Charlotte
“You ready to go?” I ask, sliding a red sweater on and tugging the hem until it covers the waistband of my jeans.
“No,” he groans from where he’s spread out on our bed, already clad in a dark green three-quarter zip that is doing fucking amazing things for his eyes.
The poor guy didn’t get home until five, and dinner is at seven, so we have some time but not a lot.
And we have to pick up Nan before driving to my parents’.
“Worried your grandma will insult me in front of my dad?” I sit on the bed next to him, and he reaches out, resting his hand on my leg.
“No. I talked to her. She promised to be on her best behavior.”
I grimace. “Callan! I told you not to mention it to her.”
He sits up, resting on both elbows. “Charlotte, she was rude to you. There was no way in hell I was not going to mention it, even if your parents hadn’t invited her over for Christmas dinner.
I assured her you aren’t using me for my money.
Honestly, I pulled up an article talking about how much money your dad has.
It didn’t take much more convincing than that. I’m sure she will apologize to you.”
Callan is nothing if not optimistic. Though maybe he’s not worried about Nan because he’s not feeling the same shift in our relationship that I am, so he doesn’t care if she dislikes me, as long as she isn’t rude.
“Shall we go?” he asks, pulling himself to a full seated position in a way that almost feels like bragging about his ab strength. I would’ve had to wet fish it onto my side to get out of bed.
I twist the pearl earring in my right ear.
“Yes! But first, I got you a Christmas present. It’s not anything big.
And you might hate it, but I think you’ll like it.
Or I hope you will. Not that it cost me anything.
To be clear, I would’ve spent money on you.
We’ve just been so busy the last month with the season and all your travel for your sponsorship deals, and with me truly getting into the thick of things at work, I—”
Callan presses his lips against mine, his favorite way to make me stop talking these days.
I want to be insulted by it, but I’m not.
He usually lets me go on until I work myself into a spiral and then cuts it off before it moves from a baby spiral to a full-blown crisis.
“I got you a gift, too.” He stands and walks out of the room.
I follow him, finding him looking into the branches of the tree that a decorating company put up during the first week of December.
Apparently, Callan likes a festive house.
It does make it feel like home. Though, that might have more to do with the man I’m sharing it with.
I take the box, carefully inspecting the slightly crinkled wrapping job. Judging by the amount of tape used to keep it all together, it’s hand-wrapped. “Okay, this looks like you put a lot of thought into it, and I want you to know that I did, too. It might not look like it, but—”
His smile is soft as he taps the top. “Open it, Princess.”
I pull on the wrapping paper and open the reused cardboard box inside. Laughing, I pull out six bags of Nerds Clusters inside.
“It’s all the varieties I could find.” Callan rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks slightly pink. “I thought we could do a taste test sometime to pick our favorite.”
I throw my arms around him. “This is amazing! I haven’t had the Christmas ones yet.
Or the orange bag.” I sort through the six bags again.
“Oh my God. Grape Strawberry Blitz? It looks like Princess Clusters. We should take some to Marlee. And Halloween ones?” I squeeze the bag. “How are these not rock hard?”
He grins. “That’s what she said.”
“Oh really? Is someone commenting on your flaccid penis a lot?” I bite my lips to keep my laughter from slipping out as his eyebrows pull together in confusion.
“No, that’s not… I meant—”
I push onto my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss. “Fortunately for me, that’s not a problem we have to deal with.” I gently rub my hand along his already hardening cock as I drop onto my flat feet.
“Princess,” he rumbles. “Behave. Or we’re going to be late.”
“What if I want to ditch everyone and spend Christmas with just you?”
He exhales loudly, taking a step away from me. “We can’t. We can’t.”
I’m not sure whether he’s trying to convince me or himself, but I turn and start walking toward the garage. “Fine. Come on, then. I’ll give you my gift in the car.” I pop my knuckles. I hope he’ll like it. The Nerds Clusters were the perfect gift; I’m worried mine might not measure up.
We ride in silence for a moment before finally Callan turns toward me. “Can I open my present yet?” His puppy-dog eyes are out, the ones he knows I can’t resist.
“Let me see your phone.”
He unlocks it before handing it to me, his expression turning puzzled as I click a few times on the screen.
