24. Beth
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BETH
I t was Callan’s idea to make our first fake date a “hang-out” thing so we’d both feel more comfortable. Since I got on so well with Baird, he’d suggested I attend the birthday party Baird was throwing for John. The team didn’t have a game until Sunday, so Baird was throwing the party on the Friday evening.
Callan suggested we walk together to Baird’s flat in Dean Village. Since it was a twenty-five-minute walk, I donned flat espadrilles that tied up my calves. I’d paired the vintage-look sandals with what my mum called my Audrey Hepburn shorts. They were high-waisted white shorts with turned up hems. My long-sleeved tee was cropped and lightweight. I swore I caught Callan shooting my legs sneaky glances now and then. The idea that he might still find me attractive made me want to wriggle my rump in glee. After all, I found him too sexy for his own good.
“Do you really think anyone is watching?” Callan asked quietly as we wandered out of the gate of our apartment car park.
Despite the warm Friday evening, I shivered at the thought of Sheera Green having me watched, as ludicrous as it was. “Nope. But out and about at restaurants and stuff? Who knows? I don’t think you can put it past a woman who is that interested in her egotistical son’s love life.”
“Just in case, princess, we better give them something to watch.” Callan reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine.
I jolted a wee bit at the touch, goose bumps prickling up my arm. His skin was slightly calloused and rough. I glanced quickly at our hands, an ache scoring across my chest. There was absolutely no reason for him to hold my hand other than that maybe … he wanted to. “Thanks.”
Callan shook his head, a wry smile almost curling the corner of his lips. “It’s not exactly a hardship to hold your hand.”
A surprised huff of laughter escaped my mouth. “Are you flirting with me, Callan Keen?”
“You know you’re gorgeous,” he said matter-of-factly.
I grinned because he also sounded put out that he found me gorgeous. “I don’t remember you being so grumpy in high school. Serious, driven, yes. But not this broody and surly.”
His grip tightened as we crossed the street. Callan was too busy looking left and right to make sure we were safe getting across to look at me as he replied, “Maybe you bring out the worst in me.”
The teasing note in his tone softened the blow of his words. To be fair, he had seemed different since we’d agreed to our plan. He didn’t seem as irritated with me now. Maybe he’d let go of our past, finally. I hoped so.
“I’m seeing my parents on Sunday,” I said, changing the subject and giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ll talk to Dad then.”
A car horn beeped loudly, smothering my words. Callan leaned his head toward mine and slowed our strides. “Say again?”
His aftershave drifted over me, and I itched to touch the bristle of his stubble. Was he as aware of me as I was of him? I raised up on my tiptoes, brushing my lips deliberately against his ear as I repeated my words.
Callan sucked in a breath, his fingers clenching around mine. He pulled back abruptly and nodded, staring straight ahead. “Good.”
He was definitely aware. That shouldn’t have made me feel as triumphant as it did, considering this was all fake.
Wanting to keep things light between us, I asked him again about football because Callan seemed more amenable to conversation whenever it was about the sport he loved.
“Will you miss it when you retire?” I asked after he told me about the team at Caledonia United being his family.
Callan met my gaze. “Aye. Sometimes it’s hard to really think about it.”
“But you’re clearly planning for your future without it. The real estate portfolio. This idea for the hotel and spa?”
“Baird and I know we’ll need a career to fall back on. We’ve only got about another ten years of football left in us.”
I couldn’t imagine working so hard, pouring all my passion into a career, knowing it had such an early end date. In fact, I realized I admired Callan all the more for it.
As we strolled down the path that ran along the cobbled road of India Place, we fell into silence. Not once did Callan let go of my hand. Even as we turned down the street and onto the footpath that led along the Water of Leith. The treelined waterway was shadier. Dog walkers on their evening stroll passed us, and I let myself imagine what it might be like if Callan was really my boyfriend. To take summer evening walks across town together, to grab dinner out, go for weekend breaks, travel across the world with a partner in tow. Have someone to come home to, to vent to, to relax with, to cuddle with, to rip each other’s clothes off whenever the mood struck.
How nice it would be to stop looking for “the one” because I’d found him.
I snuck a peek at Callan, at his strong, handsome profile. People looked at him as we passed, and it wasn’t because he was famous. To be fair, he’d been correct earlier. Callan was mostly only well known among those who knew anything about football. Outside of it, I’d imagine he was fairly anonymous. He could travel to other parts of the UK or abroad and do so without most people ever recognizing him.
