Callan
Today fucking sucked. How have we dropped four straight games?
And my body hurts. I’m getting too slow to scramble the way I need to, and my sacks-per-game number is one I’m feeling in every inch of my body.
All I wanted to do was hold Charlotte’s hand while we drove home from the training center before eating dinner together at the kitchen island.
And then curling up together in my bed and listening to her running monologue as she responds to emails, and I read business books.
Maybe eating a few Nerds Clusters. Or a bag. I’m in pain, after all.
Unfortunately, Charlotte is having a planning session with her brother tonight.
I offered them our place to do it at, but she turned me down.
Quickly. Which is fine. I pace back and forth as I brush my teeth, reminding myself that this is my life.
I’ve gotten ready for bed hundreds of times by myself in this house.
Years worth. Things with Charlotte are… fake.
Even if it doesn’t feel fake. Even if I don’t want it to be fake.
It is. For now, at least.
The door to our room opens, and Charlotte walks in. My body calms, a centered feeling coming over me. Like she’s the missing block in my foundation, keeping me stable.
Toothbrush still in my mouth, I step into the room and watch through the doorway as she puts her shoes away before pulling out a pair of silky pajamas.
Her clothes have slowly started to take over half the closet space, my suits moving closer together as she puts things away in here instead of in the guest room.
“Hey, Ball Boy.” She kisses my cheek lightly when she joins me at the bathroom sink a minute later. “How’s the arm feeling?”
“It’s sore,” I confess. “The trainers worked over my shoulder, but that helmet I took to my upper arm left a massive bruise.”
She skims her fingers over my skin, barely making contact. “Let me see.”
I lift the arm of my T-shirt, exposing the slight lump and drastic discoloration.
“Shit.” Her gaze meets mine. “That looks terrible.”
I shrug. “I’ll survive. At least it’s not my throwing arm.” I pull her into me and press a gentle kiss to her lips. “I missed you.”
She wraps her arms around me, inhaling deeply. “I missed you, too. Marlee invited me for a sleepover, but I wanted to be back here.”
We’ve slept together every night since I carried her to my bed instead of the guest room.
The next night, she’d knocked on my door and said, “Is it okay if I sleep in here? I like cuddling.” I patted the bed next to me, and the rest is history.
And by that, I mean we haven’t talked about it in the three weeks since.
Probably because she likes to cuddle.
And I like her.
So we keep sleeping together. Sometimes, just sleeping. Sometimes, more than sleeping. But I love both ways. Everything about her is so small and warm—everything.
My dick grows hard thinking about it.
Instead of acknowledging the hard-on between us—something that would’ve never happened with any other woman I’ve been with in the last ten years—I ask, “How did your time with Chris go? He still struggling with the staff?”
Charlotte shakes her head. “No. Frannie’s on his side now. The team would follow her anywhere, so they’re on board now.”
I study the woman in my arms. “You made a call, didn’t you?”
She scrunches her nose, and my heart feels like it’s swan-diving into my stomach.
“Maybe.” After a pause, she continues, “I love that my team is so loyal to me, but Chris really is doing a good job. He might not know entertainment, but he knows business, and he knows people. So I may have convinced Frannie to meet me for coffee to catch up and asked her to help him out. I want what’s best for the company.
This thing Dad is having us do is so dumb, but I’m not going to let his mistake wreck the organization I love and all the work I’ve put into it. ”
She lets go of me, walking to the sink to wash her face.
“We spent the majority of the time brainstorming potential sponsors for me to reach out to. The economy is tough right now, especially when it comes to finding someone willing to put in the amount of money we’re looking for without wanting an ownership percentage, which you know Dad is not giving up.
And the stadium’s name is under contract for ten more years. ”
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask.
“Just that gala next month. November 12th, I think.” She glances at me as she massages some kind of oil into her skin. “That still works for you, right?”
“Of course.” I lean against the wall, content to simply watch her get ready for bed.
When she’s finally done, I follow her into our room, pulling down the comforter on my side of the bed. “Family dinner this Sunday?”
“Yeah. Thursday game equals Sunday dinner. Langford family tradition. You can’t spend the whole time playing with Marlee, though. It’s not fair.”
“She’s the coolest one of you,” I disagree as Charlotte finally gets into bed, her laptop in hand. “Lots of work tonight?”
“Still trying to understand everything. Speaking of which, can you explain the cap to me like I’m five? Because I always think I get it, but then I start reviewing documents, and suddenly it’s like it’s a foreign language.”
“Of course. But only if you cuddle with me while I do it.” I hold one arm out as I tap my shoulder with my left hand, my back propped against the pillows.
She sighs dramatically before scooting closer to me. “The things I do for this team.”
Once she’s cuddled up against me, with an expression of mocking adoration on her face, I dive into the simplest explanation of salary caps as I can muster.
“So basically, the salary cap is like your budget for players. It’s set by the league, though, so you can’t increase it, even if you want to.
Each player gets a base salary that counts against the cap each year.
Signing bonuses are paid upfront, but they’re spread across the life of a contract.
So if you get a forty-million-dollar bonus for a four-year contract, it’s ten million per year against the cap. ”
Nodding, she replies, “Okay. That’s what I thought. And then dead cap is any bonus still being used against the cap, but the player is traded or cut from the team for some reason?” She pops her knuckles on her right hand. “So, dead cap is when the player is dead to us?”
I laugh, and a small spark lights inside of me. I could do this every night of my life and be a really fucking happy man. “I mean, yes. Though, as someone who is getting paid out a large bonus over multiple years, I’d rather you describe it a different way.”
Her smile fades slightly, and she nuzzles into me further. “I don’t like thinking about that.”
I tighten my arm around her. “I don’t, either. I don’t know what it would do to Nan to have to move again.”
Charlotte goes quiet, the same thing she does every time I mention Nan. She hasn’t been back to Sunshine Hills since that fateful visit, and I can’t decide whether to push it or not.
Everything else with Charlotte is easy in a way it never has been with any other woman.
I don’t have to think about how much time I’m spending at the gym, or when it’s going to work with our schedules to go on a date or get together.
And even when I could, I always felt like I couldn’t be myself around anyone but Nan.
And now Charlotte.
But I hate that there is a wedge between her and Nan. And I feel guilty for not removing it. For not being sure if I want it removed.
Charlotte slides away from me, pulling up her laptop.
“Lot more work to get through tonight?” I ask.
“No. Just need to send two emails. The CFO has a few proposals about financing the repairs that the stadium needs. I need more information about one of them.” Charlotte continues walking me through everything she’s doing and why.
I know it would annoy some people, but I relish it.
It’s like she trusts me enough to let me fully into her thoughts.
Finally, she closes her computer, setting it on her nightstand. Like she does every night, she climbs out of bed and turns off the light before snuggling into my side. I turn, wrapping my body around her, never more content than when I get to be Charlotte’s big spoon.