Chapter 8
Millie
You know the saying, kids: “Never give up.” You can achieve great things with enough determination, and I’m living proof of that.
Callum Murray now has not one, but two social media accounts up and running.
He’s even posted a few things we prepared together.
As I stride into the training centre, I find myself humming “Shake It Off,” thanks to Fergie, who put it in my head the other day.
I was expecting a lot of things when I stepped into Callum’s place—a dark bunker and piles of laundry chief among them—but I would have never guessed he lived in a cute townhouse, beautifully decorated with a freaking adorable parrot. Who is this man?
I march into the gym, and the space is sleek and bright, all high ceilings and spotless mirrors, the hum of treadmills mixing with the low thud of weights hitting rubber flooring.
There’s a faint scent of eucalyptus and something citrusy—probably the high-end cleaning spray the staff uses between sessions.
A few players at the far end of the room are stretching while others flit between machines and drills in small groups.
Exactly the kind of disciplined chaos you’d expect from a Premier League training centre.
On my right, Archie is attempting box jumps on a slightly-too-high platform, shaking out his limbs between attempts like he’s psyching himself up for a stunt.
“Tenner says he stacks it,” Finn mutters, casually curling a dumbbell one-handed as he watches Archie’s struggle.
“I can hear you, Finn,” Archie grunts without looking, knees bent, hands poised. “And I won’t.”
Finn smirks. “Then I just saved ten quid.”
Wade, who’s spotting Cameron on the bench press, glances over with a faint smile. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Encourage me?” Archie scoffs, then finally jumps, landing with a loud thump and a windmilling of arms to stay upright. A smile lights up his face. “That, my friends, was textbook.”
“Textbook for what? Barely surviving?” Cameron sits up, a towel draped around his neck.
“Hey, social media’s here!” Finn calls out, grinning when he notices me. “Hiya, Millie.”
“Hi, guys.” I wave and start filming.
“Want to show our fans where the magic happens?” Archie asks, spreading his arms dramatically like he’s about to reveal a hidden chamber of wonders.
Finn snorts. “Magic? You mean your weird superstition of wearing mismatched socks every single game?”
“So what if I do?” Archie crosses his arms. “They bring balance. My record is proof of that, but let’s find a better topic to discuss, eh? Not very interesting for social media.”
Finn’s eyes are gleaming now. “Oh, yes it is. That, lad, is a crucial bit of information.”
I zoom the camera in on Archie’s socks and laugh. “This is definitely going to end up online.”
“Good,” Finn says. “The people deserve to know.”
Cameron coughs out a laugh. “I think the people deserve better.”
A low grunt comes from the far right, and I flit my eyes to Callum.
He’s doing battle ropes, a picture of quiet focus and coiled strength.
His shirt clings to his sculpted torso, soaked at the collar, and there’s a crease between his brows, as though he’s daring the ropes to fight back.
I aim the camera toward him—discreetly—but he catches me and lifts an eyebrow.
“No close-ups,” he says, but it’s more of a warning than a threat. Still, there’s no bite to his words.
“He speaks!” Archie guffaws. “Must be because he’s an influencer now.”
Finn lets out a dramatic gasp. “That’s right! I still think you should have gone with Grumpycal for your handle. Has a nice ring to it.”
“Don’t you lot have workouts to finish?” Callum grumbles, tossing the ropes aside and grabbing a towel. Despite his sharp retort, I catch the way the corner of his mouth almost twitches. Almost.
I glance up from the screen. “Callum has actually been great to work with,” I say before I can stop myself.
He wipes beads of perspiration from his neck and throws the towel over his shoulder. “Don’t ruin my reputation, Templeton.”
I catch the faintest trace of amusement in his voice, and it makes my chest do something weird and fluttery. I focus back on the camera.
“Don’t worry. You’re still terrifying,” I chirp, offering a bright smile.
His eyes linger on mine. “Good.”
The guys fall back into full jabbing mode, so I walk away to film the rest of the team training. I’m making my way toward another group when Callum calls my name.
“Millie. Can I talk to you for a sec?” he says, his voice softer than usual.
I spin to face him. “Sure.”
“Um.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t manage to add the captions like you showed me. I don’t know why it won’t work. And I can’t shorten videos either. My fingers are too big or something.”
I repress a smile. “That’s okay. I’ll show you again. When’s a good time?”
