Page 134 of Falling Offsides

The roof is still down and the late afternoon is balmy as we head out, following the coastal road north.

A slow bass-heavy beat cuts through the bluster of the wind, matching the drawl of the darkening sunset. A shiver racks through mewhen Auguste’s hand finds mine in my lap. Thumb tracing slow circles over one of the exposed marks he left on my thighs.

The action is tender, and somehow so loaded with promise I can’t reply when he asks, “Want me to put the roof up?”

Thick and heavy, the air clogs in my throat when I try to breathe. Instead, I shake my head.

I’m burning up and the cool bluster is what’s saving me right now. If we were enclosed, I would have combusted by now.

Silence has never been so loud in all my life. And it’s not only me that feels it. Auguste’s hand clutches mine tighter. When I chance a glance at him, his jaw is tight. A pronounced flush washes his face with the same need that is throbbing through my veins. I can feel the same tension coiled around my bones, rolling off him in waves. But he doesn’t speak.

Neither do I.

And it’s only when we pass the training facility that I croak, “Where are we going?”

“Étienne booked a private dining space at Château Marmont.” My jaw drops and he chuckles, “He’s ostentatious like that.”

Must be a family trait, I think.

Except he levels me with a cocked brow. “You think I’m ostentatious?”

“Well… maybe ostentatious isn’t quite the right word. But you are showy with your gestures.”

“Showy to who?”

I swallow because I’ve set a trap for myself. “Me. You’re constantly doing these super nice things for me.”

“So kindness is showy?”

“No,” I say too quickly, using my other hand to hold his around mine in case he pulls away. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Kind of sounds like it.”

“Well, I said it wrong. I just mean that you are bold with your gestures. Like go big or go home.”

Another chuckle and his hand releases mine. It’s large and strong enough that I don’t stand a chance at keeping it prisoner. But then he clutches my thigh with a bruising grip that stutters my pulse.

“I believe that the way you treat people should mirror how you feel about them. And, in case I haven’t made it abundantly clear, I like you a lot, Courtney Nilsson.”

“Okay,” is all I can say.

“Okay,” he nods before adding, “because it’s the reason why you’re with me right now. Why my mom invited you tonight.”

“Sounded like she didn’t want you to be lonely.” I try to lighten the conversation for both of us. Because Auguste saying he likes me sounds a lot heavier than a crush or just a passing whim.

His eyes narrow on me when we come to a stop at a red light. “Our family… we’re protective of our inner circle. Nobodies don’t get to?—”

“Auguste…”

“You’re somebody to me, Court.”

Discombobulated by the earnestness in his voice, I simply nod.

Then the light turns green and we’re back to silence. His thick fingers digging into the fleshy part of my thighs the entire rest of the way.

The silence is comfortable even with the unresolved tension between us. It’s odd because unless I’m alone, I despise empty silence. There’s been too much of it in my life already.

“Ready?” Auguste asks when we turn into the discreet driveway.

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