Page 29 of Falling Offsides

“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 hewasa 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 shepicks 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 notcloseclose, 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.

SIX

COURTNEY

The knockon my door startles me mid-sentence.

“One sec, Dee,” I say, holding my phone to my chest. It’s late in the evening and with how quiet the apartment is, there’s a horror scene playing out in my head over who’s at my door.

I inch it open and peek outside to find the doorman holding a brown paper bag.

“Delivery for you, Miss Nilsson,” he tells me in his posh British accent, sounding like James Bond.

I blink. “I didn’t order anything.”

He shrugs. “There’s a note.”

“Oh okay, thanks…”

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