Page 26
“I can do that once I’ve finished cleaning up the headshots for the website,” I say as they get up and leave the room already talking about the meeting they’re on their way to.
“Is everything okay?” Cecilia asks when I gather my things and follow them out of the meeting room.
“Just running through the best way of getting through today’s to-do list,” I tell her, tacking on a smile. “I have to get a handful of the players back for more shots.”
“I can help with that,” she beams at me, opening up her iPad, ready to take notes. “Gimme names and I’ll wrangle.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course! It’s my job as intern number four.”
I check my notes quickly, pausing at Auguste’s name. “So, I need another few shots from Weissman, Sylkes… Moore, Garcia, Brooks, and… Broussard.”
“Broussard?” Her smile cuts to a grin as she tucks her ebony hair behind her ear. “I don’t think it’ll be hard to get him back in front of your camera.”
“What?” I choke.
“He watches your every move when you’re in the room.”
“No.” No, this is bad. “He is super aware of the camera. It’s why I have to take fresh shots…”
“Okay. ”
Okay?
Cecilia keeps walking down the corridor with a pep in her step as I continue beside her in silence.
“Fancy seeing the two of you here,” a voice calls from behind when we turn towards the gym and therapy area.
“Oh, hey, Jordan,” Cecilia croons, waving at him.
“Cece… you’re coming tonight, right?”
“Yeah, looking forward to letting my hair down.” She turns toward me. “Are you coming?”
“Of course, she is.”
“Did you get the email with the details for the karaoke bar?”
“Umm…” I shake my head. “Probably one that I haven’t gotten to yet.”
“Well, Blue Note at seven.” Jordan beams. “Non-negotiable.”
“Please come,” Cecilia says with a bat of her lashes. “It’ll be fun. You don’t have to sing… Pretty please? Cherry on top?”
“Fine. Okay.” I can’t believe I’m agreeing to it.
“Good work, Cece.” Jordan boops her nose before ducking inside one of the therapy rooms we’re walking past.
Maybe this is what I need to unwind and get my head straight. A break from the four walls of my apartment and these endless corridors I walk every day. That Auguste walks every day.
Maybe tonight will be a good night to get him out of my head.
The locker room is thick with the scent of muscle rub, soap, and heat. Steam clings to the walls like sweat to sticky skin.
I’m finishing up my shots for the behind-the-scenes campaign—quick candids while the guys towel off and joke around after an eventful day of training.
Marketing wants something raw, fun, something the fans can obsess over. Mission accomplished.
Auguste is standing a few feet away in nothing but black compression shorts, sweat still clinging to him, body carved like he was poured from concrete and bad intentions.
I try not to look. Except it’s my literal job and… I fail.
God help me, but I’ve been imagining what he looks like under his jersey for weeks now—and somehow, reality is worse.
Or rather, better .
Dangerous.
I’m packing my lenses into my camera bag amid the boisterous banter when a shadow settles over me.
Auguste’s shadow.
“I haven’t seen you all day,” he says, disappointment coating his words.
“Yeah, it’s been busy.” My traitorous voice warbles when he sits on the bench beside my camera bag and noses through the lenses like he’s actually curious about them. “Hectic to be honest.”
“You didn’t have lunch with your dad.”
Shaking my head, I wait for him to finish inspecting the last lens before I take it and pack it away.
“I have this assessment thing with the new team shrink, but I’ll drive you home after.”
His eyes are on mine. Holding. Steady. Waiting for a sign of where we stand. More than that… assessing me. His hand keeps hovering near mine, and I keep ignoring the voice in my head begging for him to touch me again. Pleading to feel his calloused fingers stroking my cheeks, combing my hair…
No. Get it together, Courtney.
“Leaving early today,” I say, my voice a little too tight as I tuck my camera back into its case.
Auguste glances up, wiping a hand through his coarse curls. “Why?”
“PR and marketing are grabbing drinks with some of the trainers. Cecilia is going so…”
“The trainers,” he mutters between clenched teeth.
I know what he means is Jordan.
Auguste’s green eyes narrow. “Where?”
“Some karaoke bar.”
“Blue Note,” he states.
No smirk. Nothing but a nod before he steps backwards to the bench with his name over it. Next to Jayden Morrow’s.
The locker room is emptying out. Only a handful of players left which makes the atmosphere closer. I can feel Auguste’s eyes on me when I gather my camera bag and the lighting tripod.
“You got plans tonight?” Auguste asks Jayden when he finishes his conversation with Eli Sylkes.
“Not really. I’m driving Eli home and then chilling for the night.”
“You don’t have to drive me home,” Sylkes tells him, pulling the bill of his cap all the way down over his face as he leans back into his cubby. “I’m waiting for the Motrin to work and I can drive myse?—”
“I’m driving you. Not an argument,” Jayden cuts him off with a concerned frown before he focuses back on Auguste.
“We’re going out…” Auguste tells him.
Jayden looks up from where he’s lacing his sneakers now. “We are?”
“Team bonding,” Auguste says simply as Matheo drops onto the bench over from Auguste’s.
Matheo smirks. “I’m in for a little team bonding.”
“Build chemistry off the ice,” Erik chuckles from across the room. “No stray pucks flying around the place.”
Auguste scowls at him.
“Where is this team building taking place?” Jayden asks.
Auguste’s brow cocks. “Blue Note.”
Even though I knew it was coming. I saw it all play out right in front of me, I’m still shocked at how swiftly Auguste orchestrated the whole plan. From the puckered lip expression on his face, I’d say he’s feeling pretty damn smug about it too.
“Fucking love me some karaoke.” Matheo pushes back to his feet, grabbing his towel and heading for the showers.
“More like blowing out our eardrums,” Ansel mocks, shaking water from his hair.
Rookie Oliver looks around the room. “Wait, we’re really doing karaoke?”
“They are… I’m taking my girl out for dinner,” Dylan answers, throwing his gym bag over his shoulder and heading out the door with salute. “Laters, assholes.”
Auguste is making a show of grabbing his shower bag. Moving all slow so that every flex of his muscles is exaggerated and so goddamn sexy. My mouth is watering at the sight of all his gorgeous skin stretching taut and smooth and glorious.
Damn him.
He’s playing dirty and he knows it.
I step back toward the door, my heart pounding and my fingers twitching from trying not to stare too hard.
“Laters, Princess,” Auguste rumbles when we cross paths.
I swear, the low gravel of his voice keeps on vibrating in my chest as I walk down the hallway to the chorus of animated conversation behind me .
There goes my plan—so much for putting Auguste damn Broussard out of my mind.
Table of Contents
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- Page 26 (Reading here)
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