Chapter 15
Callum
The second I step into the locker rooms at the training ground, my teammates are whistling and tossing out teasing remarks.
“So, that’s why you didn’t want me to flirt with her,” Abbott says, slapping my back.
They heckle me all through practice—and on the bus ride to the stadium. Just when they finally shut up and start to focus on the game, Francois pops his head in the locker room.
“Millie will be filming in here soon. Get dressed, messieurs.”
I groan. Here we go again.
Slumping in my stall, I drag a hand down my face, wishing time would just go faster. Unfortunately, I’m stuck sitting between Archie and Finn.
“You secretive little devil,” Finn says, placing a hand on my thigh.
I whip it away. “Shut up.”
“Who knew? Grumpy Callum and Sunny Millie,” Archie says. “Like something straight out of a movie.”
“Or a book,” Cameron adds, getting up and standing in front of me. Luckily, his knee is much better today. “When did that happen?”
The whole team is looking at me, and I just sigh.
“It’s not real,” I admit, keeping my voice low to make sure we’re not overheard.
“What!” Archie practically shouts.
“Shhh!” I gesture them in closer. “Her ex was at the gala last night. She needed backup, that’s all. The media just filled in the blanks.”
Finn raises a brow. “Oh, I’m sure that was such a painful sacrifice.”
I level him with a stare. “Anyway, it’s fake. End of story. So, you can quit with the commentary.”
“Statistically speaking,” Finn says, his perfect imitation of his sister making the guys laugh, “people who are faking it have a one hundred percent chance of fooling themselves.”
That earns a full round of laughter from the guys. As for me, I just shake my head and pull on my shin guards.
“Okay, messieurs,” Francois announces, gliding into the room in his usual theatrical fashion. He’s flanked by the assistant coaches—and Millie.
She’s wearing a plain team jersey with skinny jeans, camera in hand, and my heart gives a stupid little lurch. Our eyes meet, just for a second, and she gives me a small smile before focusing back on her phone.
“Gather around,” Francois continues, dragging the rolling whiteboard toward him.
Archie leans toward Finn. “What’s it going to be today, you think?”
“Please be another animal,” Finn whispers to no one in particular. “Please.”
Francois begins sketching furiously. We all squint at the board, and it looks like Finn’s wish might come true. I think it’s… some kind of rodent?
“What is this?” Francois asks, a hand on his waist.
“A rat?” ventures Archie.
“Non.”
“Oh!,” Cameron says slowly. “It’s a squirrel.”
“Oui!” Francois beams. “Un écureuil! Do you know what squirrels are? They’re instinctive creatures!”
He spins back around and starts scrawling more frantically now—circles, arrows, little piles.
He glimpses at us again, his expression more serious. “Does the squirrel plan his nut-burying route with maps? Non! He goes by instinct! He sees a nut—he digs! He sees another—he buries!” Francois punctuates each sentence with a loud tap of the marker.
I catch Millie struggling not to laugh, trying to keep her camera hand steady. This is prime content, for sure.
“Today, you are all squirrels!” Francois continues, stabbing his finger at us. “Unpredictable. Chaotic. Full of energy. Instinctive. Be the squirrel, messieurs. Go, find the nuts... well, the goals!”
There’s a brief silence, then we all start to clap and cheer.
“Let’s go win this game,” Wade shouts, and we follow him into the tunnel.
The stadium is buzzing with anticipation.
Packed stands, flags waving, fans already chanting.
The kid who’s escorting me can barely keep still—he’s practically bouncing next to me.
It’s like hanging out with a human version of Fergie, except the kid is way nicer, and he even assures me we’ll win this match.
After the anthem, fans break into roaring applause, and we jog into position. Millie is still lingering on the sidelines, and I give her a little wave as I sprint past. She smiles back, and as she turns around to face the field, I suddenly wish she had my name across her back.
***
Millie
I watch the first half of the game from the sidelines, and the atmosphere is electric.
The pitch looks at least twice as long from this angle, the players’ sharp movements somehow even faster, the tackles more aggressive. Everything feels amplified.
