Page 46

TWENTY-EIGHT

AUGUSTE

Everything is too still when I wake up. The air is too light as I stretch out and…freeze.

I come up empty the farther I roll onto the other side of the bed.

The sheets are rumpled. My arms are empty.

The spot where she slept still smells sweet and flowery like her with a hint of sweat from the make out session we had until she passed out.

Turns out Courtney is like a heater, and I’m a sleep-over-the-covers guy because I’m always running too hot.

But last night, I could not peel myself away from her, not even when we were both sticky.

Everything is too still when I wake up. The air is too light as I stretch out and… freeze.

I swear I fell asleep with her lightly snoring into my chest. Her legs locked with mine and my face buried in her hair. But she’s not here and everything feels different without her presence.

Panic punches me in the chest before I can stop it. My body moves before my brain catches up. Sitting up, I scan the room and then check the bathroom. I tug the sheet off the bed, wrapping it around my waist, and bound into the living area.

“Hmm…” Empty, of course .

I already knew it. It feels it. Cold and weird.

The heap of her clothes I left by the dining table is gone. The patio door is open, airing the place. Everything is… clean . There’s no trace of Courtney. Of our night together except for the choked knot in my chest.

There’s no note. No sound. No her.

“What the fuck? ”

Last night wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just scratching an itch.

Last night was everything . That was her choosing me.

Or at least I thought so… but now?

Now she’s gone… again. Because every time I believe we’ve gotten to a place where we’re on the same wavelength, Courtney tucks her tail and runs.

The thing is I can’t even hate her for it—I know enough of her, of her emotional trauma not to.

If anything it just makes my bones ache to prove to her that I’m not that guy that’ll fuck her up and fuck her over. Especially not in the way she fears.

I head out to the patio, because I haven’t actually checked out there and even though I can see it’s as abandoned as the rest of the apartment, I still walk the length of it.

Samson is in his usual place. The morning suntrap where he lays out on the fake grass tiles I put down for him to use as a toilet, but he’s chosen the expensive rug in the lounge or the bathroom floor.

“Are you feeling okay, bud?” I ask, crouching next to him as he stares down at the poop he’s left pride of place on the grass. He looks at me unsure. “You did good. That’s the right place.”

After I clean up and hose the tiles down, I head inside to set his food down. Except it’s done.

“I think she loves you more than she likes me,” I grumble. “Traitor.”

The high-pitched trill of my phone calls my attention to the kitchen island where my wallet and keys are placed next to it with a familiar scrap of ivory-colored lace.

The heavy throb in my chest flips to a punchy thrill as I pick up the thong I tore off Court last night and clutch it in my hand while I check my phone.

Court

You're kind of cute when you're asleep.

Another trill interrupts my reply.

An image this time. It takes a second to load, and when it does, I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding this whole time.

It’s a screenshot. Grainy footage from my bedroom cam.

Me. Dead asleep, arm still flung over where she’d been, like I was trying to hold onto her in my dreams. Except it’s not just in my dreams. I still can’t get over the fact she’s leaving soon.

My gut churns at the thought of having to let her go.

At the notion of watching her leave me. It’s not like Court said she was coming back eventually…

Another message comes through. A photo this time. Not just any photo: a selfie … in front of the tall mirror in my bedroom .

The mad rhythm of my pulse has my hand clenching tighter around Court’s panties as I take in the full length of her ridiculous, sexy body in the selfie.

Her hair is tousled and curly. No makeup, no shame, just that gorgeous grin that has my breath sticking in my throat and my marks on her neck, the swell of her tits peeking from beneath my opened shirt, and on her thighs, under the hem of my boxer briefs rolled low on her hips.

She looks… totally mine. Just mine. And I can’t get enough of it.

Court

You destroyed mine, so I stole yours.

Of course she did. I groan in response, palming myself through the sheet with her underwear lining my hand.

This girl’s got me switching emotions and feelings like a goddamn psychopath.

Court’s the embodiment of keeping me on my goddamn toes and I can’t decide whether I love it or hate it.

I just know that the challenge is a rush of adrenaline I’ve never felt before.

It runs deeper. Cuts wider. Leaves me needing like nothing before it.

I pull up the doggie cam stream from her apartment, flicking through each camera until I find her.