So I was pretty certain people looked at him because it was difficult not to.
That’s how it had been for me in high school.
My skin flushed as I remembered our stolen kisses and how Callan was the boy who inspired my sexual awakening. I definitely needed to leave that fact out when I told Dad about him. I snorted inwardly at the thought, even as a pang of regret hit me.
How many times over the past seven years had I allowed myself to admit that I’d wished Callan Keen had been my first? First love and first time. Instead, my first time was with a guy called Euan Schaffer. It had been in his bedroom on our two-month anniversary when I was seventeen. His parents were out for the night, and we’d taken advantage of it. It was awkward and weird and he’d enjoyed it way more than I did. We’d tried it a few more times after that, but it never got better. The only reason I kept trying was because everyone else seemed to insist sex could be great.
The best sex I’d had was a one-night stand with Cara’s big brother, Colin. It was her twenty-first, we all got fairly smashed, and Colin, a good-looking, thirty-year-old not long out of a relationship, had gone down on me in the bathroom. He wasn’t a natural, but he took direction extremely well. It was exciting. And so I’d gone home with him and spent the night. He’d continued to take direction well in his bed too.
Neither of us wanted anything more out of it. But I thought it a damn shame that the best sex I’d had was also the only casual sex I’d ever had. And that in the morning after, I’d gone from a multiple-orgasm high to awkward and weird and vulnerable.
I wondered if Callan was as generous as Colin had been in bed, though. According to Hailey, he hadn’t put much effort in, but Georgia said he was a phenomenal lover. Phenomenal . Hot tingles awoke between my legs. I’d had great sex … but phenomenal?
I peeked at Callan again. At his mouth. He’d been a fantastic kisser. What would his stubble feel like scratching against my inner thighs?
“What are you thinking about so hard over there?” Callan suddenly asked.
My cheeks heated and I was thankful I was not a blusher. “Just enjoying the nice evening,” I lied.
Baird lived in the quaint Dean Village in a nineteenth-century building social hall that had been converted into the sickest flat ever. When I’d first heard that Baird lived here, it didn’t quite make sense. Callan and his modern penthouse made sense.
Baird in his nineteenth-century flat shouldn’t have but somehow did.
Everything became clear when I saw the flat. If you could call it a flat.
The main space was cathedral-like, with the highest ceilings I think I’d ever seen in a home. The period features, such as the windows, had been retained, as had the gigantic-tiled fireplace on the west end of the room. Honestly, you could tell it was a converted social hall because of the many rows of windows on either side. That did have the advantage of filling the space with so much light, though.
Baird had tried to make the space as cozy as possible. There were dramatically long curtains at every window, a twelve-seater dining table down one side near the fireplace, and a large corner sofa with chairs situated around a coffee table and pointing at a large television screen beyond the dining table.
On the east end of the room was where the real drama happened. A stylish kitchen with a six-seater marble island propped up a mezzanine bedroom that literally sat on a mounted base above the kitchen. A glass balustrade was the only thing between the bedroom and the hall.
No privacy, but it was bloody cool.
I’d later discover from Baird’s sister that behind the kitchen was a generous and beautiful modern bathroom, and a doorway on either side of the kitchen led up winding, narrow staircases to two more bedrooms.
It was a lot of space for one bloke, but I could certainly see why he’d fallen in love with it.
It was also the perfect party pad.
There were a lot of guests over, most of whom looked like his teammates and their partners, but there was still plenty of space to walk around.
Baird swallowed me up in a big bear hug upon our arrival. Then he excitedly introduced me to his big sister Ainsley, who eyed me carefully as she glanced between Baird and Callan. John came over to say hello and Ainsley made a crack about us looking like brother and sister, and everyone laughed at how uncomfortable this seemed to make Callan, who vehemently disagreed.
After a while, I found myself sitting on a stool at the island chatting with Ainsley about her business. She shared that Baird had renovated the space into a flat, and she’d helped with the interior design. It was her idea to create the mezzanine bedroom. She said this place is the one that put her on the map as an interior designer. We were both self-made and had a lot in common, and she was the prime example of someone who knew how to make social media work for her.
