TWENTY-ONE

AUGUSTE

What a fucking day.

Being called into coach’s office is unnerving on any given day, but today—when I opened the door and saw Courtney in there—I thought that was it. That I’d fucked up any chance I had with Courtney and my career at the same time.

The damn kicker is that it wasn’t my career I was fucking twisted over.

It was Courtney.

Because everything is about her lately. Dinner with my parents… all about Courtney. From the moment I sat down and Sabine brought her up to Mom and Dad, to when Mom spent the rest of the dinner giving me pointers on getting the girl who I’m not sure wants me at all.

Although, Court did talk to me in her dad’s office. Right then, she didn’t sound mad or disappointed like she did last night and this morning.

Maybe I’m getting my hopes up because there was something tentative about her tone. Or maybe it’s my wishful thinking reeling again.

“Not tonight, Satan, please,” I groan as I come to a standstill behind a ridiculous queue of traffic.

I’m fucking lagging already. Enough that Coach picked up on it during training today. So much so that it had him pulling me into his office for a “chat” that ended with Connie, the team shrink, popping in. Incidentally my ass.

Of course, I couldn’t tell him that the reason I’m fucking skatered is because his daughter has overtaken my entire damn world.

In just a handful of weeks, Courtney has become the reason I throw myself out of bed at unreasonable hours to bake fucking muffins.

That she’s the reason I lay in bed at night, tossing and turning, trying to figure out how to make her mine.

No, I can’t tell him that. Because I do not in fact have a death wish.

So I went along with the homesick assumption that Coach made.

Offering me a week to spend with my family when all I want is for his daughter to look at me twice without that I-don’t-fucking-know-you look. Which I think she did… in his office.

She looked at me like maybe I’m not so bad. As though she might have gotten me all wrong.

“Fuck, don’t get ahead of yourself, asshole,” I mutter, turning up the music—Court’s playlist.

Because I’m sitting in traffic and clearly out of my mind, I grab my phone and add another track to it.

Creep.

Not the Radiohead version—the most depressing song in the world. Nope, I add the upbeat one. Because if I’m going to feel shit about myself, I might as well do it in a positive tone. Besides, I’ve made her feel crappy enough.

I keep adding tracks. Replaying the remark she made about me violating her playlist. It seems like a lifetime ago since that morning. Her sitting in my passenger seat. Her arm alongside mine. My scent soaking into her clothes and skin…

The vibration of my phone buzzes me out of my escalating thoughts to notification after notification from Erik in the team chat. Before I swipe into it, the music cuts with a call.

Jayden.

Dude never calls me, so I answer on the assumption it’s something serious. Important.

“Do not do anything stupid,” he says before I get a greeting out, and I don’t have to ask what the hell he’s talking about because he word vomits his way to it.

“There are plenty of work reasons for Courtney and Jordan to be hanging out. Sitting across the table from each other does not mean it’s something more . Erik is fucking mathing wrong, man.”

“What?” I swipe out of the call screen and go straight to the team chat.

Erik

Dude’s fucking stupid or he has a death wish.

Dylan

I’ve said it before and I say it again…moms, sisters, and daughters are no-gos.

Matheo

Obvs jordy didn’t get the memo…

Erik

Asshole is going to get

Dylan

Delete the fucking photo

Ansel

Nah, bro…it’s the perfect blackmail material. My 13yr old knows better than that idiot.

Dylan

Delete the photo ANDERSEN

“Shit,” Jayden mutters. “You’re reading the chat, aren’t you?”

I don’t reply, scrolling straight to the start of the conversation where a photo is waiting for me to download. Even from the blurry tile I can set the scene, and I don’t bother waiting for the photo to open when I glance at the message below it and see Erik’s caption.

Erik

It’s getting spicy at the cantina.

The Cantina. The little Mexican place down the road from the facility.

Pulling out of the traffic to the sound of horns blowing up around me, I make a u-turn onto the other side of the road and hit the gas hard enough that my phone flies off my lap into the kickwell.

Meanwhile Jayden’s blathering on and on around me.

I can’t deal with his chill right now.

“Gotta go. Bye.” I hang up and ignore the incessant ringing that follows until he gives up and I’m left with Crazy playing on repeat in the background until I cut some dude off, parking in the space he was signalling for outside the restaurant.

He’s fucking losing it until I get out of my car and he realizes who I am. I’m too fucking worked up to give him more than a nod. At this point, he’s making the right decision staying in his vehicle, cause I’m fucking seeing red.

