Page 27

EIGHTEEN

COURTNEY

Four outfit changes, two cancelled Ubers, and one almost panic attack later, I’m standing outside the karaoke bar. My pulse is racing away with itself as I give myself a quick glance down my body.

The black dress feels shorter than usual. I swear there’s a breeze kissing my ass cheeks when I teeter through the bar doors in the black barely-there sandals Delilah snuck into my case.

Blue Note is electric. The weighty ambience hits me in the chest with all the vibes steeped in heat and a bassy beat.

Dark velvet booths curve along the back wall, lit from underneath by hazy amber lights. The floors gleam black under the flicker of soft purple strobes, and the bar glows with backlit bottles in every shade of danger.

It’s living, breathing luxury, a little too sexy for karaoke—and exactly the kind of place where mistakes are made under chandeliers and neon signs.

I don’t have to look far for the team booth. All eyes point to it. More than that it’s exactly where my feet guide me—straight to Auguste’s bugged out stare.

Shoot.

This was a terrible idea. The dress. The heels. The actual coming.

I need to leave. I should leave because one of us has to see sense and follow it and?—

“Bambi!” Jayden’s voice cuts through the noise, already grinning.

I wince as the whole table turns toward me and I wave back.

Looks like sneaking back out isn’t an option anymore .

“Look who finally showed up,” Matheo says, waving me over while Jayden scoots along the bench, making space for me.

“Bambi in the building!” Ansel calls.

“Your fans await,” Erik adds.

I siddle up to the booth, ignoring Auguste’s tracking stare as I slide in between Cecelia—who’s already sipping something pink—and Oliver, who offers me a shy smile.

I like him. We’re fellow rookies in our relevant departments.

He’s also the most measured—not too quiet or chatty.

He’s not quite as fast as Jayden or as agile as Eli on the ice, but from what I’ve seen, his shots are pretty damn accurate and powerful.

Oliver is underrated unlike the man directly across the table.

Auguste.

He hasn’t touched his drink. Or taken his eyes off me since I walked in.

Cecelia leans into me, giving me an empty champagne glass and topping it up with some pink bubbly as she tells me, “Glad you came. I was worried I’d be the only one from PR to show up.”

I smile, grateful for her quiet energy when everything inside me is screaming with awareness. “We’ll survive together.”

“I didn’t realize karaoke was such a big thing.”

“Hockey players are funny creatures. Always expect the unexpected.” I can’t help stealing a glimpse of Auguste in all his brooding glory while I toast Cecelia. “Cheers to a great night.”

“Cheers!” Jordan appears beside the booth, tossing me a wink. “You sure you’re up for this, Nilsson?”

“Pretty sure.”

He laughs and slides into the other side, joining the guys in teasing Jayden about his last karaoke disaster.

I sip my drink, trying to ignore the weight of Auguste’s stare—constant, heavy, like a silent dare.

A dare to look, to wish, to imagine and recall the feel of his calloused fingers on my skin.

Every rough scrape of his teeth on my lips and his breath burning on my jaw.

Those gorgeous green eyes eating me up, swallowing me deeper while I rode his hand like a freaking desperate slu?—

The bartender drops off another drink in front of me.

“I didn’t order this.” I frown, shaking off the haze of my thoughts.

She tilts her head toward the karaoke sign-up table. “That guy did.”

I follow her gaze .

Some dude—late twenties, clean-cut, fitted shirt stretched over gym-bro muscles—is leaning casually against the table, watching me.

Oh, God.

His eyes are locked on mine, smile a little too cocky, way too confident. His whole demeanor sends a shiver down my spine. Guys like him are the reason I don’t date. He has the same I-own-the-world attitude that my ex-and last-boyfriend had. The entitlement to do as and how he wants.

I’m not here for it.

I’m not here for that guy.

Jayden leans in, eyes sparkling. “ Okay… he’s not even trying to be subtle.”

I shake my head. “No, he’s not.”

With a quick cut glance across the table, he mutters, “Pretty sure his retinas are permanently glued to you.”

I look back to the podium—the dude is still there, watching like he’s waiting for a signal.

Erik snorts. “Looks like he wants a duet.”

