Chapter 18
Callum
I use our time on the road to read some of the headlines my agent sent me, and I must say, I could get used to this.
Nothing about how I should be kicked off the team, or some ridiculous narrative about how the player I tackled last night and I have a tormented relationship where I’m obviously the bad guy.
Instead, they either don’t say anything about me, or they comment on my performance alone.
One even referred to me as a “reformed bad boy.” I mean, sure, I’ll take it.
Drunk on positivity, I even check out my social media comments.
Fergie is still the star there—especially since I posted his rendition of “Shake It Off,” but some talk about me as well.
There are a few nasty comments, but I’m surprised by the number of genuinely nice ones.
Some fans even praise me as though their lives depend on it.
Now I get why Archie is so obsessed with social media.
By the time the bus pulls up to the training centre, I’ve read way more comments than I’ll ever admit out loud. We head inside for lunch, embracing the usual shuffle of post-match fatigue and chatter.
“Callum!” Millie’s voice rings out the moment I step into the lobby.
She’s standing near the doors, wringing her hands, her brow tight with concern. Dark circles sag under her eyes, and her smile is nowhere in sight.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, walking up to her.
She straightens. “Um. Why do you say that?”
“You look…” I study her face. “Worried?”
She winces. “Yeah. A bit. It’s not a huge deal, but… something happened with Fergie last night. He’s fine—totally fine—the vet said so.”
Vet? That word sends a pulse of anxiety through my chest. I guide her away from the bustling hallway, leading her into a quieter corner.
“What happened, Millie?”
“Well…” She’s wringing her hands so tightly now, her knuckles are turning white. “Fergie kind of has… a crush on me.”
I blink. “We knew that already.”
“No, Callum.” Her hand finds my forearm, and her eyes stretch wide with urgency. “He regurgitated for me. You know what that means, right?”
“Och. I completely forgot about that. Hasn’t tried that in ages with me.” I suppress my grin. “Sorry about that. I guess a half-digested wad of broccoli isn’t your idea of a romantic gift, huh?”
She laughs, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “I’m more of a carrot girl.”
“Noted.” A chuckle escapes me. “Don’t worry. It’s normal. Gross, but normal. Just ignore him or distract him with a toy next time. He’ll get the message.”
“That’s what the vet said too,” she sighs, glancing toward the window.
“So, you called the vet for this, eh? At least now I know you take this pet-sitting gig seriously.”
“I panicked, okay?” She groans, though a half-laugh breaks out.
“I thought maybe he’d eaten something he shouldn’t.
I tried the vet you listed, but it was after hours, and they only take emergencies.
He looked fine, so I tried not to overreact.
But I found the forum from the shelter in Fergie’s folder and joined the chat.
A vet named Evan explained the whole, um… courtship thing.”
I stare back at her, my brow furrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m glad you got some help. You know, you could have just called me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you. It was late already, way after the game.”
“I was probably awake. After running like a maniac for an hour and a half, it’s hard to go straight to bed.”
She grimaces. “Makes sense. Anyway, I made sure it really was courtship behaviour and not anything more serious. I checked on him a few times throughout the night and this morning, and he’s fine.”
My heart clenches. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Not really. I wanted to make sure he was okay, and then I ended up going down a rabbit hole of parrot videos. Fascinating creatures, and extremely entertaining. I stumbled on this adorable quaker parrot. Her name is Auggie, and she dances while singing a song called ‘Bacon Pancakes.’ I was hooked and watched every single video,” she says with a little laugh.
“Oh, careful. Fergie will be jealous,” I tease.
“What can I say? I needed to relax after that stressful incident.”
“I thought you were going to take a bath,” I say, heat creeping up my neck.
Her cheeks flush. “I did. Well, I was taking a bath in your giant tub when Fergie started screaming for me. And then, well, romantic broccoli.”
I swallow hard at the thought of Millie taking a bath in my room and do everything I can to chase it away, replacing it with an image of Fergie regurgitating. “Sorry he ruined it for you. Unfortunately, that’s one of his signature moves.”
“It’s okay. I’ll take a rain check.” She smiles, and something warm flickers in my chest.
Fergie regurgitating. Fergie regurgitating.
“Anyway, all is fine, but I wanted you to know.”
“Thanks for watching him. He’s a handful.” I raise my eyebrows. “Case in point.”
“My pleasure.” She beams. “Oh, I almost forgot. Let me show you the video I took of him yesterday during the game. I think it might be fun to show your followers how invested in football Fergie is.”
“You want me to post a video of him heckling, eh?”
She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It wasn’t that bad, but yeah, it is kind of fun.”
“Sure, why not?”
She struggles to suppress her smile. “Anyway, I’ll show you after lunch. I already ate. The chicken’s amazing today.”
She turns to go, but I call after her. “Millie, wait.”
She stops, glancing back over her shoulder.
“Do you want to go out to dinner tonight? As a thank you. For taking care of Fergie.”
Her face flushes a cute shade of pink, and she straightens her colourful blouse. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Isn’t that how the fake dating thing works? Being seen together in public?”
Her eyes narrow in amusement. “Well, well. Look who’s suddenly hungry for attention. I never thought you’d actually want to be in the press.”
“I agreed to this, didn’t I?” I scratch my temple. “And the media’s actually not being awful, for once. You might be on to something.”
She grins. “Okay, I can do dinner.”
“Tonight? I’ll pick you up.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Wow, we’re really selling this, then?”
I wink. “When I do something, I always commit one hundred percent.”
Our gazes cross, and her eyes hold mine a few seconds longer than usual. The air between us shifts—just slightly—but it’s enough to make the space feel tighter. Charged.
“Any chance of you wearing that kilt?” she blurts out, then immediately slaps a hand over her mouth, looking mortified. Her cheeks flush from pink to crimson.
I arch an eyebrow, fighting the grin that’s tugging at my mouth. “Not sure I’m ready for those headlines quite yet.”
“Fair enough. Well, see you tonight. I’ll text you my address.” With that, she disappears down the corridor, leaving me staring after her.