“Okay, I know you like the playlists you have, but I also realized a couple of weeks ago that you’ve been letting me win so we can listen to my music.
So, I thought maybe you’d like one more playlist. Not one for every occasion, like me.
I know you don’t want that many options.
But, so, yeah. I made you a playlist. Which I’m realizing now was a terrible idea.
I’m forcing my music tastes on you. I can delete it.
I’ll wait until you’re asleep and make you wake up for long enough to unlock your phone again.
Honestly, you should probably be worried about your e-safety with how easy it was to unlock your phone using your mostly sleeping face—”
“Charlotte. Can you play it, please?” His voice is almost reverent.
I nod once before clicking the play button on his music streaming app. He listens for a minute before saying, “This is the song you played on our way home from the Vegas game.”
“Yeah. You sang along to this one.”
He glances at me for a moment, as if searching for something before turning his attention back to the road. “What’d you name it?”
I bite my lip. “‘My Version of You.’”
Eyebrow quirked; he mouths it. “I like it. Not as good as ‘Music’ but it’s got that Charlotte Langford vibe to it.”
“I do think you’ll like the songs. Or I know you like them. And I think they’ll make you happy.”
He reaches across and grabs my hand, stopping me from popping my knuckles again. “I love it, Charlotte. Thank you.”
I hand his phone back to him. “You can always delete it if you decide you don’t like it. I shared it with you from my account because I was going to add to it as I find out more songs that you like before I have to move—but, anyway, I realized you like consistency, so no new songs.”
The smile I give him is forced: I’m in my head about this. Not only because I almost reminded us that we’re barely two and a half months away from when we agreed I’d move out, but also because I can’t tell whether he likes it or not.
“This is the best gift anyone has ever gotten me,” he finally says, and my heart swells. “Thank you, Princess.”
***
“So this is Nan, huh?” Chris murmurs, giving me a hug in the foyer of my parents’ house forty-five minutes later.
“She said, and I quote, ‘So interesting to see you’re still around’ to me when we picked her up.”
Definitely not the apology Callan thought I was getting. And from the not-at-all-subtle cough he made after her statement, it wasn’t on her preapproved list of behaviors.
“I kind of respect her for it, though,” I admit as we walk toward the dining room. “Someone is going to have to protect him after—” I cut myself off, but I know it’s too late. Chris’ eyes are wide.
“Don’t tell me,” he warns.
I’d cautioned my mom that Nan wasn’t likely up for the standing cocktail portion of our usual family dinner, so after hugs and wishing everyone merry Christmas, we immediately take our seats.
Fortunately, Mom put Nan next to her, Callan between us, and directly across from Marlee.
It’s hard not to be jealous of my favorite little person when I see how much Callan loves her.
Dinner is a festive affair, conversation and wine flowing as everyone studiously avoids talking about the game—the usual Christmas topic of conversation.
Instead, Marlee is telling us every single gift Santa brought her that morning.
I raise my eyebrows at Chris, silently reprimanding him for the absurd number of toys the mythical man brought.
Hopefully, she doesn’t compare with the kids at daycare.
Nan and Mom are deep in conversation about Mom’s charity work around the city and the keynote she attended in October about the silver tsunami and the challenges Colorado is facing with its aging population.
Not necessarily a Christmas conversation, in my humble opinion, but they’re both leaning forward, completely locked in.
When he finally finishes demolishing a plate of prime rib and twice-baked potatoes, Callan places his hand on my thigh.
Holding his decaf coffee in his left hand to maintain the contact, he offers me a small smile before being pulled back into conversation with Chris and my dad about their car collections.
I zone out, admiring the muscles in his face move as he talks.
His cheeks bunching as he laughs at something Chris says.
He catches my gaze and smiles, his eyes softening in the way they only do for me.
In my peripheral vision, I catch Nan watching us, the look on her face something between worry and confusion.
My attention is pulled away by Dad’s phone buzzing on the table.
None of the rest of us are allowed to have devices at dinner, but Dad has always been the exception to that rule.
He stares at the screen for a moment before looking at me.
“Charlotte, would you join me in my office? Hugo needs a few minutes.”
I nod. “Of course.” Football teams wait for no holiday. It’s a truth I’ve been raised with since birth.
