30. Beth
CHAPTER THIRTY
BETH
I watched Callan’s game against Northpark the day after we’d had the best sex of my entire life.
He’d kept me up until three in the morning, screwing me literally six ways till Sunday until I had to beg him to stop because I was pretty sure my heart was going to explode. I’d actually lost count of my orgasms.
When his alarm went off three hours later, I’d groaned and buried my head under the pillow that smelled like him. Hearing him switch it off, I’d tensed, waiting to be thrown out, but instead, he’d just gotten up. So exhausted, I fell back asleep, and he woke me with a minty kiss.
I’d mumbled incoherently at him, eyes blurry with tiredness.
I vaguely recalled him grinning at me before pressing another kiss to my lips. “Stay here, sleep. There’s coffee and food in the kitchen.”
So I’d happily fallen asleep, but not before I’d heard him whisper, “Fuck, I wish I could get back in that bed with you.”
At least I thought I had. It was possible I’d imagined it.
Hours later, I’d woken up and pulled on Callan’s dressing robe to wander through his flat. The first thing I noted was the e-reader on his bedside table. Nosy as heck, I switched it on and discovered Callan was a reader. He had a ton of thriller, spy, and military novels on the device.
It made me smile and realize there was still so much about him I didn’t know. The penthouse was pristine. Callan seemed to like things uncluttered. The only three photographs I could find in the whole flat were framed photos of whom I suspected were his mum and stepdad. Little boy Callan stood in the middle of a good-looking bloke and a pretty dark-haired woman, and the Universal Studios Florida sign behind them told me it was taken on a family holiday. An ache scored across my chest on his behalf.
The other two photos were of his friends. One of him and Baird and John, the other of him and his team. Those sat on the sideboard in the hall.
A shelf in his walk-in wardrobe housed all his football trophies and awards. They were hidden where very few people would see them. Those were the only truly personal things I’d discovered.
Feeling guilty for looking, I did the very short walk of shame down to my flat so I could shower and get on with my day. Before heading over to my family’s for Sunday dinner, I got through some work and uncharacteristically switched the TV to the live play of Callan’s game. He’d had such little sleep, I worried about him, recalling that he said this game was a second round in the Scottish Series Cup. The fact that he was playing games in three different tournaments was pretty impressive.
He’d told me at the launch party that Caley United were doing well in the premiership. Their hope, of course, was to win, but the second goal was to avoid relegation. Relegation would see them drop out of the Pro League to the division below.
It turned out there was nothing to worry about. Callan dominated the game, and I had to wonder if maybe sex was a shot of caffeine for him. He gave no sign of lack of sleep, and if anything, he was extremely focused and determined. He was a captain out there, rallying his troops. Watching him encourage them, motivate them, power down the pitch, keeping control of the ball at such speed, I’d gotten more than a bit turned on. The crowd shouted a chant about him being faster than the Flash, and pride hit me.
I didn’t know if I was allowed to be proud of him, but I couldn’t help but be in awe.
And wish that he was coming directly home from the game to me.
But he wasn’t.
That wasn’t what we were.
And he hadn’t texted me.
So I finished up what work I could and went to my parents’ for Sunday dinner.
Callan was waiting for me when I came home, and without a word stalked across the hallway and pulled me against him for a hungry kiss.
“We won,” he growled as he finally let me up for air.
I already knew but didn’t feel it was my place to text to congratulate him. Moreover, I didn’t want him thinking I watched the game because I was pining for him. “Congrats.”
He kissed me again and then swooped me up into his arms. I let out a laugh as I grabbed onto him. I wasn’t exactly tiny. “What are you doing?”
“I want to celebrate inside you.”
Chuckling, I caressed the nape of his neck. “We can do that, but you’ll have to put me down so I can let us into my flat.”
“Give me your keys.”
Deciding not to argue, I gave him my keys and watched as he somehow got the door open with me in his arms. He marched down the hallway to my bedroom and threw me on the bed again.
“You need to stop doing that!”
His answer was to come down on top of me and kiss me until I couldn’t think or speak, and that was me for the rest of the night. Lost in wild abandon in Callan Keen’s arms.
And just like the night before, everything else, all my worries, melted away.
It was bloody magnificent.
A few days later, I stood on the esplanade of Edinburgh Castle with Mhairi, the Social Queens content creator and photographer, my mum, and her agent and editor who’d flown up from London. They were in town for other business stuff and were meeting with Mum about her upcoming book release, so I decided to tag along for the social media promo I was shooting for the book.
We were doing it a wee bit earlier than we’d usually plan since Mum and Dad were leaving for Asia tomorrow for a three-week trip. They were visiting Japan, Singapore, Vietnam, and Thailand.
Mum hated getting her photo taken, but she was cool to Mhairi as she took snaps of Mum solo with the castle in the background and then with the city behind her. We switched it up and took some shots of her with the book too.
The place was packed because it was August, but we had permission to be on the premises, so someone from the castle served as our rep and directed tourists away from our small group.
“So …,” Mhairi said quietly as she took a few more shots of Mum. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since the newspaper thing. What’s going on there?”
