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“Jealous?” Jayden croons in my ear, moving swiftly when I hook my fist over my shoulder. His hazel eyes are bright with mischief as he saunters backward into Eli, and the two of them leave, chuckling to each other.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not. I am not damn jealous of fucking Jordan.

I’m just watching.

Making sure everything’s professional. Above board. The last thing the team needs is some sexual harassment scandal…

Bullshit.

Jordan’s hand brushes Courtney’s shoulder and all my muscles stiffen. Rooting me to the spot, arms folded, jaw tight, until he finally gives her a wink and saunters off.

Courtney takes a beat, fussing with her camera before she turns my way— bright and distracted.

“Ready?” She fucking beams.

Courtney doesn’t wait for me to reply. Fluffing her hair, she flicks it to the side, covering the injury I gave her as she waltzes back into the adjoining room.

When I walk in behind her, she’s rearranging the backdrop and moving a stool in front of it.

“I want to do a few sitting first, allow you to get used to the set… get your bearings and… yeah… then we can do some shots standing. I want to make sure we get a variety so the marketing team has a decent pool to choose from.”

I sit down in front of the backdrop. “Whatever.”

I sound like a jackass, and the way she hesitates has a knot forming in my stomach.

“Okay…” The camera clicks a couple times before she checks the shots. “Just making sure the lighting agrees with your skin tone and… and… yeah… ”

I stare straight ahead while Courtney continues snapping photos. Every flash makes my pulse spike. Every time she smiles at me tentatively, my mouth dries.

Something heavy settles in my gut when she sighs, “Let’s try standing. Maybe that’ll be better.”

“Sure.”

I cross my arms over my chest and allow her to carry on snapping.

“Okay, let’s try a different pose. Something more relaxed?”

That gets a laugh from me. Relaxed?

It’s like the total opposite of what I am. What she’s made me. I can still hear her laughter with fucking PT Jordan. The image of him loitering over her is burning in my thoughts.

“Can you angle your chin just a bit?—”

I crack my neck and angle my chin, keeping my eyes on the wall above her head..

Courtney chuffs. “Auguste.”

“What?”

“You’re being difficult. Why? What’s going on? I thought… I…” She’s looking at me confused. Looking at me like I’ve drowned her kittens or something.

I meet her eyes. Cold. Detached. Because I cannot care about her. I cannot risk my place in her father’s team on his roster.

“Aug—”

“Not every guy’s gonna fawn over you, Nilsson.” The remark tumbles out of my mouth, sounding like a scoff.

Her mouth opens. Closes.

Hurt flashes dark and stormy in her baby blues before she can hide it, and I hate myself instantly.

Still, I don’t take it back. I can’t. I won’t.

This is for the best.

I crossed a line yesterday. This morning. Now, I need to draw it again. And this time, I have to stay on one side and Courtney on the other.

I shove my hands in my pockets and stand still as stone while she finishes the shoot in silence.

Then she walks away without a word. Not a single glimpse back over her shoulder. None of the cutesy laughter she shared with Jordan while reviewing his shots.

And I let her. I let her because I’ve drawn a line between us and it’s staying put .

No matter what.

Confused. Disappointed. They’re the only words running through my thoughts. My only thought as I attempt to flick through the endless channels on my TV for a distraction.

There’s nothing that takes my mind off the way Courtney looked at me. Like I’d pulled the rug out from under her.

The worst part is that I did. I treated her abhorrently, and I know it. I know I was a dick. But it was necessary. Safer. Easier.

Still, none of that explains the way my chest tightens every time her expression plays back. Over and on repeat.

Courtney’s got me all kinds of fucked up.

That’s why I can’t stop myself from opening up my MacBook and going through all the Doggie-Cam links that Matheo has sent to the team chat over time.

One by one, until I have every single camera in the system, and I find her sitting in bed. The video is a little grainy. Lit by lamplight.

Her laptop is opened up in front of her, on a stack of books while she stares at her camera, cradled between her hands. I mess around with the settings on my screen until the image becomes sharper and I can hear her.

“This morning was… weird,” she says. “He was waiting outside my door. Like just… standing there.”

“Yeah, I remember that… you hung up on me… rude .”

Courtney ignores her friend’s jibe. “… just brooding like he belonged there…”

“Did you ask why he was there?”

“Yeah. He insisted on driving me to work, and then we stopped for coffee and…”

“And? Dude, you’re being so choosy with your words. Just tell me what happened already.”

“I dunno… he offered breakfast, I gave him a hard time…”

“Of course you did. What did he do?”

