Page 23 of Falling Offsides

We’re standing at the food counter, the barista already watching us with mild amusement when I say, “It’s the least you can do after being a demanding little brat.”

The second the words are out of my mouth, they hit hard.

Harder than I meant them to.

Courtney goes completely still. Eyes dropping to the ground with the flutter of her lashes. It’s the hitch of her breath that nails me, though. Followed by the ruddy flush of color high on her cheeks and the shift of her body from on foot to another, clenching her thighs together.

I’m an idiot, but also… she is the embodiment of glorious. I can’t take my eyes away from her, not even when she blinks up at me, stunned.

For a beat, neither of us moves.

Something inside my chest snaps tight. The way she’s looking at me now—wide-eyed, lips parted, a little breathless—makes my pulse thrum like a war drum in my ears.

Holy shit.

Her reaction hits me like a sucker punch to the ribs. I go from idiot to fucking stupid in a matter of seconds.

The air shifts. Charges. Thick with something heavier than caffeine and sugar.

When Courtney swallows, I have to shove my hands in my pockets not to touch her. Not to fix the stray curl that falls in front of her eyes. Brilliant like perfectly cut diamonds.

“What do you want, Courtney?” I ask, clenching my hands tighter in my pockets. “What do you want to eat?”

“Alright, big guy.” Her voice is hoarse, the kind of throaty that vibrates all the way down to my dick when she pairs it with that cocky grin of hers. “Let’s play a game.”

My brow cocks in response.

“Figure out what I want, and you can feed me.”

I don’t trust my voice, so I just snort. “That’s your game?”

“You up for the challenge or not?” With one look that cuts all the way from the top of my head to my feet, she spins and directs herself to a table right by the window at the back.

It’s where I always sit, looking out at the ocean.

“What’s it going to be today?”

I turn to the smiley cashier and start ordering. And keep ordering.

Five minutes later, our table is covered.

Croissants. Muffins. Two kinds of scones. A breakfast burrito. A smoothie. Three different coffees.

Courtney stares between me and the table with big eyes. “This is ridiculous. You cannot be serious.”

“You told me to figure out what you want.”

“Yeah, not order the whole menu.”

“Well, if you didn’t want me to resort to that—” I tear open a butter packet, keeping my voice even. “—you should’ve been a good girl and answered my damn question.”

That tension lingers. Her fingers tremble slightly as she lifts each of the three coffees in front of her and smells them.

“They’re not spiked.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then why are you smelling them?”

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