“So, you and Callan, huh?” She leaned against the island, sipping a beer out of a cold bottle. I was drinking the nonalcoholic beer the footballers were drinking because I couldn’t afford a hangover. Ainsley glanced over my shoulder and her sudden, deep frown made me turn around to follow her gaze.
Callan sat on the arm of Baird’s sofa, facing toward us. He was taking a pull of NA beer, his knees splayed, and a young woman stood between said knees. She had long, wavy red-gold hair and her hand rested on his shoulder as they chatted.
Flirted.
Not chatted.
Flirted.
He wore a teasing smirk that he hadn’t shot my way since high school. Whatever he said made the redhead throw her hair back in laughter, and Callan’s gaze darted down her body in interest.
Weirdly stung by witnessing the encounter, I smothered the sensation and turned back to Ainsley with an insouciant shrug.
Ainsley raised an eyebrow. “That shit doesn’t bother you?”
Though I tried to form a blasé smile, I could feel it wobble a bit as I explained, “We’re only pretending to date.”
“Why?”
“Because …” A voice startled me, and I turned to my right as Baird slid into the space beside me and a guy sitting on the stool with his back to us. Baird slung an arm over my shoulders. “Some big shot CEO Beth wants as a client tried to set her up with her son, Beth lied and told her she was dating Callan to get out of it, and the CEO called her on the lie. So, Callan’s pretending to date Beth in exchange for a meeting with her dad about the castle we want to buy from him.”
I stiffened. “Callan told you?”
Baird shrugged. “We’re best pals. He tells me and John everything.”
Since that was kind of nice, I decided to let my annoyance at Callan sharing my personal shit slide. For now. It wasn’t Baird’s fault. “Right.”
“I’m sorry, Beth.” Ainsley leaned in, wearing a scowl. “Why let this so-called client control you, though? Do you really need her business so badly?”
“It’s more that she can blackball me and ruin my business if she bad-mouths me for not wanting to date her son. He must have really chewed me out to her to lead her to do this.” I’d thought about it a lot, and Samuel had to have wound his mum up about me. What an arsehole. All because I wasn’t romantically interested in him.
“Men,” Ainsley huffed. “Wankers.”
“Hey!” Baird dramatically clasped his breast. “Not all men.”
“Your friend is a wanker.” Ainsley jerked her chin in Callan’s direction. “Even if he and Beth are only pretending to date, they came here together and he’s all over Amy.”
“Amy?” Baird glanced over his shoulder. “Aye, Amy. You didn’t tell me she was coming.”
“Who is Amy?”
“The only girl who has ever said no to Baird. She’s my friend from school.” Ainsley sighed heavily. “And she just broke up with her long-term boyfriend and is looking for a casual hookup. Looks like she’s found her target.”
“Well, I’m hurt.” Baird met my gaze. “Wouldn’t you rather hook up with me than Keen?”
“Absolutely,” I said without preamble.
Baird grinned. “Fuck, I wish Keen had heard how fast you said that.” Mischief danced in his eyes. “Come with me.” He held out his hand.
Bemused, I cocked my head in consideration. “Where to?”
“Just come with me.”
“I know that glint in your eye. Baird, what are you up to?” Ainsley asked in the beleaguered tone of a big sister. A tone I knew well.
“You’re right. Keen’s being an arsehole. So, let’s play him at his own game.”
Honestly, at the grand old age of twenty-four, I felt a bit old to be playing games, but Baird was fun, and I didn’t like the way I’d felt seeing Callan flirt with someone else.
Baird held my hand in his massive paw as he led me down the side of the kitchen. Beyond the bathroom, there was a door that led up a narrow set of stairs. As light poured down toward us and Baird pulled me up them, I realized quickly that we were about to come up and out into the mezzanine bedroom.
“Wow.” I gaped around at the space and the view from above the downstairs. “This is epic. Is this your room?”
“Of course.”
It was stylishly modern and simplistic. It was all about the bed with its floor-to-ceiling contemporary headboard. The only other pieces of furniture on the mezzanine were bedside cabinets.
“Where do you keep your clothes?”
“In the second bedroom.”
“What about noise and light? How do you sleep if you have people over?”
Baird shrugged, grinning as he pulled me toward the glass balustrade. He released my hand. “Doesn’t bother me. Do you like it?”
“Impractical for most people, but it’s pretty bloody cool.” I stepped to the balustrade, and even though it came past my waist, I experienced a slight rush of vertigo as I looked down on the partygoers. “Whoa. It’s so much higher than you think.”
