Page 115 of Falling Offsides

Makes sense now.

“My mind is blown,” I say, picking up my phone from the edge of the sink when it vibrates.

The notification stays at the top of my screen. Auguste’s nickname staring up at me.

Masterchef

I keep staring right back. The flutters in my stomach going wild because in spite of everything, a simple thought of him thrills me. Just like that, my hand is pulsing with the memory of his warm skin. The scratch of his stubble beard.

“You’re quiet, Courtney.”

“He messaged me.”

“Oh my God!” she says, barely containing the squeal in her voice. “You’re in the same restaurant. Go talk to him. Slap him, kiss him, fuck him, and then decide where you’re at. Just for the love of fuck, stop overthinking. Stop comparing him to other men. He’s quirky, maybe a little psycho… but we’ve said time and again that the best men are a little dark, dirty, depraved and down-fucking-bad.”

“Fine, I’ll call you—” I freeze as I open the message from Auguste. “He’s gone.”

“What?”

“The message it’s just a forwarded booking for an Uber. He’s gone.”

My chest constricts, making it impossible to breathe as I throw the wet tissue clump in the bin and leave the bathroom. The hallway is blocked by a line of servers with waiting trays.

“Dee, I gotta go, okay?” She doesn’t get a chance to reply as I end the call instantly. Gripping my backpack tighter in my hand while I weave through the servers to the table area.

The booth is empty. Our glasses are gone…

I rush to the door and look outside for Auguste's car. He said he was driving but his Lexus is nowhere to be seen.

When I open up the message from him with the Uber booking, I notice the number plate matches the sleek, black Mercedes parked right outside the door.

The contrary part of me that’s pissed Auguste would drop this bomb and then leave, wants to walk out and find her own ride. The part that’s exhausted and confused by the tumult of feelings and emotions coursing through her, wants nothing more than to get in that car and go home.

That’s the part that wins the tug-o-war in my head.

Showing the driver the booking, I allow him to open the door for meand take my backpack as I get in the back of the luxury sedan. The leather is a creamy butterscotch that hugs me in all the right places while the driver stows my backpack at my feet and then presents me with a coffee cup from the place near the facility that does the best hot cocoa with coconut cream whip, marshmallows and salted caramel sprinkles.

“Thank you,” I tell the driver, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent.

“You’re welcome, Miss. Would you like the massage activated?”

“No, that’s okay.” I might fall asleep and never wake up.

“If you change your mind, you can activate the function on the console right there,” he points to the screen embedded in the armrest before closing the door and setting off.

The entire drive, I hug the cup of hot cocoa with both hands. Trying to figure out what will happen at the other end. When I reach home.

Despite the chaos in my head, there’s a flicker of certainty in my chest. I want to knock on Auguste’s door and ask him why? Why spy on me when he was right across the hallway, and all he had to do was knock on my door?

The sad part about that question is that I already know the answer. The same way he did. I would’ve made an excuse not to spend time with him and close the door. If I had known what this thing between us would become, I would not even open the door.

When I think about it like that—who’s the asshole? Me or him? Or maybe Delilah has been right all along and he is perfectly suited to the darker fantasies in my head that I know should never leave the pages of the books I read.

The car comes to a stop and after the driver has helped me out, I cradle the hot cocoa in my hands even though my stomach is too unsettled for me to drink it. I’m holding on to it out of principle. Because Auguste got it for me. Because it’s another reminder that his intentions are not bad.

I swear the elevator is super slow today. It feels like forever from the moment I get in to when the doors open and I get out. I head straight for his door even though I have no idea what I’m going to do or say.

Then I knock, and my heart is beating so damn fast I can’t see straight. My mouth is dry and my throat is thick.

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