Hair up in a messy bun, still in my shirt and underwear, drinking coffee and smiling down at her phone while she continues typing.

A few seconds later she glances up at the camera— at me —with a half-bitten grin she points to her door at the same time as a notification pings at the top of my screen.

Court

Breakfast is served.

When she disappears out of shot towards the hallway leading to her door, I run to mine. Samson chases my heels skidding to a stop as I yank my door open and pause. There’s nothing there. No Courtney, no…

The elevator door pings open and Alfred, the doorman, appears holding a takeout bag from the coffee shop on the pier and a vat-sized cup of coffee.

“For you, Mr. Broussard,” he tells me in his posh British accent.

He sounds and dresses like Alfred Pennyworth, and thanks to Jayden’s ridiculous obsession with him, he’s incredibly helpful and nice to the rest of us. It’s why he agreed to maintain the appearance that I didn’t live here when I told him to pretend I was just a visitor.

“Thank you, Alfie,” I say, shoving the torn panties into the top of the sheet wrapped around me before taking the food bag and coffee from him .

“Glad to see you live here again,” he chuckles as he heads back to the lift and disappears out of sight.

My phone trills with another message as I head inside, back to the kitchen.

Court

Cookout starts in an hour. I’ll meet you outside my door in 40mins.

P.S. Stop watching me and get ready

P.P.S. That sheet looks good on you

P.P.P.S. The lace might look better in your mouth

Fuck. Me. I glance up at the camera, heat flushing across my face, my cock twitching at the memory of her on her kitchen counter with her panties stuffed in her mouth while I lapped up my first real taste of her perfect pussy.

This girl… this woman is going to be the fucking death of me, and I’m here for it. For her.

Do I stop watching here? No, I don’t.

The same way I know she’s still watching me. I can feel it. The shadow of her presence crackling on my skin as I inhale the breakfast burrito she had delivered to my door and then clean up the bedroom before getting myself showered and ready for the cookout.

Pulling the silk cap off my hair, I use some of the curl enhancing leave-in conditioner Mom gave me after dinner last night.

It used to be my favorite smell. The coconut and shea together remind me of my favorite vacations in Barbados.

Spending whole days in my granny’s yard.

Although the memories and the scent that reminds me of them still fill me with warmth, I can’t wait to be with Court again, breathing in her subtle flowery scent tinged with a little brine and the earthiness of summer downpours.

That’s my favorite smell now, and as I take a last swig of my coffee, I head out to the living area.

Watching as Courtney lightly dabs makeup on her face and neck, concealing my marks before we head to her father’s place.

He would drown me in his pool if he so much as imagined the things I did to his daughter last night.

Grabbing Sammy’s lead and a couple treats from the jar on the counter, I take him downstairs for a walk around the block and a pee. By the time I’m back, he’s chill and Courtney’s officially running late. I give her a few more minutes before I wait for her outside her door.

When I step outside, she’s there, by the elevator.

My shirt swapped for a flowery, yellow sundress that hits above her knee.

It’s perfectly cuffed around her neck so that my marks are hidden.

Disappointment twists in my gut that we have to be a secret.

Until now, I haven’t paid much mind to other people knowing, but now that Court’s standing in front of me with that glossy grin on her face, I don't want to risk any second of the time we have together. For anything.

“What do you think?” she asks, when I take the large bowl of dessert she made from her hands.

“I think…” Wow.

Everything about her, most of all the way she’s fluffing her curls out into a voluminous tangle because I told her that’s how I love her hair. Wild, like my girl when she’s not letting her head get in the way of who she is.

“I think you’re too goddamn beautiful.”

Her grin rolls between her teeth with a shy flutter of her lashes. It kills me that she’s obviously not used to receiving open compliments.

I take a step forward, clasping her hand in mine before I tug her to me. “You are… fucking perfect.”

The hitch of her breath gets me right in my chest. And I see the moment the wall comes up and that sassy smirk she hides behind dimples the corners of her mouth.

“After last night, I’m a sure thing, Broussard. There’s no need to?—”

“Pause.” Court freezes, her long nails clawing into the back of my hand. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not your fucking teammate, Princess. Call me whatever the hell you want, except Bruce or Broussard.”