I push through the door, ignoring the chime of the bell while I search out the quaint space for my girl .

The girl whose eyes flash wide when she sees me standing in the middle of the restaurant, watching her sit opposite the guy I warned her about.

My blood runs hot. My jaw clenches. The instant rush of anger clouds my judgment, and before I even think about it, I weave my way through the packed tables directly to them.

I don’t say shit. Simply take the seat next to her when she quietly scoots over in the booth they’re seated.

“Auguste,” she says, her voice a mixture of disbelief and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.

Sounds a lot like chagrin… maybe even contrition because she knows I was right—bastard’s been making a play for her all along.

“Jordan and I are just finishing up our brainstorming session for a… a… umm… the new segment on the training and equipment staff. Carolina’s replacing the thirst trap material with it… ”

“I’ll drive you home,” I say, keeping my voice level.

Jordan clears his throat as Courtney nods. “We were about to go to the bar further down.”

Courtney shifts in her seat, not looking at me, her fingers wrapped around her glass like she’s trying to hold onto something. When I edge forward on the bench, her other hand slips under the table, gripping my thigh.

“We were supposed to meet Carolina,” she goes on, her eyes flicking between me and Jordan. “But she had a whole thing with Shayne and had to cancel.”

Jordan says nothing. Opting to use his smarts now.

I say nothing because every coherent thought in my head jumped ship when Courtney touched me. My hammering pulse is the only logic left in my body. Probably because it’s keeping me alive right now.

Jordan stands up fixing his cologne drenched clothes. “I’m gonna go pay and then we can leave.”

Courtney’s nails claw into my tense muscles.

The second he’s gone, she turns to me. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

In spite of her sharp tone, her voice is shaky and her hand is still clutching my thigh like she owns me.

She does.

Every goddamn inch of me.

“If you’re going on a secret date, maybe try a place half the fucking team don’t frequent,” I snap, my voice dropping low .

She freezes at my words, her face flickering with shock and anger. Then, almost too quickly, she fires back. “It’s not a fucking date.”

I take a breath, trying to calm the storm inside of me. There’s not a chance in hell of that happening.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I open it up on the chat and show her the photo I haven’t looked at yet. And I didn’t need to because it’s exactly as the guys were talking about it.

Intimate.

“You’re not on a date?”

“No,” she answers quietly, thumb stroking my thigh.

“Sure as fuck looks like it.”

“It’s work.”

“Not to him.” I force my jaw to relax. “I know you’re pissed at me. You have every right to be, but I’m not going to sit back and let some guy make moves on my girl while I’m here losing my mind over her.”

“Auguste,” Courtney leans in. Close enough that I can smell sweet strawberries on her breath.

“I fucked up, Court. I know that. I know that I can’t fix what I’ve done overnight, but I need to know if?—”

“Cheque is settled,” Jordan announces, standing over the table. “We can head on over to the bar.”

Courtney looks at Jordan, then at me. There’s no hesitation when she tells him, “Auguste is going to drive me home. I’ve got an early start tomorrow helping my dad prepare for the cookout on Sunday.”

Jordan’s face falls a little as he nods. “Alright. Another time.”

“Actually, Jordan, I don’t think that’s going to happen. But thank you for… umm… the offer.”

Jordan chuffs, giving us both a last, lingering look. He’s not an idiot. He knows what’s going on here when he walks away.

I look at Courtney, trying to control the tension that’s rising in my chest. “Do you want me to get you an Uber?”

“No,” she says quickly, almost too quickly. “We’re going to the same place.”

The remark hits so fucking hard I don’t know what to follow it up with. It doesn’t matter that Courtney’s tone was soft. Maybe the gentility of it is what made it hit raw.

I’m tempted to get her out of here. Take her home and make the most of her closeness. I can’t, though.

“Do you want to grab a drink with me? Just the one… I’m driving so… ”

“Sure. Do you want to stay here or go somewhere else?”

“What would you like to do?”

Her hand gives my thigh one last light squeeze before she pulls back. The golden flecks in her eyes shine brighter in the soft amber wash of light, and her lips are ruddier than usual from her strawberry cocktail.

“We can stay here,” Courtney replies, sinking into the bench seat. “It’s nice and cosy.”

“What are you drinking?”

A rosy glow flushes her cheeks. “A strawberry margarita mocktail. I don’t really drink cause normally, I’m the designated driver.”