34. Beth
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
BETH
B etween video meetings with my team, emails and phone calls to clients, and my period, I was drained by midday. Deciding to have a quick power nap, I ended up sleeping for a few hours before groggily getting out of bed to make a quick snack. My parents called from Bangkok and caught me up on their adventures. They looked great. Relaxed, happy.
“Elle is still annoyed you wouldn’t let her stay home alone,” I told them. I’d offered to stay with Elle while my parents were gone on their trip, but Elodie and Clark were more than happy to have Elle stay with them for a few weeks.
“That’s because she thinks she’s forty,” Mum grumbled.
“We saw the tabloids,” Dad interrupted, expression serious.
Ah, hell.
The morning after our night at the club, grainy shots of me and Callan pretty much grinding on each other and making out found their way into the Scottish tabloids. They weren’t clear enough to really identify us, but I’d had to block a couple of journos’ numbers who were looking for a comment. Thankfully, it wasn’t the kind of big news that had the arseholes turning up at our door, but it was still irritating. I’d avoided Callan’s social media in case there was commentary on there, and I was letting Cara and Janine run our socials so I didn’t have to see any possible comments on our pages too.
I’d really been hoping the article would escape my parents, but now I was thinking Dad or Mum (or both) might have a Google alert on our family.
“They might not have been able to say it was you for sure, but I know it was you.”
“Braden.” Mum sighed heavily. “You said you weren’t going to say anything.”
“I can’t help it. We’re a family who tell each other things.” He turned from her to the camera. “Beth, you know you can tell us anything.”
I groaned, my cheeks turning hot as I covered my face with my hands. “Actually, Dad, there are some things a girl cannot talk to her dad about.”
Dad was quiet.
Feeling guilty, I finally removed my hands to look at him. He seemed… disappointed. I didn’t know if it was in me or at the idea of me keeping things from him.
“It’s casual. Me and Callan. And I don’t want to talk about that with you. Not in a bad way. I love you, Dad. I will talk to you about anything but that.”
Mum rubbed a soothing hand over his shoulder, and Dad gave me a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You take care of yourself,” he commanded gruffly.
“I always do. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“I love you both.” Mum waved to the camera. “We’ve got a boat tour to get to, baby. We’ll talk soon.”
“Enjoy yourselves! Bye.”
As soon as we hung up, I sank back in my couch. “Well, that was awkward.”
When Callan texted later that day to ask if we were hanging out tonight, I had to remind him I was on my period even though I’d told him this morning. It was a Friday evening. Baird and John were probably heading out somewhere. Callan should go with them.
We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, after all.
He didn’t owe me anything.
And honestly, I still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent. I was in the midst of an anxiety hangover and desperately filling my afternoon with work. There was a possibility I was driving my team crazy because I kept sending them texts and thoughts and adding to their to-do lists.
It was a surprise when Callan texted a response to my reminder.
I know, but I’m cooking tonight and I’d rather cook for two. Fancy coming upstairs?
He wanted to spend time with me out of the bedroom?
And he could cook?
Between my weird mood and the fear of blurring the lines between us, I almost told him no. Instead, I found myself telling him I’d be there in an hour.
I didn’t want to go dressed up, but I changed out of the joggers I’d cut into shorts and threw on baggy jeans and a cropped T-shirt. An email came in from Iain Erstwhile’s assistant as I knocked on Callan’s door.
She had to cancel my meeting with Iain and reschedule it for when he was back in Edinburgh.
Callan opened the door while my face was in my screen and my fingers were flying over it. “Hi,” I said without looking at him as I stepped into the apartment. “Sorry, emailing a potential client.”
“No problem.”
I finished as we entered his living space and finally looked at him. His hair was slightly wet from the shower, and he was in a T-shirt and jeans, his feet bare as he strolled into the kitchen where there was an array of ingredients and the smell of spice in the air.
“What are you making?” I asked as I slid onto a stool at his island.
Callan stirred a pot at the stove and glanced over his shoulder at me. “A healthy version of chicken tikka masala.”
My belly grumbled in anticipation. “Sounds delicious.”
