Chapter 3
Gage
Her dark hair is wound into a messy bun on the top of her head. She’s wearing a thin sweater with a wide neck that keeps slipping off one shoulder. Her slender feet, toes painted fire-engine red, are stacked on the balcony railing. And she’s sipping a glass of red wine.
I grip the underside of the kitchen island, staring at her through the open sliding door.
The sound of rolling waves, barely audible, is the perfect backdrop lullaby.
Cool breezes waft off the sea, filling the small apartment with a nostalgia I haven’t felt in years.
It’s quiet—quieter than anything I ever experienced as a kid since my family is large and loud.
But there’s a stillness, salty air and a starlit sky, that wraps around me like a memory.
And having Callie be part of this vista—well, it’s top-freaking-tier.
I pour myself a glass of wine and move to the balcony. When I take the seat beside her, she glances at me.
“I don’t usually do this,” she says, swirling the contents of her glass.
I smirk. “Drink wine? Liar.”
Callie laughs lightly, the sound musical like wind chimes.
“No, you’re right. I am a wine drinker, and this is delicious.
” She smacks her lips appreciatively. “I meant, bunk with clients.” A slight blush works over her cheekbones.
I’m not sure if it’s caused from embarrassment, the wine, or the sea breeze, but it doesn’t matter.
She looks stunning all the same. “Except you, it seems,” she adds, referring to a night when the Coyotes got snowed in at a hotel in Buffalo, New York after our game.
Callie had come to the game and was leaving for the airport when all flights were cancelled.
With nowhere to go, and no hotel rooms available since she had already checked out, she bunked with me.
We stayed up late, playing cards, drinking wine, and talking.
And I fell a little bit more for her after that night.
Even though nothing happened, I wanted it to.
“I know you don’t, Calla Lily. But I don’t think that’s what this is anyway,” I admit, my voice deeper than it was a second ago.
Callie breathes out a long exhale, her eyes searching mine.
I see the confusion lurking in her dark irises.
I note the uncertainty that causes her to bite her bottom lip.
She clears her throat and glances back to the sea.
“Do you want to sign the endorsement deal or not?” Her tone is brisk, all business again.
I take a sip of wine to hide my disappointment. Callie James is the hardest working agent I know. She’s never off the clock. But she’s also the woman who stars in every happily-ever-after scenario I imagine for myself.
I’ve been wearing her down little by little, year after year. But she won’t let her guard down completely around me. Not yet.
I kick my feet up on the railing and relax back into my chair. Running a hand over the lower part of my face, I debate how to play this.
At my silence, Callie turns to look at me. There’s blatant curiosity in her gaze and I decide to be honest. Upfront. All fucking in in a way I’ve never been before.
But I don’t have anything to lose anymore. At most, I’ll play for another season. Callie may not mix business with pleasure but if I have to choose between starting a life with her and hanging in for another season, I’ll choose her hands fucking down.
Not that she knows that. Not that she’d ever even guess it.
“Can I talk to you as my—as a friend?” I amend. “Tonight, I don’t want you to be my agent, Cal. I want you to just be…you.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “But I am your agent, Gutierrez.” Her voice cracks on my last name.
“You’re more than that and you know it.” I fix her with a look and let her see the emotions that swim in my eyes. Let her know that I’m not bullshitting her or giving her one of my flirty, flippant comments.
Tonight, I’m coming clean. I’m being real. I’m manning up the way I should have a long time ago—except I knew she wouldn’t have me then. And she might not now, but I don’t have anything to lose anymore. Not with the end of my career looming.
Back then, speaking up would have been too much of a complication. And Callie is organized and tidy—she steers clear of drama. As one of a handful of women dominating the sports agency industry, she has to.
Callie rolls her lips together, watching me closely. Then, she tilts back her glass and polishes off her wine. I bend down to retrieve the bottle I sauntered out here with.
I hold it up, silently asking her if she wants more. In response, she holds her glass out to me, and I pour her a generous amount.
“Tell me,” she says finally, her voice raspy. Her eyes blacker than midnight.
“I’m thirty-eight years old.”
“I know that.”
“I should have retired a long time ago. My knee isn’t holding up the way it should.
Hell, my body isn’t holding up anymore,” I admit the words aloud.
The words—the truth—that guts me from the inside out.
“The only thing I’ve ever known is football, Callie.
And now, I can’t perform on the field the way I’m supposed to.
The way I want to. And it makes every damn day feel more like a failure than a freedom. ”
She sucks in a breath at my honesty.
“I’ve always wanted this endorsement deal. I’ve always wanted to work with brands that I actually like. Feel good about throwing my name behind.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, taking another sip of her wine. Her eyes are watchful over the rim of the glass, and I want to drown in them. Drown in her.
“But, Callie, part of the reason I’ve hung in for as long as I have is because I don’t know who I am without football. And I don’t have anyone to share my life with the way I want.”
Callie clears her throat. “What’s the way you want?”
I smirk, toss a hand in the direction of the beach house. “You know what my family is like. You see what my parents share. I want that.”
“Not many people have that,” she counters slowly. “What your parents share is rare. It’s…years of work and sacrifice.”
“Doesn’t make me want it any less. Besides…” I tilt my head and study her. “Since when is anything truly worth it easy?”
