On Loverose Lane (Return to Dublin Street #1)

37. Beth

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

BETH

I ’d been dreading this night.

We hadn’t spoken about it out loud, but the Friday of the last night of our six-week deal arrived before we knew it. The past two weeks we’d avoided talking about it, instead burying ourselves in work and in each other. My solicitor had sent a cease and desist to the author who slandered us and requested a public statement retracting claims, or we’d take legal action. It turned out the author, realizing with no evidence to back her up because she was a liar, issued a social media statement. She said she was dealing with depression and had lashed out with lies against Social Queens when we dropped her (she made no mention that we’d dropped her because she hadn’t paid her invoices) and apologized for any harm she’d caused. We also issued a statement on social media acknowledging her apology.

Callan was right—the furor blew over, and Iain Erstwhile was still interested in discussing social media management for the Edinburgh store. He was back in London but would be returning to Edinburgh next week. We were trying to get a meeting on the books.

As for Callan, Caley United lost their match in the quarterfinals of one of their tournaments. I thought he’d be so depressed he wouldn’t want to see me after it, but it turns out losing made for an intensity in Callan that he enjoyed expelling in the bedroom. If awesome sex made him feel better, I was all for it.

I’d do anything to make him feel better after how wonderful he’d been with me. He didn’t treat me any differently now that he knew I had anxiety. No, that wasn’t true. He was, if anything, more affectionate. He did ask me how I was doing, and I could honestly say I was good. Confiding in him had lifted a massive weight from my shoulders, and it made me feel safe enough to talk to my parents about everything that had been going on with me for the past seven years. I needed to find the time to discuss it with them. The first dinner after their return from Asia wasn’t the right time, but I was definitely ready to do it.

What I wasn’t ready to do was end things with Callan.

I had a horrible feeling I was falling for him.

Which was actually pretty shit since tonight was our last night.

Callan had a game the next day, but he had Friday free. So we decided to prolong our time together and have an early dinner before one last night in his bed.

I attempted to shake off the butterflies. It wasn’t excitement. It was dread. But I didn’t want that emotion to ruin our time, so I ignored it.

There was a part of me that resented Callan a little for being able to let go, so I might have dressed out of spite. My dress had a high neckline, but it was sleeveless, bodycon tight, and the hem was a good couple of inches above my knee. Sure enough, his gaze grew low-lidded when I stepped out of my flat.

And after we got in the cab he’d ordered, I could see him out of the corner of my eye, glowering at my bare legs.

We pulled up to the bar and restaurant on Thistle Street, and Callan rounded the cab to help me out. He rested his hand on my lower back as he guided me into the crowded space. The bar ran along the back of the room, and the place was a mix of industrial accents, lots of wood, and soft lighting. People gathered around the bar while every table in the restaurant already looked full. A hostess greeted us, though, and we followed her to a table at the back with a reserved plaque on it.

The place was too noisy. We could barely hear each other. Sharing a frustrated look, we ordered food and pretty much ate in silence. As soon as we finished eating, Callan suggested we move on to another bar.

“You’re Callan Keen,” a bloke said from a table near the door as we were leaving.

“I am.” He nodded, his hand flexing on my hip as we strolled past. “Have a nice evening.”

“Shame about that match against Dundonald. Hope you kill Dingwall tomorrow!” he called after us.

Callan waved with a nod of thanks and guided me out of the pub.

“You’re so famous, Captain,” I teased as I snuggled into his side.

He put his arm around my shoulders to draw me tighter to him as we walked down the street, looking for somewhere quieter. Not that Callan could drink tonight. But I fancied a wee cocktail. “At least he was cool. Sometimes they’re right wankers.”

“They wouldn’t dare in front of me.” I slipped my arm around his waist. “My uncle taught me some judo moves, you know. And I’m not afraid to use them.”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to my temple.

It was such a good night. Just being with Callan was so easy, and for a while we forgot what tonight was. I was a wee bit tipsy from my third cocktail and was switching to water when Callan got up from the booth we’d secured in the quieter bar. He left to use the toilet and was gone for a few minutes when two guys slid into the booth with their pints.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we’re not done with the booth. My date’s coming back,” I said politely with a toothless smile.

