phone trills with a text. All the alarm bells silencing for a second as hope floods my chest.

Maybe it’s Mom.

Well, hope is a backstabbing bitch.

Auguste’s name shines up at me, and the panic returns. Twice as hard. I almost drop my phone when another message comes through from him. Reluctantly I open them.

Auguste

Coach called an urgent team meeting. X

My heart thuds at the X. A kiss. His kiss. My lips instantly tingle at the memory of how expertly his lips rolled with mine. Full, the skin a little rough from the icy temperature of the rink.

So good.

I’ve never been kissed like that before. With gravel and growl and like at any moment he might have devoured me.

It’s Auguste’s fault that I… I… I took advantage of him .

Oh my God, I totally took advantage of his kindness and sweetness…

“Don’t look at me like that,” I groan at Samson as he paws at my leg for attention. “Between the two of you… I’m losing my mind.”

His tongue lolls out of his mouth. Far too long for his cute face.

“What am I going to do now? How am I meant to face your daddy?”

Sammy whines back as I lock my door and go back to Auguste’s texts.

Auguste

Car is waiting outside. X

His timing is impeccable. I can’t figure out how he does it. Auguste’s not even here and he’s picking me up, driving me to work.

I type a few different responses, but my sarcasm and wit are already frazzled. So, I settle for basic.

Courtney

Thank you.

I tack on a kiss and delete it last minute because aside from the fact that I screwed up the friends only boundary I set, nothing’s changed.

I’m not here for a fling and I’m certainly not here for a relationship.

I have one month left and the only relationship I’m leaving for New Orleans with, is one with my dad.

Aside from the work experience, he’s the reason I’m in LA. I could’ve been in Santorini, sunning myself with Delilah.

Fuck, Delilah.

Let’s add another layer of guilt to the equation… I missed her calls last night. And I haven’t returned them this morning because I’m too scared of telling her what happened between Auguste and I. What I did.

She would be so proud of me. But I can’t listen to her usual diatribe of what’s the worst that could happen? Live a little… clear the cobwebs…

Last time I listened to her advice, her cousin spent our vacation trying to convince me to stay with him in Sicily. We had one night of drunken sex. One. And he was ready to take me to church.

What is going on?

My phone rings as I exit the elevator. I know it’s not Mom, she’s had time and plenty of opportunity to reach out—she hasn’t. My chest hurts so bad at the thought that I answer the call to distract the pain with more fluster .

“Hey…”

“Hey? Excuse me, bitch?” Delilah grumbles. “Do you know how many true crime scenarios have been going through my head for the last twelve hours?”

“Dee… I’m sorry…”

“You’re sorry? What the fuck, Court? Genuinely, I’m so mad at you. You make all these stalking jokes about Auguste fucking Broussard and then you don’t answer my calls for twelve hours?”

“Technically, you made the stalking jokes,” I retort, waving to the doorman that opens the door for me as I pick Samson up to head outside.

“Courtney Elouise Nilsson, do not make me get on a plane to whoop your ass!”

I’m chuckling at her put-on Southern Belle accent that matches her mom’s when I freeze. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

I’m mute. Stupefied actually.

My chest squeezes so tight that I can’t breathe as I take each step down, cuddling Samson deeper into my chest.

“Courtney, answer me for fuck’s sake!”

“Dee…” I whisper, pausing on the bottom step as my coffee flask and a muffin are held out to me. “I think… I think I’ve really messed up.”

“Shit, what did you do? Are you okay? Is that why you didn’t call me?” A pause and gasp for air. “Girl, you know I’ll bail you out no matter what. Ride or die, sister.”

“I’ve confused everything and now he’s probably thinking that last night meant more than what it did. But it can’t Delilah. Last night can’t mean a thing. Not a thing! I’ve given him the wrong impression and now?—”

“Hold up.” There’s a whole lot of scuffling on her end as I take the coffee and muffin awkwardly from the driver.

This is definitely not an Uber like I thought it would be. Nope. The Range Rover looks like it has all war zone add-ons for super important people, and the chauffeur is in a black suit and hat.

A fucking chauffeur.

“Okay. I’m alcoholating. Talk to me, hoe.

Who has the wrong impression from last night?

” I can’t reply fast enough as I allow the chauffeur to take my backpack and Samson while I get in the back of the SUV.

“It better be stalker boy, because I’m invested in this arc.