Courtney exhales sharply. “He called me a brat.”

A pause.

Her friend whistles. “Like, in a you’re-being-difficult way? Or a call-me-daddy way?”

“Delilah!” Courtney groans .

“What? You gave him a hard time and he called you a brat. Like, how is that a red flag?”

“You’re annoying.”

“I’m honest. And if you were being honest with yourself, you’d admit it made you feel some kind of way.”

“It’s not… I… The air shifted.” My pulse stutters at her words—she felt it too. “My whole body went haywire. I laughed it off, but then he told me to be a good girl next time. Delilah. Good girl. ”

Delilah’s wicked laugh fills my speakers. “Okay, so he’s either a closet dom or just casually deploying kink lingo like it’s nothing. Either way—are we mad about it or...?”

“I don’t know. I was confused. I am confused.”

“And turned on…?”

“It’s not like that. It can’t be. I’m not here for this. For anything other than my CV and my dad.”

Delilah snorts.

Courtney groans.

“Sounds to me like thou protesteth too much .”

“No, seriously. I thought maybe he was flirting. Except this afternoon, he iced me out. Total switch flip. Short, rude, like I was annoying him.”

“You sure it wasn’t Coach-itis?” Delilah teases.

“No. This was different. It felt personal. Like… I misread everything.”

Delilah’s voice softens slightly. “Well, you just told me you’re not there for the big D, so what does it matter? Fuck the guy, in the not nice way and… and live your best life.”

“I have to see him every day.”

“So what, Court? You haven’t fucked the guy.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that… Jesus, I don’t know. He’s messing with my head.”

Delilah’s pause lingers, allowing the roiling in my chest to spread all the way down to my gut.

I’m not this person. I don’t fuck with girl’s heads. I have a sister for Christ’s sake. I’d fucking kill any guy that made her feel like this.

“Right, well. What if you caught him on a bad day? Or he’s emotionally constipated? Maybe both?”

“Delilah—”

“You do not have to spiral over him.”

Courtney doesn’t answer for a moment .

Then Delilah tries to shift the mood. “So. Lunch with your dad?”

“It was good,” Courtney says, and my pulse skips a tad. I like that for her. “Dad was in full watch-dog mode after yesterday. He spent all morning going extra hard on Auguste?—”

“The Puckinator ,” Delilah does a decent announcer voice.

“On my God, stop it! Anyway, I had to tell him to quit it. I didn’t come to LA for him to give his players a hard time over me.”

There’s a laugh. Another Delilah joke that I can’t make out.

“Maybe I should let him raze his ass,” Courtney mutters. “Let him chase him around with a damn stick. Might knock some of the grump out of him.”

Delilah throws in something about their favorite grumpy-sunshine romance.

“This isn’t one of our books, Dee. There’s no slow burn. No redemption arc. He’s not misunderstood. He’s just... an asshole.”

She drops back into her pillows, pulling a blanket over her head before she screams.

Delilah sighs. “Okay, but like... if he was a book boyfriend, this is the part where his walls are up because he’s scared of feeling something real.”

“Nope. Don’t do that. Don’t romanticize it. I just thought he was a good guy. Now I know different. So—screw him.”

“... You’re sure you’re not just hangry? This sounds like hangry Courtney.”

“Ugh, maybe. I haven’t eaten dinner,” Courtney admits. “Didn’t get groceries yet.”

“Dude—”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll have a protein bar or something. I’m too tired to cook. Or care.”

This is it. This is how I fix my asshole behavior.

Scrolling through the food apps on my phone, I scan for a decent takeout. Something that’s healthy, filling, and dairy free. Takes longer than I thought it would. In the end, I call two different restaurants before I find one that actually knows what’s in their damn recipes.

I order a grilled protein bowl with clean ingredients and a coconut water to drink; it’s hydrating and anti-inflammatory—which is great given she’s still got some swelling on her forehead.

In case she doesn’t like it, I order two extra soft drinks and a vegan cookie, just in case she needs something sweet.

Oh, and napkins. I noticed this morning she picks at her food with her fingers and she likes to clean her mouth in between bites…

Before I check out, I add instructions for the driver?—

Hand to doorman for Apt.1102 with note: Enjoy. Bx

B. For Broussard or Bobby. They’re not close close, so she’ll think it’s from her dad—she calls him Coach all the time.

Regardless, she definitely won’t think it’s me after the way I treated her today.

Good, let her think it’s from Coach.

Let her eat. Let her feel taken care of.

She doesn’t know it’s me.

She will never find out.