Page 67 of Falling Offsides

“Okay, Sherlock,” I mutter, picking up my clipboard and hugging it to my chest like it might shield me from the pull between us. Every second we spend together makes it stronger. Still… “Jordan was just being helpful. You know, like coworkers sometimes are.”

“Hmm…” Auguste nods, mouth twisting like he’s actually considering a possibility. “He brings you water. Offers you snacks. Hangs around like he’s on your leash.”

I look up. Arch a brow. “Are you jealous?”

Auguste’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Auguste Broussard… enigmatic heartthrob… jealous of a PT with a medical-grade fanny pack?”

“I’m serious,” he says, voice lower now. “That guy’s attention isn’t…”

I know where this is going and I shouldn’t keep the conversation going. Auguste and I keep wandering into dangerous territory, and I’m too hooked on the high to pull back. To stay safe. To keep him in the friend zone I reminded us of last night.

“Jordan’s attention isn’t…?”

My brow cocks.

His lips purse.

The silence is so damn loaded, my heartbeat is hammering in my throat when his head tilts to the side and grumbles, “Platonic.”

An ugly snort pushes past my lips. “Wow. Sounds oddly familiar.”

Oh shit.

Auguste’s jaw twitches, and my insides squeal at his reaction. Teasing him is oddly satisfying… fun…

“Pot, meet kettle,” I say, picking up my camera and sliding a fresh battery into it before I snap a photo of him. “Besides, didn’t we say we’re just friends?”

Auguste steps closer. Not touching. But close enough that I forget what breathing is.

“You said that,” he says. “But I don’t think you meant it.”

“I didn’t…?”

“Not one bit.”

“Really?”

He licks over his full bottom lip. “Yes, Princess.”

Princess.I shouldn’t like the way the word sounds coming from him. Or that he uses it as an endearment for me.

“What makes you think so?”

Nowhisbrow cocks. Green eyes gleam with confidence as he leans in. And my heart is threatening to pound out of my chest.

With a long inhale, he hums. “The way you look at me.”

Shit.

I swallow incapable of asking,How so? How do I look at you?

Regardless, he whispers into my ear, “Like you want more.”

I freeze.

Because I do.

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