Page 56 of Falling Offsides

I freeze mid-step.

Auguste Broussard has outdone me again.

“Excited for Disneyland?” He holds out the coffee, making a point of checking his other wrist. “We’re early this morning.”

I stay two steps above him, arms folded. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“This. The timing. The… psychic Uber stalking.”

He shrugs. “I know your habits.”

“You shouldn’t.”

I snatch the coffee with a faux glare because he looks especially cute in a black Mickey Mouse hoodie with ears and loose sweat shorts that cut off halfway down his thick thighs. Each muscle is cut and defined to perfection, like they were carved by God himself.

This is exactly what thigh porn should be, and my lady boner is appreciating every inch of his athletic legs when he leans in, ducking into my line of sight with his coarse curls brushing my forehead as he tells me, “You’d be surprised what I know about you, Princess.”

I glance up, squinting at the bright ray of sun that stabs me in the eyes. “Spoken like a true stalker.”

Auguste just smirks. One large hand scrunches the unruly mop at his forehead while the other offers me Samson’s leash.

I take it, exchanging my camera bag for it as Auguste opens the car door for me and I lift on my tiptoes to level him with my sternest glare. “If this is an elaborate murder plot, Delilah has receipts. Your name. Your car. The fact that you smell like cedar and have dangerous brooding energy.”

His smirk deepens. “You’ve been talking to your friend about me?”

“Don’t read into it.”

“Oh, I’m reading into it,” he says. “Extensively. Like a dirty romance book.”

My breath catches. My face heats.

I narrow my eyes. “Wait. How do you know I read?—?”

“You left that book on your couch the other day. Interesting cover.”

“You looked it up?” I stiffen halfway through getting in the car while he rounds to the other side and pauses short of getting in to grin at me across the top of the sleek Lexus.

“I did more than look it up.” He grins. “Guy in a mask chasing a girl through the woods… gotta admit, it sounded a little disturbing.”

He gets in with a shrug and I follow.

“Okay.” I groan, covering my face with the coffee cup. “Like I said—don’t get any ideas.”

“I think you’d like the ideas in my head.”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

“Are you flirting with me?”

Auguste just shrugs like the answer should be obvious.

“You’re ridiculous,” I mumble with more fluster than I’d like to admit.

A muffin awaits me on the dash as usual. They’re getting yummier by the day. And today there’s a dollop of something on top.

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