Callie drops her chin in agreement. “Why are you telling me this, Gage?”
One side of my mouth tugs into a small smirk at her use of my first name. That alone tells me she knows where this is going. And she hasn’t put a stop to it—yet—so I forge ahead.
“You’re the woman I want that with, Callie. It’s you…or no one.” I hold her gaze as I say it. I want her to see my eyes and know it’s true.
She rears back slightly, as if shocked. Callie’s eyes widen and her lips part. Her gaze darts from one of my eyes to the other, down to my mouth, and back up again. Her fingers tremble slightly, and she moves to gulp her wine, but I reach out and place my hand over hers.
“I’m not bullshitting you, Calla Lily. And deep down, you know that too.
It’s always been you.” My voice is steady and strong.
A hell of a lot more restrained than I feel.
Inside, my heart thrashes and my nerves ping-pong.
But my mind is clear. I’ve thought about Callie—about this—for years and I’m not going to miss my chance to tell her the truth. To take my shot.
“Gage,” she whispers. “I—I don’t date clients.”
I snort. “Then I won’t be your client anymore. Or at least, not much longer.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t throw away your career—”
“I’ve had one hell of a career. Three Super Bowl rings,” I remind her.
She blows out a breath. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s okay. I caught you off guard.” I know I did since I was supposed to talk to her about my career.
“But as a friend, what do you think I should do? Try to negotiate a contract with the Coyotes? Stay in the game for another season? Or convince the woman I’m fucking crazy about to give me a chance? ”
“Gage,” Callie murmurs. “Why, I can’t tell you—I…” She trails off, shaking her head.
“I want you to know the truth.” I take her wine glass and place it on the ledge of the railing. I grip her fingers lightly. “I want you to give me this week. I want to show you how it could be between us. I don’t need football, Callie. Or an endorsement deal. I need you.”
“Gage, I’m a mess,” she whispers, her tone laced with something I’ve never heard before. Fear.
“You’re not, sweetheart.” I shake my head. “I’m looking right at you and you’re goddamn perfection.”
She smiles but it’s sad. Wobbly. “I don’t want you to choose between me and football. I want you to have both.” I don’t think she realizes what she’s admitting. That part of her wants me too; that she wants me to have her the same way I desire.
“I will. I’ve had football for twenty years. I want the next twenty-plus with you.”
“I don’t know how to do this.” She gestures between us. “I don’t know how to do anything lately.”
I study her, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
“It’s been a tough few years.”
I think back to the news of her father’s passing. Her grandmother. I’ve seen the way she obsesses about work, hell, it’s part of the reason why I’ve stayed signed with her for so long. But this past year, or maybe two, she’s ramped it up. “You’re burning out, sweetheart.”
“This is all I have,” she says in a way that reminds me of my relationship with football.
“We’ve both made our work the biggest parts of our identity,” I say slowly, understanding where she’s coming from. “And it’s not easy to pivot into anything new when the one thing we have, the thing we’re good at, has been so damn good to us.”
She nods slowly. “Yes.”
“Let me ask you a question, Cal. And be honest with me.”
“Okay.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
Her eyes widen and she snorts. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious.”
“Of course I’m attracted to you!” She drops my hand to swat at me.
“You’ve never acted on it.”
She hesitates for a moment, and I wonder if she’s recalling that snowed-in night in Buffalo.
Or the charity gala where I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Or Cohen Campbell’s engagement party when I gave her a ride to her hotel and we sat in my car, talking for over an hour, the air shifting around us.
“I’m not supposed to. I’m a professional! ” she reminds me.
I grin wolfishly. “I want to kiss you, Calla Lily. I want to kiss you slowly and give your mind time to catch up to all the things I’m saying. And then, I want to tuck you into my bed—”
Uncertainty washes over her face.
“I’m taking the couch,” I reassure her. “And I want you to sleep in tomorrow morning. Have a hot coffee on this balcony and watch the shoreline. Relax and rest and spend a week with me. See what this could be between us.”
“I need you to give me my phone back before the end of the week.” Her reply is so her it makes me laugh.
“Okay, babe. But tell me you’ll stay.”
Callie looks back to the expanse of beach before meeting my eyes again. “I’ll stay,” she whispers.
“Good.” I shift closer.
Her eyes widen a fraction as I arc my lips over hers. I move slowly, giving her plenty of time to push me away if this isn’t what she wants. But her eyelids flutter closed and a soft exhale puffs from her lips.
I press my mouth to hers and close my eyes. One of my hands cups her cheek as I deepen our kiss. It’s soft and slow. Sensual.
We kiss three times before I trace the seam of her lips with the tip of my tongue and she opens for me, a flower seeking sunlight. I slip my tongue into her mouth and our tongues meet tentatively. Then, with more certainty.
I lean into Callie and she pushes back into me. Her hand wraps around my torso, her fingers curling into the material of my tank. We kiss slowly and deeply and the entire future opens before me.
Until Callie leans back and shifts her hand to my chest, pressing flat against my pec. “Wait.” Her voice is panicked.
I pull back immediately, my eyes flying to hers.
And the confusion and concern I read in her eyes guts me.
“What is it, Cal? What’s wrong?”
“I, Gage, I need—” She shakes her head miserably.
“Tell me.”
“I’m freaking out,” she admits.