Chapter 14
Callum
I’ve been out of bed for barely an hour, and my phone’s already throwing a tantrum.
Missed calls, texts, emails, and what must be a thousand social media notifications—seriously, I need to disable those.
Fergie has gotten way too popular. I’m about to open a text from my mum when Alec’s name pops up on a video call.
I sigh and pick up. “Everything all right, Dwarf?”
Alec doesn’t even say hello, instead launching into a terrible impression of me: “‘Of course I don’t have a girlfriend,’” he drawls, then breaks into a mischievous grin. “Liar.”
I roll my eyes. “Is the Aussie sun cooking your brain or something? I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Tell that to every tabloid on the planet, bro. Millie—that’s the girl who watched Fergie, right?”
I screw my eyes shut. Oh no. Suddenly, the chain of events unravels in my mind. Her stupid ex, her crazy plan. How hurt she looked. Us posing for a picture. “It’s not—we’re not… Look, we were just faking it because of her ex.”
Alec’s eyes stretch wide. “What? You serious?”
“Yeah. Keep it to yourself, all right? I need to call her this morning.”
He shakes his head, still grinning. “You should read the articles, mate. For once, they’re not trashing you. It’s a nice change.”
I hang up with a muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Bye.”
Drawing a deep breath, I start with Mum’s text. Just a quick message relaying exactly what I told Alec. She’ll be disappointed, no doubt. She’s been on a mission to get me coupled up since I hit twenty-two.
Next, I skim through the articles my agent forwarded me. Alec wasn’t exaggerating. They’re calling me romantically reformed, surprisingly sweet, shockingly normal. One even calls me London’s most misunderstood footballer, citing the fact that I’m finally off the market.
I snap out of my thoughts when Fergie starts belting out a song from his room. I glance at the time. Right—I was supposed to let him out ages ago.
I trudge over to his room and unlatch the cage.
“Game?” he chirps, flapping over to the TV stand.
“Give me a sec, mate,” I mumble, already pulling up Millie’s number. It might be better if we talk this out before we see each other at the centre. “I have to call Millie.”
He bobs his head, dancing. “Millie pretty. Millie pretty.”
I lean against the wall as she picks up, slightly out of breath.
“Callum,” she says. “Have you seen?”
“Why do you think I’m calling?” I snap, then rub my temple. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Millie pretty!” Fergie squawks again, somehow managing to break his volume record.
“Oh, hi, Fergie,” Millie says in a louder voice, so I pull the phone from my ear.
“Hello,” Fergie continues, looking at the phone.
I toss him a little foam ball to distract him.
“And—wait, you’re sorry?” she says. “I’m the one who dragged you into this. I feel awful. The whole point of our work was to deflect unwanted attention from you, not shine a massive spotlight on your life.”
“Don’t worry about it. Honestly, I’m fine.” I lean my head back against the wall. “I skimmed a few articles—they’re not bad, actually. For once, the writers aren’t calling me an iceberg or a robot. I’ve been humanized, apparently.”
“Still, I should have thought it through. With the photographers and the media there…”
“It’s okay. These things tend to die down quickly. Especially since we have a match tonight. Trust me, in a couple of days, no one will care about us. I just hope they don’t bug you.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” she says, her voice muffled. “Just focus on your match tonight, okay?”
“I always do.” I furrow my brow. “Hey, where are you? You sound weird.”
“On my way to the car dealership,” she says. “I’m meeting my dad there. Getting my new car today.”
“Big day, then.” I pause. “Well, see you later?”
“Yeah. Fair warning, I’ll be filming in the locker room before the game.”
I groan, half teasing. “I can’t even prep for a match in peace.”
There’s a pause on the line. Then, I hear her chuckle.
“I’m kidding,” I say. “See you later, Templeton.”
When we hang up, Fergie pushes his ball deeper under the TV and pipes up. “Bye!”
Millie
When I reach the dealership lot, I’m hit by the faint scent of motor oil and hot gravel.
Rows of cars are gleaming under the sun, decked out with big price decals and discount stickers.
Dad looks entirely in his element, hands tucked into his gardening jacket pockets as he scans the options with the same calm focus he probably uses when checking his seedlings in the greenhouse.
“So,” he begins, eyes roving over a row of hatchbacks. “Seems like you’ve been keeping busy with this new job. You’re not still going ‘round to that Murray fellow’s place, are you?”
My stomach churns. “Um, no, not really. We usually work at the training centre.”
“Good, good,” he says, his eyes not meeting mine. “It’s a lot more professional that way. It’s your job, after all, right?
“Um, yeah.” Searching for a distraction, I let my eyes wander when I spot a flash of colour near the edge of the lot. “Oh! Look at that one!” I hurry over before he can press further.
It’s an older model, sunflower yellow with giant daisy decals across the doors. I grin as I trace a petal with my fingertip. “Isn’t it adorable?”
Dad chuckles, catching up with me. “It’s very you, I’ll give you that. But those things are pretty temperamental. Parts cost a fortune too.”
I cringe. “Fair point.”
Good thing I brought my dad along. He knows way more about cars than I do, which is generally true for everything. If it weren’t for him, I’d be living in a drafty flat above a takeaway in Croydon, wondering why I have rats for roommates.
“Now this is more my speed,” he booms, giving the hood of an old Land Rover a friendly pat. “Solid. Reliable. Built to last.”
“It’s grey, Dad,” I say, scrunching my nose. “I need colour in my life.”
He drills me with a hard stare. “You need a safe car, that’s what you need.”
I glance at the car again and almost cave, but the only cool thing about shopping for a car is choosing the colour. “Do they have it in pink?”
He shakes his head. “Honey, we’re not shopping for a dress here.”
“Fine,” I groan, dragging my feet, but the yellow car is still calling my name.
Dad stops in front of a tiny black car. “How about this one? Good mileage, easy to park, not too fancy.”
Nope—definitely not fancy. Try boring.
I slide into the driver’s seat, the fresh, clean scent wrapping around me. It’s not bad, I guess. “So, you think this one’s better than the grey one?”
He raps his fist on the top of the car. “Oh yeah. These things are solid. Good price too.”
The salesman reappears from behind a row of sedans, a bright smile on his face. “Have you found anything you like? How about a test drive?”
Dad steals a glance at me.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I like this one. I’d like to try it please.”
Looks like I may have found myself a car. It’s not as cute as I hoped, but at least now I’ll have an easier time getting to the training centre and Callum’s house—although I keep that last part to myself.