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Courtney’s quiet when I get in and hand her Koolpak I had in the back with a random first aid kit Mom put in my stocking last Christmas—what else do you get a man that can afford to buy himself whatever he wants?

A smile tugs at my mouth at the memory.

“So you do smile?” Courtney says. “Thought you have Moebius Syndrome or something.”

“Moebius what?”

“Moebius Syndrome,” she grins, toying with the ice pack in her hand. “It’s a congenital disease?—”

“Jesus, I’m not fucking diseased, Courtney.”

What’s with this girl?

“Oh no, you got that look on your face.”

Look? “What look?”

“ That look.” Fuck, she’s smiling again and my chest is doing crazy shit. Again.

“How about you give me your address and stop giving me a migraine? I’d like to get you home in one piece.”

Pulling her phone out, she opens up her email and gives it to me. “That place.”

I look .

My foot jerks on the gas, jolting us out onto the road.

Fuck.

“Is there a problem?” Her question is laced with genuine concern. “If it’s out of your way, it’s?—”

“No.” Not at all. “You should probably close your eyes and rest, like Doc told you to.”

Courtney takes her phone back and rests her head on the window with the Koolpak between her head and the glass.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out how any of this is happening. What is going on today? Is Mercury in retrograde?

First, I crack her head open, and now I find out she’s moving into my building. Across the hall from me.

Courtney Nilsson is my new next-door-neighbor.

I fucking hate Matheo for moving out. I hate him so fucking hard right now.

The drive is mostly silent. Courtney has her eyes closed for the most part. Until we get off the freeway and the ocean comes into view ten minutes from our block.

“You doing okay?” I check when she rubs her neck with a hiss.

“Just throbbing.” A sigh. “No big deal.”

What have I done? My teeth grit at myself. “Still sorry.”

Courtney says nothing. Instead she checks her phone and then the navigation screen.

“You know where you’re going…”

“Ugh, yeah. Yeah, a few guys live there… the team keeps a couple units open for temp staff, trades, off-season stuff.”

When she doesn’t ask who lives in the building, if I live there, I breathe out a sigh of relief.

Why? I have no idea. It just feels like today has been troublesome enough.

Besides, it doesn’t feel like a good idea.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence so my brain stops overworking itself. “How come you didn’t move in with Coach?”

“We haven’t lived in the same city, let alone in the same home for a long time. He and my mom divorced when I was nine. I stayed with my mom in Washington… they have a complicated relationship, so I only really see him on special occasions, the holidays...”

There’s a sad undertone to her voice that has my hands tightening on the steering wheel so I don’t reach for hand clawing at her leggings. The conversation is making her uncomfortable, but now I’m curious …

“What made you want to work for The Comets if you don’t want to live with him and?—”

“Is that a dig?” Courtney snaps, fingers twisting in the stretchy fabric.

“No. No, that’s not how I meant it. Not a dig.”

Now she’s got me flustered. Feeling like a total dick for not keeping my mouth shut and just focusing on getting her home.

“I love my dad,” she whispers, and I swear her voice is wet and raw. “What I said makes him sound like a crappy father, but he’s not. Our family dynamics are complicated and I don’t know him like I used to anymore. Like I want to.”

“Is that why you’re here?” God, I wish my mouth would seal itself shut.

“I guess so. I guess I want to spend time with him while I still can. Before life gets bigger and real adulting means we’re forever two ships in the night.”

The silence settles heavy. Too deep.

I don’t like it. Especially with the way she’s gnawing at her lip. She’s bled enough for today.

“So you’re a photographer,” I say, trying to take her mind off the conversation we just had.

“That’s the plan. I only graduated last month. This is a dream job to graduate into…”

“And you get time with Coach,” I say to myself.

Courtney nods, her gentle smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Thankfully, we’re turning onto our road. I get us into the underground garage before I think about it. Luckily, Courtney is too distracted to realize that the number plate recognition let us in and that the security at the tailgate welcomed me with a nod.

Parking in my designated spot close to the elevators, I make quick work of getting her out and grabbing her belongings from the trunk before I call the elevator.

“You don’t have to take me all the way up.”

“I know, but you need to keep the Koolpak on your head, so you don’t have enough hands to carry all this. It’s also the least I can do after—” I nod at her head.

Courtney’s average height, but she’s slender enough that it makes her appear taller with how lithe and long her legs are.

Jesus, I should not be noticing any of this. Not her legs. Not how clear blue her eyes are. Or how her skin is so pale that it appears almost translucent. So bright. Her lips are juicy, the kind of full that gives her a natural bratty pout…

“Come on,” I say, cutting off my train of thought as I take her things into the elevator and focus on the blood turning black on her hoodie.

If I don’t quit thinking about her, that’s going to be my blood on Coach’s hands.

But her lips are pretty enthralling. Especially when she nibbles on them.

Fuck.

Gripping her luggage harder, I try to focus on the heartbeat that pounds on my fingertips.

Until Courtney loosens her messy bun and her curls drop to her shoulders. Dark. Thick. It’s the kind of hair that would feel good wrapped around?—

“No.”

“Excuse me?” She turns to look at me.

“Huh?”

“You said no… actually you growled it.”

“Growled? No, I didn’t?—”

“Okay…” Courtney takes a step to the side, away from me.

That’s it. Clever. Good girl.

Good girl?

Really, asshole?

I’m ecstatic when the elevator arrives at our floor and the doors ping open. Courtney instantly finds her door. There are only two apartments on the top four floors of the building, so it was fifty-fifty potluck and she won.

Fishing her keys from the front pocket of the backpack I’m still holding, she opens the door and pushes her luggage inside before she takes her camera bag and backpack from me.

“Well, thanks for the ride. And, you know… not letting me die out there.”

“Anytime.” I shrug like a fucking moron. Anytime? How many times am I planning on hitting her with my puck?

Courtney chuckles. “Hopefully there won’t be a next time. I’m thinking I might invest in a hi vis.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“Yeah,” she chuffs, backing into her apartment as I stand watching her go in and then disappear behind the door that she locks.

Smart .

I keep standing there, listening to her footsteps fade deeper into her place.

Only when I can’t hear any movement do I back towards my own door. I let myself in quickly.

The dark space has a new pulse. There’s a fresh buzz in the air. Static crackling in the walls as I stand in the dark and soak it all in.

The feeling of Courtney Nilsson being next door.