On Loverose Lane (Return to Dublin Street #1)

2. Callan

CHAPTER TWO

CALLAN

I clicked the remote to open the automatic blinds. There was one button that opened them all at the same time. The blinds whirred as they lifted and I wandered into my walk-in closet.

“For some reason, I never imagined footballers getting up this early.”

I glanced to my right at the woman sauntering out of my bathroom, looking a little better than she had when she’d sauntered in. She’d left mascara streaks on my pillowcase that wouldn’t come off as easily as they’d come off her temple. I grunted in response as I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. My training bag was in the hall, all ready to go. When my alarm went off ninety minutes ago, my one-night stand had grumbled and refused to get out of bed.

The pretty brunette eyed me as I sat down on an ottoman in the middle of the walk-in to pull on one of my many pairs of trainers. Never in my wildest imagination would I have thought that I, the bloke who’d tried to make one pair of trainers last a whole year through school and playing football, would have more shoes than I knew what to do with.

The brunette whistled. “You have a shit ton of clothes. How many trainers is that?”

I eyed the large shoe rack. One of the reasons I bought this flat was the walk-in because it gave me a place to look after my things properly. When you went from having not very much to having a lot, you knew it was important to take care of everything, to appreciate every item.

“A few,” I murmured. Standing up, I grabbed a pair of sunglasses out of my accessories drawer. Then I moved toward her and she braced herself against the wall to let me pass.

“You don’t say much, do you?”

“Just trying to get to training,” I said pointedly.

“Oh. Right.” She hurried into the high heels she’d kicked off last night. “Have you seen my handbag?”

“Entrance.” I gestured with my head for her to follow me out of the large primary suite, down the hall my bedroom shared with two guest rooms and a large bathroom, and out into the open-plan living area.

The light streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows was another reason I’d bought the flat. A balcony wrapped around two sides of the apartment, overlooking the small park behind Loverose Lane and New Town beyond. Most flats in this area were period properties, but I’d wanted something modern. It would have been easier to get a flat closer to the football ground out in Carrick Knowe, but like Baird and John, I preferred being in the city center. It did mean, however, I needed to leave an hour before practice to make what should have been a twenty-minute journey. But at this time of the morning, city traffic was a nightmare.

“Wow, I never really had a proper look at the place, but your flat is hot,” the brunette offered as I gently nudged her toward the door. “Did the couch belong to a grandparent or something, though?”

I grimaced. “Nah. It’s just comfy.”

As she grabbed her bag off the floor, she peered past me into the living room with a dubious expression.

Remembering what Beth had said about my sofa, I asked, “If you’d seen it before we fucked, would we have still fucked?”

She let out a laugh. “Of course. Just not on your grannie’s couch.”

Glancing back at the couch, I scowled. I couldn’t see ugly. I’d sat on the thing in the furniture place after sitting on what seemed like five million sofas, and it was by far the comfiest of them all. That’s all I saw. Aye, maybe it didn’t match with the leather recliners and fancy pieces Baird’s sister had helped pick out. But it worked for me. Deal done.

“I seem to have everything.” She rummaged through her purse, checking.

“Great.” Taking hold of my training bag, I let us out of the flat.

“So … will I see you again?”

“Georgia, right?”

She smirked unhappily. “Right. I guess I should be flattered you remember my name.”

“I wasn’t drunk last night, so why wouldn’t I?”

“Uh, well, you didn’t seem so sure there.”

“I’m crap with names,” I lied.

Truth was, I’d woken up that morning to Georgia lying in my bed, and I’d had a moment of panic when I realized I couldn’t remember her name. And it really wasn’t because I’d been drunk when we came back to my flat. The season was about to start, and while I was training, I didn’t drink. Neither did any of the other lads. But Georgia had suddenly looked like every other woman I’d brought back to my place for a night of shagging. I’d been in my new place two weeks and she was the first woman I’d brought here, but that didn’t mean the one-night stands hadn’t been going on for a while.

In fact, my entire football career was a revolving door of one-night stands.

After eight years, it was starting to wear a bit.