“I’m betting he’s been rehearsing Total Eclipse all night,” Jordan grumbles. “The sort of song assholes like that go for.”

“Dude’s been working out his eyes as hard as Thompson,” Matheo laughs under his breath.

I almost laugh—if I wasn’t all too aware of the daggers Auguste’s throwing between us and the stage.

“Damn, Bambi.” Ansel whistles. “You are making fans tonight.”

Even Cecelia giggles at that one, eyes flicking between me and the guy at the front. “He’s sort of cute…”

“Is he?” Jordan grumbles, throwing back a random shot from the tray in the middle of the table.

Not even close. That guy’s nowhere near Auguste’s league.

It’s at this point that I should shut down the voice in my head and focus on my drink.

Better yet, I should nip this whole conversation in the bud before Auguste has an aneurysm.

He looks set with the way his ears are glowing bright red.

His nose is wrinkling in that off-key, sexy-as-hell way like when he’s picked his mark…

“He is cute, right?” Cecelia asks.

“Not my type, so I can’t comment,” Jayden retorts, grabbing the napkin tucked under the drink that started all this and reading it out loud. “‘I’d kill to sing with you. Total Eclipse ? You plus me?’ Aww… he even ad ded a kiss.” He clutches his chest, pretending to swoon. “Ben’s going for it.”

Matheo lets out a low whistle. “Bold move.”

I glance instinctively at Auguste. His fingers are tight around his beer bottle. His jaw’s clenched so hard I can hear his teeth grind. And those eyes I can’t stop thinking about—green fire, burning a hole through Ben from across the room.

The tension rolls off him in waves.

And even though I shouldn’t, even though I know better…

I love it.

The way it makes me feel. Like I’m worth something. Or maybe like I mean something to him.

Cecelia elbows me lightly. “So? What do you say? You and Ben? Make his dreams come true?”

I shake my head quickly, gripping my drink tighter. “Not a chance.”

“You’re going to break his heart and ruin his night all in one swoop,” Matheo says.

“Poor bastard,” Ansel snickers at the same time as Jayden croons, “Brutal… I like it.”

Across the table, Auguste shifts. His hand reaches out, smooth and deliberate, and takes the napkin from Jayden. He folds it once. Twice. Then sets it down hard on the far side of the table.

That’s it. Not a single word is said.

But his jaw? Rock solid.

His eyes? Lethal.

I pretend not to notice, except my breath betrays me, catching in my throat.

The table keeps teasing, pushing me to sing. Matheo’s already queuing songs when I stand abruptly.

“Bathroom,” I say, voice tight. “Before you maniacs rope me into something humiliating.”

“Want company?” Cecelia asks with an are-you-okay furrow of her brows.

“Nah, I’m good…” Or I will be once I give myself the talking to I need to hold tight to my resistance.

Last night was just a blip. It’s not going to happen again.

Even if the voice in my head is screaming liar at the top of its lungs.

Last night cannot happen again. For both mine and Auguste’s sakes.

Because a man like him is way too overwhelming for someone like me.

He’s shown me enough possessive red flags that I should be running at this point .

And I am.

That’s what I’m doing as I rush towards the bathroom.

“Warm up those pipes!” Jordan calls after me.

I wave him off and push through the crowd, my pulse thudding too fast now.

The hallway is cooler. Quieter. The bass of the music fades behind me as I step farther into the dim corridor.

I’m nearly at the bathroom door when I hear it.

“Hey.”

I freeze. Then, I turn.

There he is—napkin guy. Drink in hand. Grinning from ear to ear.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, lifting his hands casually, like it’s no big deal he’s followed me out here. “I figured asking in-person would be better.”

It isn’t. I take a step back as he comes closer.

“Figured I should pitch our duet properly.”

“Thank you, but I don’t sing in public,” I say, my voice firm. But even as the words leave my mouth, I feel something shift inside me—a kind of nervousness I don’t want to admit.

He gives a little laugh, taking a step closer. “Come on. One duet. You’ve got the look.” The top to toe stare he drags down my body is very clear on what he means by I have the look . “I bet you’ve got the voice, too. I’m calling it now— Total Eclipse is your song.”