Francois is a whirlwind, pacing the length of the bench like a man possessed.
He shouts instructions in a breathless mix of French and English—half coach, half poet, all passion.
Honestly, I’m starting to think he’s the real social media star of the team.
I’ve barely finished posting the live from the locker room, and the comments are already flying in—hundreds of them. Most featuring squirrel emojis.
The fans in the stadium are pushing hard behind the Regents, their voices building to a louder crescendo than the first time I was here.
Their chants roll like waves, crashing over the playing field, and I swear I can feel it in my chest. The players clearly feel it as well.
The Regents are on fire—dominating possession, moving as one, and getting three times more shots on goal than Birmingham.
Just as things are heating up, a scramble in the box leads to a deflected clearance, and the ref signals for a corner.
Wade jogs to the top left corner of the pitch, the other players bunching and breaking apart near the penalty spot. I squint through my phone, recording the moment, just in case something happens.
The crowd holds its breath, blanketing the stadium in a surreal stillness. Wade raises a hand, then sends a soaring, curling cross into the air.
Callum cuts past his defender at the last second and rises—his timing perfect. His head meets the ball, and it rockets into the top right corner of the net. A perfect goal.
The entire stadium explodes. Francois jumps in the air, pumping his fist and crying out in French. With a beaming smile, he high fives all the players on the bench and even pulls me into a little hug, almost knocking my phone onto the grass.
Callum lands and raises a fist, a rare grin breaking across his face as his teammates engulf him, a blur of shouts and movement as they celebrate the goal.
When they peel away, Callum jogs back into position.
He glances toward the bench—then directly at me.
When our eyes meet, he gives me the tiniest wave, almost nothing, but my heart skips several beats regardless.
Soon after, half time begins, and I film all the players hustling back to the locker rooms, some of them talking to the camera, giving me a high five, or breaking into a silly dance—guess who that was?
As for Callum, he just walks by, but he does offer me a rare, thin smile that somehow trumps Archie’s crazy moves.
Between that smile and the subtle wave he gave me earlier, I’m beginning to think watching from the sidelines is officially too dangerous for me. Talk about an emotional safety hazard.
Once the players have all vanished, I head up to the VIP lounge to grab a drink before finding Fallon and Roxy waiting for me in the stands.
“Hey, you,” Roxy says with a bright smile, a hand resting on her belly. “About time. We need to talk.”
Hesitantly, I sit between them, and they pin me with an intense stare.
“What? I already told you the relationship thing was fake,” I whisper, glancing around in case someone is eavesdropping.
“Statistically speaking,” Fallon informs me with a straight face, “seventy percent of people who start a fake relationship already have feelings for each other. And ninety percent of fake relationships end in marriage.”
I sit back with a sigh. Where does she get all these numbers from?
“She’s got a point,” Roxy says, twirling one of her blonde curls around her finger. “Wade and I started as a fake couple, and I’m now married to the guy—and bearing his first child.”
“It’s not like that.” I shake my head, a flush of warmth rising to my cheeks. “We’re not fake dating. And we were a fake couple for all of five minutes. He was just helping me out.”
Fallon scrunches her nose. “Yeah, that’s the fishy part. He’s not exactly the helpful type.”
“To be fair, I didn’t really give him a choice. I kind of grabbed him and introduced him as my boyfriend,” I say, shifting in my seat.
“Hmm. Sounds familiar,” Roxy says softly.
“Still,” Fallon continues. “He didn’t have to go along with it. Trust me, Callum Murray doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to.”
I open my mouth to argue, but thankfully, the ref’s whistle signals the start of the second half.
Swallowing hard, I focus on the pitch, trying to chase Fallon’s words out of my head, but they summoned a butterfly tornado in my stomach.
She’s right. Callum isn’t exactly a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.
So, why did he help me? He could have easily called me out, then and there.
And those stats—is there any truth to them? Because if I’m really being honest with myself, I know I wouldn’t have chosen just anyone to play the role of my boyfriend. I would have never picked Archie or Finn. Maybe it was because of that kilt. Or Fergie. The man has way too many secret weapons.