One of them had a thick black beard and piercing blue eyes. “He’s not your boyfriend, is he?” he asked in a posh English accent.

“He’s my date.”

“Not your boyfriend. Is he a moron?” His eyes dipped down what he could see of my body from above the table separating us.

His friend chuckled drunkenly. “Absolute idiot for not nailing you down, sweetheart.”

I grimaced and shooed them away. “Okay, fellas, time to move it along.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, darling.” The bearded bloke leaned in. “Come have a drink with me and my mates. We’ll show you a much better time.”

“Do those lines usually work for you?”

He laughed. “Yes, actually.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Please leave.”

“Now, gorgeous—” He cut off abruptly because Callan was back and sliding into my side of the booth. He dropped his arm over my shoulders and stared stonily at the guys who had invaded our table.

“I think I heard her telling you to leave.”

The two men shared a look and then the cocky one turned to me as they shimmied back out. “We’re over there”—he gestured across the room to a table of guys—“if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“Shame. I could show you how a real man shows a woman like you a good time.” He winked at me before walking away.

Callan tensed and moved as if he was going to follow after him.

I slapped a hand down on his thigh to stop him. “He’s not worth it.”

“He’s a fucking prick.” He got out of the booth, and I grabbed his hand.

“Callan!”

I was surprised by this overreaction.

“Not worth the fine,” I reminded him.

He didn’t listen, and I stumbled to get out of the booth as he marched across the room.

My heart hammered as I grabbed my purse to follow him, to stop him from doing whatever stupid thing he was about to do.

I was halfway there when I realized he was whispering something in the cocky bloke’s ear. Whatever it was made the guy’s face bleach of all color. Callan’s expression was hard as he straightened. “Understood?”

The guy nodded imperceptibly but wouldn’t look at him. He was scared and embarrassed and although he was a prick for doing what he did in front of Callan, I couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

Callan strode back to me, grabbed my hand, and led me out of the pub. His tension bristled down his arm.

As soon as we were outside, I yanked my hand away, uncaring of passersby. “What the hell was that?”

He whipped around, glowering. “What the hell was what?”

“That!” I gestured to the bar. “We were having a nice night. You didn’t have to do that.”

“That arsehole needed a lesson. You don’t flirt and come on to another man’s woman in front of him.”

I sucked in a breath. “Your woman?”

Callan flinched and looked away. “You know what I mean. My date.”

His date.

Only his date.

Nothing else.

And not even that tomorrow.

“I’m not going to sit by while another guy gets in your face, flirts with you, or tries to touch you when you don’t want him there. End of story.”

I huffed and strode past him. “I hate to break it to you, Captain, but come tomorrow, it’ll be none of your business if another man flirts with or touches me.”

Suddenly, I was yanked back toward him, whirled around by his grip on my upper arm. I only had a second to process the furious hunger on his face before he crushed my lips beneath his. His arms pulled me tight to him, and I grabbed his shoulders for support as I gasped beneath the surprise attack.

He used the moment to slip his tongue into my mouth and like always, our kiss turned wild.

Laughter was a vague noise beneath the blood rushing in my ears.

“Kiss her for me!”

“Get a room!”

Callan broke the kiss with an irritated growl and turned to look at whoever had shouted at us. There was more laughter, and I attempted to pull away. His arms tightened around me as his gaze came back to mine.

I stared at him, lips swollen, cheeks hot, my heart and mind a muddled mess.

“It doesn’t have to end tonight, princess.”

My pulse leapt at his words. Did he mean?—

“I wanted three months. We could do this for another six weeks.” He searched my face, and I hid my disappointment. “We’re both not ready for this to be over.”

It was true. However, I had a horrible feeling we were both not ready for totally different reasons.

Yet the thought of not seeing Callan after this, not having him hold me when I needed him or sleeping next to him, not feeling him move inside me, deeper than anyone had ever been before …

In my confusion and heartache, I found myself agreeing to another six weeks.

Relief flooded Callan’s expression. He didn’t hide it.

That confused me even more.