The sex was boring. Maybe it was because there was no foreplay or banter running up to it anymore. I didn’t have to work for it because what I’d said to Beth Carmichael was true. There were women out there who merely wanted to shag a footballer … so they always came to me and made it very clear from the get-go that they wanted my dick. The dating app on my phone was like a waiting list. If that made me sound like a total arsehole, then so be it, because it was the truth. That shouldn’t be boring. That should be fucking tremendous. Most guys would kill for my dating life.

There had to be something wrong with me.

“Right.” Georgia walked toward the lift as I strode toward the stairwell. “Oh. Really?”

I shrugged. “You can take the lift.”

“Naw, naw, I’ll come with you.” She tottered over in six-inch heels that did great things for her legs.

“I had a nice time,” I forced out so she wouldn’t feel bad that I was rushing her away.

“Me too. Would you … would you want to repeat it sometime?” Her heels clattered loudly on the concrete stairs.

“Eh …”

She made a wee huffing sound at my hesitation, and I scowled. I would not be made to feel bad about not pursuing something with this woman. We both knew what this was when we swiped right on the hookup app.

“Again, I can’t believe how early you get up.” She hurried to change the subject.

I frowned. “It’s seven. Don’t you have work?”

“Aye, at nine. I work at an accountancy firm. But, I mean, you were up at five thirty.”

Not really sure what to say to that, I was saved from an inane answer at the sight of Beth Carmichael coming out of her flat.

My pulse jumped. In irritation, of course.

Baird hadn’t shut up about Beth since the day I moved in. I didn’t know if he’d developed a stupid crush or if he was only trying to wind me up.

I couldn’t believe my flat was in the same building as Beth’s, of all people. Aye, we’d been kids when we were friends … but she’d done damage at a time I was already pretty messed up. She’d left a mark. I hated that she’d left a mark.

Her tip-tilted eyes widened as she turned and saw us. “Uh, morning.”

Georgia waved her fingers in greeting while I glowered, mentally demanding she take the lift.

To my annoyance, Beth strolled toward us in a moronically tiny dress that made my skin suddenly roastin’ hot.

Okay, aye, it was July and we were having a hot summer, so the dress made sense.

It was also frying my brain.

It was a strappy, mini floral thing that would probably camouflage on my sofa. The cheek of her taking the piss out of me and then wearing that. I held back with Georgia to let Beth pass, and I tried and failed not to look at her long fucking legs as she strolled down the stairs in front of us.

Beth had always been tall.

Even at fifteen, she’d been a heartbreaker with all that long blond hair and those cat-shaped, pale blue eyes. She’d filled out since then, especially in the chest and arse department.

“I love your dress,” Georgia complimented Beth.

Beth glanced back at us and grinned. I felt that fluttery sensation in my gut, the one I usually got before a big game.

“Thanks.” Her cat eyes swept over Georgia. “I love yours too. And your handbag.”

“Aw, thanks. I got it for crazy cheap on this app where people sell their used designer stuff. I mean, this person hardly ever used this bag.”

“Seriously?” Beth waited on the next landing for Georgia. “What’s the app called?”

Georgia told her and then grasped at Beth’s wrist. “Oh my God, is this from Tiffany’s?”

I craned my neck to see what she was pointing at. A silver bracelet comprised of round beads and a small pink heart charm gleamed brightly around her wrist.

“It is. A gift from my parents for my twenty-first birthday.”

“So cute. I’ve always wanted something from Tiffany’s, but feel like it should be a gift, you know?”

“Who’s to say you can’t buy yourself a gift?” Beth nudged Georgia as if they’d known each other forever. “You deserve to buy yourself a gift.”

“Do you think?”

“Oh, absolutely. These.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, and I peered down at her from behind them, swallowing hard at the sight of her long, smooth neck. She fingered her earlobe where a large diamond stud was accompanied by two smaller silver studs. “I bought these for myself the first year my company made a profit.”

“You own your own company?” Georgia gaped in awe as we reached the ground floor. “What do you do?”

“I run a social media management company. Social Queens. I’m the CEO.”

“That’s amazing. You’re so young! I’ve always wanted to work for myself.”

Beth immediately launched into an enthusiastic diatribe about self-employment, and the women disappeared out of the entrance doors, having completely forgotten I existed.