A hard chest brushed my back and suddenly Baird was leaning into me, resting his hands on the balustrade in front of me as he tucked his chin in the crook of my neck.
“What are you doing?”
“You smell really nice.”
I snorted. “I’m not sleeping with you, Baird.”
“I know. You and I connect in a different way.” He nuzzled my neck, the action contradicting his words. “Bestie.”
My shoulders shook with laughter. “This doesn’t feel very best-friend-like.”
“No, but it’s pissing off Callan.”
I’d been deliberately not looking in his direction, but Baird’s words sent my eyes flying to the sofa. He was no longer there.
“Dining table with Kaito,” Baird murmured before brushing his lips over my cheek. His beard tickled, and my skin tingled from his kiss, and for a moment, it felt really, really nice. It seemed like forever since a man had touched me like this.
My eyes found Callan.
The redhead was nowhere in sight as he stood beside a teammate I recognized from watching their games on the telly.
But Callan wasn’t chatting with his teammate.
He was glowering up at us like he wanted to yank us both over that balustrade.
Discomfort shifted through me, and I pushed back against Baird, shoving past him.
“Beth,” he called after me.
As I neared the staircase, I felt his hand on my arm. When I turned, Baird’s expression was uncharacteristically serious.
“Are you okay?”
“I realized I don’t want to play games,” I offered honestly. “Not with Callan.”
Baird frowned. “Sorry. I … thought he needed a nudge.”
“A nudge for what?” I threw my hands up. “It’s not like that between us.”
“Eh … is that why my best pal looks like he wants to throttle me? What is between you? He won’t tell me.”
“There’s nothing.”
Baird shook his head. “Oh, there’s something.”
“Everything all right up here?”
I startled at his voice, whirling to find Callan on the steps. “We’re fine.” As I hurried downstairs toward him, Callan descended to let me out. Baird followed.
We’d all just stepped into the hall when Amy appeared. Her eyes were bright enough to give away that she was very, very tipsy. “There you are!” She latched onto Callan, sliding her arm through his.
I didn’t blame her.
I’d only caught a glimpse of their interaction and knew he had been giving her all the right signals.
It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. We hadn’t exactly discussed the details of our fake-dating deal.
“Ainsley was telling me about the guest room, and we really should check it out,” Amy announced not so subtly.
“I’m going to head back home.” I gave Baird a small smile. “Thanks for the invite.”
“I’ll walk you.” Callan moved toward me, and Amy’s expression slackened with horror.
“Oh my God, are you two together? I’m so sorry!” She comically dropped Callan’s arm like it was on fire.
“No, we’re not,” I rushed to reassure her, still not meeting Callan’s eyes. If I was honest with myself, I was pissed off. “I’ll see you all later.”
“ I’ll walk you home.” Baird stepped toward me.
Callan cut him a dark look. “No, I will.”
Irritated, I bristled. “I can walk myself home.”
“Not at this time in the evening.” Baird shook his head adamantly, then made a shooing gesture to Callan. “Take Amy to see the guest room. I’ll look after Beth.”
“Like fuck you will.”
At Callan’s growl, Amy sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “I wanted to hook up with someone, not get in the middle of other people’s drama.” She narrowed her eyes at Baird. “Which one of your teammates is actually single?”
“There are a few, but Perry or John are your best bet. John just broke up with a lassie, so he’s on the rebound. Or me , of course.”
“I’m not sleeping with my best friend’s wee brother.” Amy appeared considering. “John seems like he’d take care of a woman first.” She sauntered away in search of a good time, and I had to admit I was envious of her ability to go after what she wanted.
“He might look like a gentleman, but that one is a kinky bastard,” Baird called after her.
“Ooh, even better!”
Baird turned back to us, grinning.
But I wasn’t in the mood for grinning.
I could feel Callan glaring at me, as if willing me to look at him, but I wouldn’t. How dare he flirt with Amy, eye her like she was his next meal, and then get territorial over me. “I’m going home. Alone.”
Callan reached out to grasp my arm as I moved to leave. “Not alone.”
I shrugged him off. “I’m not playing games. Whatever is going on between you two”—I gestured between them—“keep it to yourselves and don’t drag me into it.”
Before either of them could protest, I marched away. I didn’t bother to say goodbye to Ainsley as I shoved past a crowd gathered near the door and hurried from the flat.