It felt like the millionth time someone had asked me that question.
Monday morning, Callan and I had awoken from another sexathon to texts and calls from family, friends, and Callan’s publicist. The Scottish Star had published photographs of me and Callan at the Aura Beauty party. One was a pretty good photo of us smiling, Callan’s arm relaxed around my waist. We looked good together. The other photo was one we were unaware of. We were sitting at the table, Callan’s head bent toward me as he whispered in my ear. It was purely innocent, but my bare leg was on view and his hand was on my knee.
The headline read KEEN BAGS A POSH WAG .
WAG stood for Wives and Girlfriends of professional athletes. It wasn’t the most progressive title.
Even though the article divulged we’d stated we hadn’t confirmed we were dating, the journalist insinuated from our body language that we were. They, of course, mentioned my name and my semi famous parents. The only positive thing was the article mentioned Social Queens, and we’d gained a bunch of new followers. I could only hope it translated to new clients too.
I’d had to phone my parents to tell them it was a lie and that Callan and I were just friends, and I’d texted back my cousins and friends, all asking about the article. Callan’s publicist had suggested we not respond, and Callan didn’t seem at all bothered by it. His only concern was that I was ruffled by the exposure.
The truth was, I hated lying to my family. But I also didn’t know how to explain to them that Callan and I were casual without that unleashing a maelstrom of concern and well-intended interference.
My fault, really, for having been so public about my desire to find Mr. Right.
Yet, I couldn’t help myself with Callan. The last few days were the first in a long time that I felt relaxed and destressed. Life seemed a little less overwhelming, and I was tackling work with renewed energy.
Mhairi, however, was impartial. We hadn’t known each other long, and she seemed cool and nonjudgmental. “We’re a no-strings kind of situation.”
“Oh, really?” Mum called out in her husky voice.
I looked back and realized she’d somehow overheard. “Bat ears, woman,” I huffed.
Mum grimaced and bridged the distance between us. She took hold of my elbow. “Excuse us, ladies.”
“Mum, we have to get this done.”
“This will only take a minute.” She led me away from our group until they were out of earshot. Mum searched my face. “You’re sleeping with this guy? You said you weren’t. Is that why you got a meeting for him with your dad?”
I shook my head. “That happened before. He’s … my friend.”
“That you’re having sex with?”
“Aye, but just sex.”
“When have you ever been a just sex kind of person?”
“I’ve had casual sex.”
She raised an eyebrow. “But it’s not what you want. You’ve made that clear. So I’m guessing he’s the one who doesn’t want a serious relationship.”
“You would be correct. He doesn’t ‘do’ relationships.”
“Beth—”
“Honestly, Mum, it’s working for me right now. I’m enjoying myself. So no harm, no foul, right?”
She considered this. “Your dad told you who he is.”
“He did. But he’s got no affiliation with Gavin beyond biological. Like I told Dad, Callan lost his mum and his stepdad, whom he considered his real dad, when he was a kid.”
Sympathy and compassion lightened Mum’s eyes. “Your dad didn’t tell me that.”
“You more than anyone can understand what it must have been like for him. And then he was dropped on Gavin’s doorstep and Gavin made it clear he wasn’t wanted. Callan has nothing to do with him now.”
“That’s good. Not the bad parenting part, but that Callan doesn’t have anything to do with Gavin.” Mum ducked her head to study me again. “Be careful, baby. You sound like you care about this guy.”
Panic threatened to ruin the good mood that had followed me around for days. “As a human being, of course I do. But Callan isn’t the kind of guy a girl settles down with. He doesn’t want that. I know what this is. Let me enjoy it without judgment.”
Mum sighed. “I am the last person to judge anyone, let alone my kid. But a long time ago, I tried to convince myself this one particular guy was only a convenient hookup and a lot of feelings got hurt.”
I tensed. “What happened to him?”
She smiled and waved her ring finger. “He was a stubborn asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Laughter bubbled on my lips. “You’re talking about Dad.”
“Yup.” She caressed my cheek, concern dimming her amusement. “I was lucky, Beth. I found someone willing to do a lot of hard work to pull my head out of my trauma. Your dad has thick skin. You have to be thick-skinned when you’re trying to get someone to admit they love you when they’re terrified of loving anyone. Grief either makes you hold on tight or push everyone away.”
She was talking about Callan.
And I realized with a pang of alarm that she might be right about him. When we were kids, he’d been way more open and vulnerable with me. His intentions back then had been serious.
Now it seemed like he didn’t want to be emotionally close to anyone, except for Baird and John. Maybe even then.
I nodded, letting Mum know I heard her. “I won’t catch feelings,” I promised. “And if I think I am, I’ll cut myself loose.”
“I didn’t say that.” Mum smiled mysteriously. “I’m just saying … if you start to catch feelings and you think he might be too, prepare yourself for a fight.”
“It’s only casual,” I insisted.
Maybe Mum and Dad’s love had started out as a battle, but Callan and I were not Mum and Dad. We were merely having the best sex of our lives for the next five weeks.
End of story.