Page 145 of Falling Offsides

He takes me into the bathroom and sits me on the vanity carefully, like I’m made of glass before he runs the bath.

Auguste comes back to me. His hand trails down my thigh, thumb swirling over his marks as he brings my feet to his chest and one-by-one removes my heels. The easy gentility he lavishes me with hits me like a sucker punch after the animalistic intensity of his fucking. Auguste is a living, breathing contradiction, and I’m drowning in every feeling I know I shouldn’t allow myself to have for him.

His thumbs rub the arch of my feet before they trace up the inside of my legs back to my thighs.

“I’m not done with you yet.” Leaning in, Auguste presses a chaste, gentle kiss to my lips as I tell him, “Good.”

“I mean it, Court,” he says, voice low… reverent. “I’m not done. Not even close.”

And God help me, neither am I.

TWENTY-EIGHT

AUGUSTE

Everything is too stillwhen 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 waseverything. That washer 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.

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