Callan squeezes my leg once before I stand, offering his silent support for whatever is about to happen. I’ve told him how frustrated I am with Hugo blocking me and undermining me at least once a week, but I also haven’t been able to tell him the majority of it, since it’s all confidential.
And it’s mostly about him.
I follow my dad into his office, taking a seat across from him as he dials. “Hugo,” my dad begins from his large office chair, his cell phone placed between us on his desk. “You’ve got me and Charlotte.”
Hugo clears his throat, the sound loud through the speakerphone. “Oh. Great.”
It’s clear by the way he says it that he hadn’t asked for me to be brought into this meeting. Too bad, Hugo.
After a moment, he starts in on what sounds like a pre-prepared speech. “After the loss today, we need to seriously consider working on a trade deal for Devine.”
I want to object, but I know that in this call, my disagreement means nothing.
Hugo sees me as a girl playing at being the boss.
One whose emotions are too involved to make a rational decision.
And that’s not speculation. He told me that exact thing last week when I suggested we needed to invest in our offensive line.
“I don’t know, Hugo,” my dad says, his hands steepled beneath his chin. “He’s still playing at a high level.”
“We’re 9–7 with him playing at that level. That’s the problem. We’re not a contender. We need to cut our losses and free up some more cap for next year.”
Dad shakes his head, his gaze darting to mine briefly before focusing on his phone screen. “How far away are we from being a contender for the championship in your mind?”
“At least three years,” Hugo declares, not pausing to consider the question. Maybe he was ready with an answer because he’s good at his job and has already anticipated what my dad’s going to ask. Or maybe he’s a snake and is building a story to achieve the outcome he wants.
Though I’m not sure why he wants Callan gone, if not to benefit the team.
“I disagree,” I cut in, and Hugo snorts derisively before the line goes silent, clearly having muted himself. Taking advantage of the silence, I continue, “I’ve talked to the coaches and trainers. The general consensus is that we can be there next year.”
“And how much money are you willing to bet on that, Charlotte?” I don’t know why I didn’t notice how nasal Hugo’s voice was before I started working with him.
“Because if we trade him now, it’s $30 million this year.
If we wait, dead cap jumps to $50 million, and far fewer teams are going to be able to afford him. ”
I pop my knuckles, earning a disapproving glance from my father. Yes, yes. I’m quite aware of my bad habit. “But what’s the cost of the fan reaction? The team’s reaction? They all love him.”
Hugo releases a frustrated sigh that even has my dad’s eyebrows lifting. “Just because you love him, Charlotte, doesn’t mean the rest of the world does. There will be some backlash if we trade him, there almost always is with quarterbacks, but he hasn’t won a championship in two years.”
“We were there last year, though,” Dad chimes in.
“Which doesn’t help his case,” Hugo responds.
“There’s lots of talk that this year’s record, coupled with last year’s failed attempt, proves Devine is on a downhill trajectory.
Finally aging out. I’m not sure how many more sacks his body can take.
And sure, the fans and a few players might be mad for a minute, but give it a year under a new quarterback, and everyone will have forgotten about him. ”
My skin crawls as we talk about Callan like he’s some test dummy out there to be pummeled until he finally falls apart or is upgraded. Especially since he’s here, in this house, having Christmas dinner with our family. Hell, he’s probably having a tea party with Marlee right now.
“The coaches and trainers haven’t mentioned anything about him slowing down,” I reply, trying to remain neutral. “I’m not saying we can make it to the championship game this year, but I think we can make it next year if we get the offensive line figured out.”
“It’s not the O-line, Charlotte,” Hugo snaps. “We’ve been over this.”
“I disagree—”
“All right,” Dad cuts off our argument. “I’m not sure we’re a contender, but let’s see how far we make it this year. We don’t have to make any decisions today.”
“I—”
“That’s—”
Hugo and I start talking over each other.
“Enough. We wait,” my dad declares, proving how little say I actually have in this acting owner role. “Have a merry Christmas, Hugo. Make sure to tell Bianca merry Christmas from us, too.”
Hugo begrudgingly wishes us the same before hanging up.
“A championship run is open for next year,” I reiterate as Dad and I make our way back to the party. “And the only way we’re getting there is with Callan. I’m not saying that because of who he is to me. I’m saying that because of who he is to the team. We need him.”