Page 93 of Falling Offsides

Before I can even process what happened, Auguste is in front of me.

In front of me. Back to napkin guy.

Fury darkens all the sharp edges of his face as he takes me in. His shoulders are tight. His chest rising with shallow, dangerous breaths.

Then he turns, his stare following napkin guy’s hand still gripping me all the way up his arm.

He doesn’t yell. It’s a simple, enunciated order. “Move your hand. Now.”

Napkin guy straightens, blinking rapidly. “Whoa… chill, man. I was just talking?—”

“Your hand. Off her.”

Auguste steps up to him. One purposeful step that reads lethal. One promising step that has the asshole’s hand falling from my arm. Fast.

“Now. Walk. Away.” Napkin guy opens his mouth to argue and shuts it instantly when Auguste takes another step and another, cornering him into the wall behind the same way he did me. “You don’t talk to her. You don’t follow her. You don’t put a finger on her unless you want to spend the night in surgery.”

The guy’s smirk vanishes. He stands there, frozen for a beat before he begins to stammer, backing off. “I didn’t mean?—”

“You don’t get to mean anything,” Auguste growls, his voice low and dark. “You don’t even get to fucking exist in the same air as her.”

He starts backing away, looking panicked now. “Jesus, I didn’t realize she was?—”

“Stop talking,” Auguste cuts in, his voice a deadly hiss. “Walk away before I make sure you never open your mouth again without tasting blood.”

The guy bolts, muttering an apology while he stumbles back to the bar, drink sloshing in his hand as he disappears into the main room.

I stand frozen. Body shaking. Heart racing. My eyes glued to Auguste’s back. Every muscle is bunched tight beneath his crisp white shirt. Ready to pounce… to attack.

Then he turns. Stare cut to slits. Jaw clenched so tight that his nostrils flare with every sharp breath.

“What the hell was that?” I croak past the throb in my throat.

“I saw him follow you and…” Auguste shakes his head. “You said no.”

“So what… you just… just…Jesus, you didn’t need to… to…”

“To what?” He takes a half-step closer. “Protect you?”

“That wasn’t protection?—”

“Then what was it, Courtney?”

“Over the top.”

“Over. The. Top.”

“Yes. Over the top possessiveness,” I snap. “One orgasm doesn’t entitle you to?—”

“Best orgasm of your life,” Auguste counters, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“It does not entitle you to act like that.”

“Like what, Courtney? Like I care? Like I fucking want you?”

“Auguste—”

His voice is low, raw. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone touching you.”

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