A beep from my phone had me snatching it up. Erstwhile’s assistant confirmed the new meeting time, and I typed out a thank-you response.
When I looked up, Callan was frowning at the phone in my hand, but he turned away without saying anything.
“How was your day?” I asked. “How did training go?”
“The gaffer was hard on us.”
They’d lost leg 1 and leg 2 of their game against a Greek team in the European tournament thingie. Leg 2 had been yesterday. Rather than be depressed about it, Callan had poured all of his frustrations into me last night, and I wasn’t complaining about the resultant orgasms.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. We deserved it. We’ll have to prove ourselves against Glencairn on Sunday. If we come at least third in the Pro this year, we get the chance at Europe again. And I’m gunning for it. I’m ready to wipe the floor with anyone that comes between us and the Pro League.”
“Have I told you lately how sexy it is when you get all competitive?” I teased.
He shot me a grin, but my phone cut off whatever it was he was going to say.
“Sorry.” I winced, reaching for it. “It’s Cara.” I picked up. “Hullo.”
“Okay, I’ve switched up the content for Juniper Madley’s book release next week like you suggested. She’s happy with it. We’re scheduled and ready to go.”
“You are a superstar. Thank you for doing that at the last minute.”
“No, no, the book chat stuff was a good idea. I think it’ll get her great engagement.”
“Perfect. Thank you!”
“Have a good night.”
“You too.” I hung up and grimaced at Callan’s back. “Sorry.”
He shrugged and added something into the pot. “It’s fine.”
It didn’t seem fine.
My phone rang again. It was Michaela. I groaned. “I have to take this. Sorry.”
Callan dropped the wooden spoon in his pot and whirled around. His long arm reached my phone before I could. I gaped as he answered it. “Beth’s phone.”
“Callan—”
He shook his head, glowering at me. “This is Callan, Beth’s human sex toy.”
I could hear Michaela cackling on the other end of the line as Callan grinned at the face I made.
“Is this important?” He frowned at whatever she said and then rolled his eyes at me. “Well, you leave that until tomorrow or something. It’s Friday evening. Go enjoy yourself. And tell the rest of your team that I’m confiscating Beth’s phone for the rest of the night … You too … Cheers. Bye.” He hung up and very deliberately switched off my phone.
Truthfully, I was less indignant than I pretended to be. Something like relief battled with my annoyance at his overstepping. “Give me my phone.”
Instead, he walked out of the room with it.
I gaped after him.
He returned without it.
“Callan.”
“Beth.” He nodded at me like we were greeting each other.
“I will kill you if you don’t give me that phone back.”
Callan braced his hands on the island, considering me. “Are you really telling me that having that fucking thing go off every five seconds doesn’t do your nut in?”
Strangely, the phone, my work, had been my life raft today, but as soon as I walked into Callan’s, it had become a nuisance. Weird that.
“Even if you’re right … it should be my decision.”
He sighed, his gaze searching. Then he nodded and pushed away from the island. I waited as he disappeared from the room and returned with my phone. Callan reluctantly handed it over.
An ache pierced my chest. A good one. A scary one. I took the phone and walked over to the sideboard, ignoring my inward flinch at his ugly sofa. One day I’d talk him into reupholstering the damn thing. Opening the drawer in his side table, I hesitated for a second as anxiety over the idea of missing an important work email attempted to strong-arm my decision to switch off for the evening.
It can wait until morning , I told myself sternly.
And I dropped my phone into the drawer and closed it.
Turning back to him, I grinned. “Maybe it can stay off for a while.”
He smirked. “I am wiser than I look, you know.”
Laughing, I crossed over to the island again. “Can I get you a drink while you’re cooking up a storm?”
“I bought an NA white to go with the curry.” He nodded to his wine cooler.
“Nice.” I set about pouring us drinks and laying the table as Callan cooked and we chatted about our days. It was all very domesticated for a no-strings-attached affair.
Refusing to allow myself to spiral over the thought that maybe we really were blurring lines, I focused on being present with him.
We were chatting away—I was telling him about my parents’ trip, Elle’s crush on a boy at school, Luke’s desire to give up uni to be an influencer and how I was desperately trying to talk him out of it—when I took my first bite of the curry.