This story is going places, and I’m not in a mood for a goddamn plot twist at this point in the story. ”

“It was a weak moment. That’s all. I was upset and he knocked on my door… hugged me… cooked for me… and I let it cloud my judgement. I let myself get carried away.”

“Can we confirm that we are talking about The Puckinator ?” I nod in reply, placing my coffee in the cup holder and allow Samson to leap over it onto my lap. “Courtney! Are we talking about Auguste Broussard?”

“Yes,” I whisper while opening the snack bag with the breakfast muffin.

Delilah breathes a sigh of relief. “Finally.”

“It’s not funny, Dee. It’s bad. He’s a sweet guy and I’ve given him the wrong impression and?—”

“Actually, babe, from the way you’re freaking out, seems like you’ve given stalker boy the right impression.”

“No. It’s mean to lead him on. To let him do all these nice things for me and then…”

“Then?”

“Leave him high and dry. I didn’t come to LA for this. I didn’t—” All the words evade me. I have no clue what I’m trying to say anymore.

Instead, I take a big bite of the fruity muffin Auguste has perfected over the last couple of weeks. Every day, it gets better. A sticky, syrupy layer on top, moist and dense crumbs underneath, and the most yummy fruit that’s just starting to break down into jelly.

“Okay… all right… step away from the ledge.”

“Delilah, he’s my dad’s player.”

“And?”

“I want to reconnect with my dad. But if the first thing I do is get involved with one of his players… what’s he going to think of me?”

“That you have great taste in guys,” she says plainly. “Honestly, with everything you’ve gone through the last couple months, it’s refreshing to know you have someone taking care of you. Enjoy it.”

“That’s the problem. I did… too much.”

“Was it good?”

“Oh my God, Dee! I’ve never… like never —” Feeding Sammy what’s left of the muffin, I hold my hand over my mouth. “—come like that. It was intense. Like my body was too small for my insides and…”

“And…”

“Don’t judge me. I came so hard,” I say before concluding in a whisper, “I soaked us both. ”

“You soaked both of— oh. OH —you squirted? That’s hot. I’d pay.”

“Eww.”

“Dude, I’ve seen you get a Brazilian.”

“Not the same thing.”

“Whatever. Point is, if his hose is getting you that wet?—”

“ His fingers , Delilah.”

“Holy shit… or should I say, holy puck,” she chuckles. “If that’s what he can do with his fingers, you’ve got to try out the other goods.”

“No.”

She groans. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because I’m leaving LA at the end of the summer.”

“Call it a summer fling.”

“Auguste is a good guy, Dee. It would be cruel to get involved with?—”

“You already are involved. As long as he knows you’re not staying in LA, it’s fair fucking game. Don’t be chicken.”

This is why I didn’t want to talk to her about what happened last night. She’s going to keep pushing and keep making it a thing when we both know it’s going to end badly. And then how do I come back to visit my dad?

“I’m arriving at work now. Call you back when I get home later.”

“Make sure you do,” she replies as I’m getting out of the car. “And Courtney?”

“Yes…”

“If you’re going to overthink, at least get under the guy.”

Before I have the opportunity to argue, she hangs up. I’m gathering my backpack and Samson when the driver takes him from me again and hands me my coffee instead.

“I’m taking the pup to doggie daycare,” he tells me.

Oh. My heart drops a tad at the wide-eyed don’t-leave-me expression on Samson’s face. The PR office is going to be disappointed, everyone is loving the puppy cuddle breaks.

“I’ll see you later, buddy.” I give him one last scratch before I head inside, ignoring his pleading yaps with every wrench of my chest.

The day is chaotic from beginning to end. I spend most of it in back to back marketing meetings, taking notes of what’s needed. What’s working and what’s not. And my head is anywhere but in the room.

“I think we need some thirst trap material, you know?” Will, the head of marketing announces. “Some candid locker room material.”

“That could be a nice change,” Carolina, his deputy, adds. “Something different from the Comets in the Wild features we did last season.”

“We could call it Behind Closed Doors.”

“Hillier and Morrow already share snippets from behind the scenes on their socials, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What do you think, Courtney?” Will looks at me.

“Sure.”

“Sure?” His stare narrows with every tap of his pen on his notepad.

“Sure, it’s a great idea,” Cecilia cuts in, saving my ass. “I’ll talk to the locker room staff and make sure they let the players know so they’re aware.”

“Can we get some test shots later today? Would be good to have some visuals to get a feel for the feature.”