Page 90 of Falling Offsides

The black dress feels shorter than usual. I swear there’s a breeze kissing my ass cheeks when I teeter through the bar doors in the black barely-there sandals Delilah snuck into my case.

Blue Note is electric. The weighty ambience hits me in the chest with all the vibes steeped in heat and a bassy beat.

Dark velvet booths curve along the back wall, lit from underneath by hazy amber lights. The floors gleam black under the flicker of soft purple strobes, and the bar glows with backlit bottles in every shade of danger.

It’s living, breathing luxury, a little too sexy for karaoke—and exactly the kind of place where mistakes are made under chandeliers and neon signs.

I don’t have to look far for the team booth. All eyes point to it. More than that it’s exactly where my feet guide me—straight to Auguste’s bugged out stare.

Shoot.

This was a terrible idea. The dress. The heels. The actual coming.

I need to leave. I should leave because one of us has to see sense and follow it and?—

“Bambi!” Jayden’s voice cuts through the noise, already grinning.

I wince as the whole table turns toward me and I wave back.

Looks like sneaking back out isn’t an option anymore.

“Look who finally showed up,” Matheo says, waving me over while Jayden scoots along the bench, making space for me.

“Bambi in the building!” Ansel calls.

“Your fans await,” Erik adds.

I siddle up to the booth, ignoring Auguste’s tracking stare as I slide in between Cecelia—who’s already sipping something pink—and Oliver, who offers me a shy smile.

I like him. We’re fellow rookies in our relevant departments. He’s also the most measured—not too quiet or chatty. He’s not quite as fast as Jayden or as agile as Eli on the ice, but from what I’ve seen, his shots are pretty damn accurate and powerful. Oliver is underrated unlike the man directly across the table.

Auguste.

He hasn’t touched his drink. Or taken his eyes off me since I walked in.

Cecelia leans into me, giving me an empty champagne glass and topping it up with some pink bubbly as she tells me, “Glad you came. I was worried I’d be the only one from PR to show up.”

I smile, grateful for her quiet energy when everything inside me is screaming with awareness. “We’ll survive together.”

“I didn’t realize karaoke was such a big thing.”

“Hockey players are funny creatures. Always expect the unexpected.” I can’t help stealing a glimpse of Auguste in all his brooding glory while I toast Cecelia. “Cheers to a great night.”

“Cheers!” Jordan appears beside the booth, tossing me a wink. “You sure you’re up for this, Nilsson?”

“Pretty sure.”

He laughs and slides into the other side, joining the guys in teasing Jayden about his last karaoke disaster.

I sip my drink, trying to ignore the weight of Auguste’s stare—constant, heavy, like a silent dare. A dare to look, to wish, to imagine and recall the feel of his calloused fingers on my skin. Every rough scrape of his teeth on my lips and his breath burning on my jaw. Those gorgeous green eyes eating me up, swallowing me deeper while I rode his hand like a freaking desperate slu?—

The bartender drops off another drink in front of me.

“I didn’t order this.” I frown, shaking off the haze of my thoughts.

She tilts her head toward the karaoke sign-up table. “That guy did.”

I follow her gaze.

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