“I have to focus on my training here, but maybe after? If you don’t mind.” He looks embarrassed asking me to work overtime, reminding me again how different he is from what I first expected.
“No problem. Should I come to your place?” I ask, then press my lips together. “Sorry, that just came out. I don’t want to invite myself over.”
He arches an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest, but the look on his face isn’t nearly as severe. It’s almost as if he’s having fun.
“You want to see Fergie again, eh?”
I feel the blush coating my cheeks. “No. I just think you’re more focused when you’re at home, that’s all.”
He shakes his head. “He’s been talking about you, you know. He’s going to be thrilled.”
“He has?” I beam.
“Aye.” But he doesn’t elaborate. “See you later.” With that, he flips his towel over his shoulder again and saunters over to the elliptical machine.
I get out of the car, tucking my hair under my hood to shield it from the light drizzle.
The air smells like wet pavement and rain-soaked leaves, and my boots tap softly on the walkway as I jog up the few steps to Callum’s townhouse door.
I’ve barely raised my hand to ring the bell when the door swings open.
Callum stands before me, his wide shoulders filling the doorway.
“Hey,” I say with a smile, slightly breathless from the cold.
“Did you take a taxi?” he asks with a subtle frown.
“Yeah, I don’t have a car. Getting one soon. I’m actually going to look for one this weekend with my dad.” The words tumble out faster than I intend, and I mentally wince. Why am I sharing all this with him? He doesn’t need all the details.
“You should have said something. I would’ve given you a ride,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck before letting me in.
“Oh, no worries. Now, where’s my man?” I smile so wide my cheeks hurt.
He shakes his head at me, but there’s the tiniest flicker of amusement in his brown eyes. “In his room. I told him you were coming. He’s excited.”
I follow him up the stairs, my gaze drifting as we pass through his living room.
It’s stylish but masculine—charcoal greys and deep blues, a large corner sofa, and a few houseplants thriving on the windowsill.
The shelves lining the walls surprise me with their mix of football trophies and hardcover novels.
There’s a soft, comforting scent in the air—like cedar and something clean, maybe his laundry detergent.
Fergie’s room is the complete opposite, with vivid colours and the enormous bird cage taking up a large portion of the room.
His little lair is filled with vibrant toys, perches, a swing, and what looks like a tiny plastic tambourine.
Fergie himself is clinging to a perch on the far end, but the moment we step into the room, he spreads his wings and flies straight toward us, landing gracefully on one of his wooden perches.
“Millie! Millie pretty,” he calls, bobbing his head as if dancing for joy.
“There you are, little guy. Oh, you’re so cute,” I say, passing my hands through the cage. He immediately bows his head to let me pet his soft feathers.
“So cute,” Fergie repeats. “Cuddles, please.”
I giggle, continuing to gently scratch his head, and his eyes flutter half-shut in delight.
“Yeah, this is not normal,” Callum says, arms crossed and frown firmly in place. His bulging biceps seem to stretch out his jumper. Swallowing hard, I force myself to look away. The man is built like a Greek statue, and it’s deeply inconvenient.
“Of course it is. It’s called instalove.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Should I let him out for a minute? He could—”
“Oh yes, please!” I almost jump in place. “I’d love that.”
“Out! Out!” Fergie chants, wings fluttering with anticipation.
Callum opens the cage door, and Fergie steps out calmly onto his forearm.
My breath catches. The man looks like something out of a nature documentary—confident, comfortable, and somehow gentler than I expected.
The contrast between Callum’s sheer size and the small bird’s delicate claws might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hold out your arm,” Callum says, his voice softer now.
I extend my arm, and Fergie hops onto it. He’s even more beautiful up close—vivid green feathers that shimmer with hints of gold, ringed eyes that are bright and curious, and tiny claws that are surprisingly warm against my skin.
He dances from foot to foot, then says, “Cuddles!”
A laugh bursts out of me as I begin scratching his head again.
“Yeah, he’s a little bossy,” Callum says, leaning against the doorframe.
The way he looks right now, completely relaxed and—dare I say it, almost happy—is doing weird things to my stomach.
I always knew he was attractive, or at least, not unattractive, but for the first time, I notice just how good-looking he is.
Chiseled jaw, corded arms, deep brown eyes with hints of caramel, and the ghost of a smile I’m dying to see.
“Again!” Fergie demands, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“Easy,” Callum says. “Be nice.”