Page 111 of Falling Offsides

“I fucked up, Court. I know that. I know that I can’t fix what I’ve done overnight, but I need to know if?—”

“Cheque is settled,” Jordan announces, standing over the table. “We can head on over to the bar.”

Courtney looks at Jordan, then at me. There’s no hesitation when she tells him, “Auguste is going to drive me home. I’ve got an early start tomorrow helping my dad prepare for the cookout on Sunday.”

Jordan’s face falls a little as he nods. “Alright. Another time.”

“Actually, Jordan, I don’t think that’s going to happen. But thank you for… umm… the offer.”

Jordan chuffs, giving us both a last, lingering look. He’s not an idiot. He knows what’s going on here when he walks away.

I look at Courtney, trying to control the tension that’s rising in my chest. “Do you want me to get you an Uber?”

“No,” she says quickly, almost too quickly. “We’re going to the same place.”

The remark hits so fucking hard I don’t know what to follow it up with. It doesn’t matter that Courtney’s tone was soft. Maybe the gentility of it is what made it hit raw.

I’m tempted to get her out of here. Take her home and make the most of her closeness. I can’t, though.

“Do you want to grab a drink with me? Just the one… I’m driving so…”

“Sure. Do you want to stay here or go somewhere else?”

“What would you like to do?”

Her hand gives my thigh one last light squeeze before she pulls back. The golden flecks in her eyes shine brighter in the soft amber wash of light, and her lips are ruddier than usual from her strawberry cocktail.

“We can stay here,” Courtney replies, sinking into the bench seat. “It’s nice and cosy.”

“What are you drinking?”

A rosy glow flushes her cheeks. “A strawberry margarita mocktail. I don’t really drink cause normally, I’m the designated driver.”

“Well, I’m driving tonight. If you want to have a drink…”

Courtney shakes her head. A coy smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, coating my insides with dread. I don’t want to lose this girl again. Her smile is the most fucking precious thing I’ve ever known and I hate myself for knowing that I’m going to ruin it. Maybe Étty is right—Courtney doesn’t have to know about the doggie cams or me watching her through them.

Does she?

Of course, I know the answer. Not the one I want, but truth is king. Right?

Courtney waves down a server that comes over instantly. She has that effect on people. Drawing them to her whether male or female. Fuck, she even has that effect on animals. Samson is proof.

“Can I get another one of these?” she points to her empty margarita glass and then looks at me expectantly. “What would you like to drink, Masterchef?”

Masterchef.

A grin cuts my face at her endearment. Feels like forever since I’ve heard her use it.

“Water. Water is fine,” I say, replying to the older woman.

“Ice?”

“Sure.”

“Garnish? Lime and mint?” she asks and as I nod, Courtney tells her, “You know, he’ll have the mojito mocktail.”

I don’t drink mocktails… or cocktails for that matter. I like ice-cold beer, rum and coke, or plain old water. But for Court, I’ll drink whatever she wants me to. Whatever makes her happy. Keeps me in her orbit.

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