“No… thank you.” My throat tightens as I sidestep, my hand reaching for the bathroom door, desperate to end this conversation before it goes any further.

But then—he touches my shoulder.

It’s light. Barely there. But it stops me cold.

I freeze, my breath catching.

“Just one song,” he presses, his voice too smooth. Too insistent.

“I said no,” I snap, right as he disappears.

Before I can even process what happened, Auguste is in front of me.

In front of me. Back to napkin guy.

Fury darkens all the sharp edges of his face as he takes me in. His shoulders are tight. His chest rising with shallow, dangerous breaths.

Then he turns, his stare following napkin guy’s hand still gripping me all the way up his arm.

He doesn’t yell. It’s a simple, enunciated order. “Move your hand. Now. ”

Napkin guy straightens, blinking rapidly. “Whoa… chill, man. I was just talking?—”

“Your hand. Off her.”

Auguste steps up to him. One purposeful step that reads lethal. One promising step that has the asshole’s hand falling from my arm. Fast.

“Now. Walk. Away.” Napkin guy opens his mouth to argue and shuts it instantly when Auguste takes another step and another, cornering him into the wall behind the same way he did me.

“You don’t talk to her. You don’t follow her.

You don’t put a finger on her unless you want to spend the night in surgery. ”

The guy’s smirk vanishes. He stands there, frozen for a beat before he begins to stammer, backing off. “I didn’t mean?—”

“You don’t get to mean anything,” Auguste growls, his voice low and dark. “You don’t even get to fucking exist in the same air as her.”

He starts backing away, looking panicked now. “Jesus, I didn’t realize she was?—”

“Stop talking,” Auguste cuts in, his voice a deadly hiss. “Walk away before I make sure you never open your mouth again without tasting blood.”

The guy bolts, muttering an apology while he stumbles back to the bar, drink sloshing in his hand as he disappears into the main room.

I stand frozen. Body shaking. Heart racing. My eyes glued to Auguste’s back. Every muscle is bunched tight beneath his crisp white shirt. Ready to pounce… to attack.

Then he turns. Stare cut to slits. Jaw clenched so tight that his nostrils flare with every sharp breath.

“What the hell was that?” I croak past the throb in my throat.

“I saw him follow you and…” Auguste shakes his head. “You said no.”

“So what… you just… just… Jesus , you didn’t need to… to…”

“To what?” He takes a half-step closer. “Protect you?”

“That wasn’t protection?—”

“Then what was it, Courtney?”

“Over the top.”

“Over. The. Top.”

“Yes. Over the top possessiveness,” I snap. “One orgasm doesn’t entitle you to?—”

“Best orgasm of your life,” Auguste counters, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“It does not entitle you to act like that. ”

“Like what, Courtney? Like I care? Like I fucking want you?”

“Auguste—”

His voice is low, raw. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone touching you.”

We stare at each other, breathing hard. My heart’s hammering so loud I can barely think.

I want to yell. Cry. Grab him. Kiss him.

Instead, I swallow hard and step back. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

He doesn’t stop me. But when I glance over my shoulder, he’s still there.

Watching me.

Waiting.

And I know—we’re both already too far gone. Too tightly wound.

I feel it in every one of my limbs as I turn and push into the bathroom, my pulse thundering louder.

Inside, I grab my phone with shaking hands and text Delilah.

Courtney

I’m going to kill him. I swear to God. He’s driving me INSANE.

Her reply is instant.

Delilah

There’s a cure for that, babe. Just saying.

Courtney

No. Nope. Not happening.

Delilah

Doesn’t have to be a thing. Not love or whatever. Just…

A pause.

Delilah

Dirty.

Another pause.

Delilah

Desperate

“The dramatics are not helping,” I grumble at my phone as her next message buzzes through.

Delilah

Sex.

As much as I adore Delilah, and as I know she loves me, she doesn’t understand what it’s like to have someone control every aspect of your life. Every second of it…

Delilah

Get it out of your system.

I stare at the screen, heart pounding in my head, my throat, my chest. There’s a single part of me that doesn’t have a pulse right now.

And for one wild, breathless second, all I can think is:

God, I want to.