Page 88 of Falling Offsides

“Well, Blue Note at seven.” Jordan beams. “Non-negotiable.”

“Please come,” Cecilia says with a bat of her lashes. “It’ll be fun. You don’t have to sing… Pretty please? Cherry on top?”

“Fine. Okay.” I can’t believe I’m agreeing to it.

“Good work, Cece.” Jordan boops her nose before ducking inside one of the therapy rooms we’re walking past.

Maybe this is what I need to unwind and get my head straight. A break from the four walls of my apartment and these endless corridors I walk every day. That Auguste walks every day.

Maybe tonight will be a good night to get him out of my head.

The locker roomis thick with the scent of muscle rub, soap, and heat. Steam clings to the walls like sweat to sticky skin.

I’m finishing up my shots for the behind-the-scenes campaign—quick candids while the guys towel off and joke around after an eventful day of training.

Marketing wants something raw, fun, something the fans can obsess over. Mission accomplished.

Auguste is standing a few feet away in nothing but black compression shorts, sweat still clinging to him, body carved like he was poured from concrete and bad intentions.

I try not to look. Except it’s my literal job and… I fail.

God help me, but I’ve been imagining what he looks like under his jersey for weeks now—and somehow, reality is worse.

Or rather, better.

Dangerous.

I’m packing my lenses into my camera bag amid the boisterous banter when a shadow settles over me.

Auguste’s shadow.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” he says, disappointment coating his words.

“Yeah, it’s been busy.” My traitorous voice warbles when he sits on the bench beside my camera bag and noses through the lenses like he’s actually curious about them. “Hectic to be honest.”

“You didn’t have lunch with your dad.”

Shaking my head, I wait for him to finish inspecting the last lens before I take it and pack it away.

“I have this assessment thing with the new team shrink, but I’ll drive you home after.”

His eyes are on mine. Holding. Steady. Waiting for a sign of where we stand. More than that… assessing me. His hand keeps hovering near mine, and I keep ignoring the voice in my head begging for him to touch me again. Pleading to feel his calloused fingers stroking my cheeks, combing my hair…

No. Get it together, Courtney.

“Leaving early today,” I say, my voice a little too tight as I tuck my camera back into its case.

Auguste glances up, wiping a hand through his coarse curls. “Why?”

“PR and marketing are grabbing drinks with some of the trainers. Cecilia is going so…”

“The trainers,” he mutters between clenched teeth.

I know what he means is Jordan.

Auguste’s green eyes narrow. “Where?”

“Some karaoke bar.”

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