Page 12 of Falling Offsides

“Delilah—”

“What, Court? Auguste Broussard is delicious. Between him and Hillier… a girl could die real fucking happy.”

“Really?”

“Come on, Court. Admit it, you’re in hot girl summer heaven.”

“Sure.” There’s no way I’m giving her an opening to this conversation because as much as I adore her, Delilah will get carried away.

Besides, I don’t want to talk about Auguste. I really, really don’t.He’s cracked my head open and now all I can think about is the way he was looking at me when I came to—like he wasn’t sure whether to call an ambulance or punch out the universe.

Those mossy green eyes bugging out with his brows still pulled all tight. He’s so serious. All the time. Even when the conversation is light, he’s still… broody.

Anyway, I don’t need to start spiraling into wayward thoughts. Nope. No, I will not be talking or thinking about Auguste Broussard and his impressive arms. Long, muscular, but with enough give that it didn’t hurt when he held me tight. Not one bit.

“Court…?” Delilah calls, clicking her fingers in front of her camera. “You’re quiet.”

“Headache,” I say, clearing my throat like that’s going to stop my brain from going through every second of what happened, all the way through to the elevator.

I’ve never actually heard a guy growl before. I mean, I thought I had, until Auguste did it and the sound literally ripped through the middle of me. I had to distance myself in case he felt my insides vibrate.

“Maybe youshouldgo to the ER. Get checked out by a proper doctor.”

“I was checked out by a proper doctor, Dee. In fact, I don’t think any doctor will have as much experience with concussions as a sports team doctor. So…” What I need to do is reset.

From…now.

No more talk of Auguste Broussard. No more thinking about Auguste Broussard.

Done.

Nothing is getting in the way of my job or the time I’m supposed to be spending reconnecting with Dad.

“Fine. Okay, but I am not happy about it. Concussions and solitude do not go well together.”

I breathe out a soft laugh. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“Okay, but I’m calling concussion protocol into effect.”

“Concussion what?”

“Bish, I’m staying on FaceTime with you tonight. All night.”

“What? Del?—”

“I’m serious. You are not dying on my watch. We’re binge-watching trash reality TV, I’m sending you Uber Eats, and if you start slurring or making less sense than usual, I’m calling 911.”

Thisis why I love her. Why I’ve never had the yearning for a sibling—aside from the fact that I wouldn’t wish Martin on any other person—I have Delilah.

“You’re the best,” I tell her, wriggling deeper into the cushions.

“I know. Now grab a blanket and?—”

My phone buzzes with another call.

Dad.

My heart sinks. I totally forgot to message him. It’s not something I do. He’s always so far away, and it feels crappy to worry him when there’s nothing he can do to help. So anytime I need help or anything else, I call Dee… sometimes Mom. Although I don’t like hassling her either. She has enough on her plate with the demanding douche canoe she married.

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