And it almost blew my bloody head off.
“Oh my God.” I swallowed, choking, nearly knocking the glass of wine over as I lunged for liquid relief. I practically inhaled the cool wine as spices coated my throat in flame. Coughing, spluttering, I pushed away from the table feeling mildly murderous toward tonight’s chef.
“Fucking hell, are you all right?” Callan got up to get me a glass of water.
“That d-depends,” I choked out, “on if you’re trying to kill me.”
“It’s not that spicy.” He handed me the glass and took a forkful of his own curry and chewed.
He didn’t even make a sound while I could feel sweat beading on my forehead.
“That’s not a masala, Callan.” I gestured to the plate, my voice hoarse. “A masala is mild.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say.” He rubbed my shoulder, laughter trembling on his lips. “Maybe you can’t handle spice.”
“I can handle spice,” I argued. “Not death by spice!”
He snorted. “Everyone loves my masala.”
“Who is everyone? You can’t taste anything over the inferno.”
That made him laugh harder while I got up to get a glass of milk. I downed it and my mouth and throat gave a sigh of relief.
“You’re such a lightweight.” He teased as he retook his seat to eat his curry. Seriously … there was something wrong with him that he could eat it like it was vanilla yogurt. “All the guys love this dish. Baird and John are disappointed I don’t make it more often.”
“Then they’re lying.” I peered into his fridge and freezer, found a frozen pizza in the latter, and removed it.
“What are you doing?”
“There is no way I’m eating the curry that came to kill.”
“Oh my God, I cannot believe you.” He chuckled, shaking his head.
“It’s not just me, Captain. I can’t even imagine what that curry is doing to your insides right now. Baird and John are definitely lying.”
“Aye, we’ll see.” Still munching on death curry, he picked up his phone from the dining table and called someone. As the person picked up, he put it on speaker. “Baird, I’m here with Beth.”
“Oi, oi, how goes it?” Baird’s cheerful voice filled the room. I crossed over toward the phone.
“I made my famous masala for Beth, and she said it’s not a masala, that it’s too spicy.”
“Not too spicy , Baird,” I interjected. “ Too spicy infers moderation. This bloody curry nearly destroyed my vocal cords. I’m actually sweating.”
“Lightweight, eh?” Callan teased. “Tell her she’s being a curry baby. My masala is delicious.”
There was silence on the end of the line.
Callan frowned. “Baird?”
“Eh … well … I hate to tell you this, mate, but John and I almost lost our colons to your curry. Your curry is so spicy, the only flavor you can taste is the inevitability of shits for days.”
I cackled at Callan’s horrified expression, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as Baird went on.
“Your curry almost gave me a chronic fucking fissure. The mere mention of your curry makes my sphincter shrink in fear.”
“I can’t breathe.” I wheezed as I slid down the back of the island to the floor, laughing so hard I was close to peeing myself.
I heard the rumble of laughter in Baird’s voice as he asked, “Please tell me that poor lassie didn’t eat a whole plate of it.”
“One bite,” Callan huffed out. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? You said it was great.”
“You were just so proud of yourself. We felt bad. Who wants to be told that their curry aged someone’s bowels by twenty years?”
I howled again, tears streaming down my face between Baird’s words and Callan’s expression.
“Fucking hell.” He pushed his plate away, looking at it in horror.
“Don’t feel bad, Cal. You should be proud of your own constitution. There is no doubt in my mind that there is no stomach bug on earth that can take you down, mate. I’m quite envious, really.”
“You’ve eaten my curry three times.”
“That’s how much we love you … and care about your fragile ego.”
“Fuck off,” Callan said without rancor and hung up.
Finally calm, my stomach sore from laughing, I grinned at Callan from my spot on the floor. “You know … I really needed that today.”
He huffed out a laugh and slumped back in his chair. “I suppose that makes up for finding out my signature dish is a culinary nuclear weapon.”
I giggled and Callan’s mouth curled at the corners, his expression turning tender in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
It made my breath catch.
So I abruptly shoved to my feet and clapped my hands together. “You get rid of the death curry and I’ll pop the pizza in the oven.”