Page 73 of Falling Offsides

“Better?” I ask when she glances up at me above Sammy’s head.

Court shrugs, lips quivering.

It’s only now that I peel my hands from her hips. I drop my kit bag on the floor and grab her a bottle of water from the kitchen before I go about making her a warm compress for her sinuses—a trick Mom uses to open blood vessels and avoid a migraine after crying.

Court doesn’t stop me when I brush her curls back from her face and place the warm dishcloth across her forehead curving the ends around her eyes to the bridge of her nose like a mask. She doesn’t balk when I unravel her disheveled bun and comb my fingers lightly through herthick curls, collecting them into one hand before twisting the wild strands into a neater one. I use one of the two hair ties to secure it while I stretch the other over my wrist.

Just another piece of her I’m collecting. I already have one of her pens and her lip gloss… but I’ll collect every piece of Courtney I can until I have all of her.

Smoothing down her baby hairs, I add a little pressure close to her temples.

Fuck, the throaty hum that escapes her rakes all the way through me. It breaks me for her that much more at the same time as it turns me on. The perfect pouty part of her lips glossed over by her tongue…

The thundering gallop of my pulse freezes mid-thought when Court’s cerulean stare blinks open, greeting me with a breathtaking violet hue. It doesn’t matter that it’s the aftermath of her tears because even with devastation imprinted on her face, Courtney is the most phenomenal being I’ve ever set my sight on.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Courtney smiles, her face tilts just so the spotlight overhead highlights the soft contour of her face.

I’m holding the cooling dishcloth in place, doing everything I can to resist the urge to run my thumb along the shell of her ear, when she murmurs, “I am.”

“Court—”

“No, I was… I don’t know… upset, I guess, and I took it out on you because you were the only person there and—” She swallows, her hands stroking Sammy with more gusto. He doesn’t mind though, not with the way he’s trying to nuzzle deeper into her chest. “—and I was frustrated.”

I want to ask her why, but instead I tell her, “It’s okay, Princess, I don’t mind you using me as a punch bag. I’m used to it.”

Mortification pinches her face, puckering her lips tight. Then my words replay in my head and all I can do not to slap myself is peel the now cold compress from her face. I set it down on the counter before slowly lifting Samson to the side.

There’s nothing between us when I slot between her thighs and take her face in both hands. “I like it when you’re mean to me, Nilsson. I like it when you get sassy and smartassy on me. Fucking love it when you goad me… the way you put up a fight. It’s hot. You’re hot.”

Court’s watery stare blinks between my mouth and my eyes. Shewants to kiss me. I want to kiss her too. But that’s not why I came to her, and I’m not going to make tonight into something she’ll regret. When I fucking kiss her, she’s going to beg me to do it again, and again until we pass out from lack of air and even then, she’ll be fucking dreaming of my mouth fucking hers.

“That’s not what I meant though,” I say, lifting her chin so that her gaze is fixed on mine—I won’t be able to control myself if she keeps silently begging me to kiss her.

“So you don’t think I’m hot…?”

“No, I do… I do, Courtney. I just meant that…fuck.” The corners of her pull upwards a tad. “You’re fucking with me again.”

“Yes, Broussard,” she whispers, fingertips graze down the line of my zip. “I’m messing with you.”

The faint smile blooms on her lips, brightening her face. The voice in my head is telling me it’s time to pull my hands away from her jaw, but I can’t. Her skin is so warm. So soft.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

A hand grips my wrist lightly, slowly stroking over the back of mine on her jaw. “You came back.”

“I thought you needed a cuddle with—” I pause, looking past her shoulder to Samson.Seriously?“Dude, stop!”

Courtney bursts out laughing at his puppy growl when I try to take the bowl of mush from him.

“It’s okay, just frozen mashed banana and peanut butter,” she tells me, pulling my arm back.

My hand lands on her legging covered thigh—cold and wet. Just like me.

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