Callan
“Oh, shit, sorry.” I awkwardly do that back-and-forth thing with Charlotte where you’re trying to get around each other, but you both keep moving in the same direction.
Charlotte tries to move out of the way yet again. “My bad. I didn’t think you’d be home. I was just changing… for a meeting.”
I finally stop moving, letting her slip around me. There’s a heavy pause. Is meeting the new code word for date? Because, what the fuck? She’s not going on a date with another man.
Giving in to the temptation, I ask, “A meeting?”
Her eyes trace my body, heavy as if full of… something. “Yeah. Sponsorship stuff.”
I run my fingers through my hair. Of course.
Work meeting. In her blue suit. Which is not a Charlotte date outfit.
“Oh. Sure.” Another pause, as if we both know we should leave, but neither of us really wants to.
“Tell Preston hi for me, and I’m sorry I couldn’t make it because of…
whatever excuse you’re going to give him. ”
Her smile is tight, almost sad. “Preston let me know on Sunday that he’s out.”
My stomach tightens, and I try to remind myself not to care. Even if it doesn’t work. “Oh. Sorry.” I scan her face, trying to see how she’s taking it. How she’s doing. “I know how much you wanted that deal.” I ball my hands into fists to keep myself from hugging her.
She leans in, as if wanting the same thing, before pulling back. “Things happen.”
Another moment of weighted silence between us before she finally drops her gaze from mine.
“Sunday wasn’t a great day. Not that it was a great day for you, either.
I mean, you had a great game, but it didn’t work out the way anyone wanted it.
And then Preston called, so that was terrible, and now I’m meeting with Conrad Ferguson’s brother to see if this is something they’d be interested in because it’s fourth down and the clock is running out, and it’s time for a Hail Mary pass. ”
My lips ache to kiss her, to save her from her spiraling thoughts, like I’ve done so many times before.
Instead, I lean against the wall, enjoying the painful happiness from this small interaction too much to want it to end.
Even though I know I’ll pay for it later, when I’m alone, and the Band-Aids I’ve managed to patch my soul up with are disintegrating once again. “Nice football reference.”
Her smile is sweet. “Despite what the world may believe, I actually know a thing or two about the game.”
“If they didn’t know it before this season, they sure do now. No one could see you on the field and not think you know what’s going on.”
“Thanks,” she says, almost shyly. Like maybe it still matters to her what I think.
I nod, and the urge to touch her, to hug her, is almost overwhelming. “Just a heads-up, I’m having the guys over for poker night tonight.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” She twirls her earring. “I’ll make sure I’m out of the way.”
Part of me wants to tell her that she doesn’t have to do that. That she’s always welcome, but the truth is, I can barely stand the potent combination of pleasure and grief rushing through my system right now. I couldn’t do it all night.
She bites her lower lip. “And I have a girls’ night at my old place—my place—tomorrow. So, I shouldn’t be in your way then, either. Honestly, if this whole sponsor thing doesn’t work out, I’ll probably be out of your hair sooner rather than later.”
Great. Perfect. Having her gone would be ideal.
Terrible.
But ideal. Probably.
Except…
“I’m sure it will go well. You’re good at this stuff.” I push off the wall and slip by her, the familiar smell of her bodywash threatening to drag me back under her spell.
One I can’t fall into. Because she’s actively working on trading me.
I know it’s her job. I know she has to do what’s best for the team, and she can’t tell me everything. But I have to do what’s best for me. The problem is, after the pain of the past few days, I’m beginning to realize being with Charlotte might be what’s best for me.
“Callan?” she calls after me.
I stop, the ball in my stomach ping-ponging. “Yeah.”
She wraps her arms around me, and I swear I feel her breathe a sigh of relief at the contact. “Thank you. For everything. I hope you know how much I… appreciate you.”
But it doesn’t feel like that’s what she wanted to say. It seems like maybe, just maybe, she wanted to say something more. Despite the warning bells going off in my head, I press a light kiss to the top of her hair. “You’re welcome, Charlotte.”
Finally, I unwrap my arms from around her, and I swear her smile is sad when I let her go.
Conflicted, I escape to my room, not knowing whether I want to tell her to move out sooner or to stay forever.
I shut the door behind me, forcing myself not to go back out there.
She will leave. This is the same as my parents, coming back for a month or two when I was young. It’s not permanent.
I’m not made for anyone’s forevers.
In my closet, I try to force Charlotte from my mind as I slip into the Larsen jersey I bought at the auction so many months ago, my spirits lifting slightly as I think of how annoyed Beckett is going to be.
It’s been a long game, waiting for him to be able to make it to a poker night with his new work gig, but I’m nothing if not patient.
Thirty minutes later, I’m setting up the food Charmaine prepared for tonight, trying very hard not to think about the family-sized bag of Nerds Clusters she set out with the chips.
“Callan?” Beckett calls, wandering in to find me staring at the bowl of the sugary goodness. “Dude, what the fuck are you wearing?”
I finally pull my gaze from the brightly colored treats to look down at my jersey. “Oh this? Wanted to support the Yeti. Should we take a picture together and send it to Larsen?” I pull out my phone.
Beckett raises his hands as if to force me away. “God, no. He’d never stop talking about it.”
“I haven’t seen too many games, but it sounds like he’s having a hell of a season.” I guess I’ll have a chance to find out now that my season is over.
He sighs. “As happy as I am for Queenie, the kid has become almost unbearable.”
“And by unbearable, you mean you’re still having dinner with him and Li on a regular basis?” I find his friendship with the two younger guys hilarious. Truly brings me joy, which is something I need more of. Now that the light is gone from my life.
Fuck. When did I start thinking about Charlotte as the light of my fucking life?
Beckett pulls me from my thoughts. “We went out for sushi the other night. He made the chef tell him a fucking novel about how he became a sushi chef, where he gets his fish from since there isn’t an ocean in Colorado, what the most popular fish are, and the most expensive. I almost left.”
I snort. “You did not. And Li probably pulled out his phone and took notes in case he was ever quizzed on sushi.”
“Callan?” The front door slams, and then Jameson walks into the kitchen, followed by Nate Riley.
I shake each of their hands, pulling them into a one-armed hug.
“Tough loss yesterday,” Nate offers.
I nod. “Heard you got a triple-double, though.”
“I’ve been lucky lately.” He tugs on his long beard.
From anyone else, I would think they’re trying to be humble. But with Nate, the man means that. He’s one of the most superstitious people I’ve ever met. Barely cuts his hair and his beard for just that reason.
We head downstairs, where Pitty joins us a few minutes later. I deal the first hand, and have barely looked at my hand when Pitt asks, “Are the rumors true?”
“What rumors?” I ask, knowing from the tone of his voice that he means the ones about me being traded. But if there is even a slight chance that’s not what he’s talking about, I’ll take it.
He taps his cards together on the table before placing them face down. Okay, I guess we’re doing this. “The ones about you being traded. What the actual fuck, man? Why wouldn’t you tell us?”
I set my cards down, too. Guess we aren’t doing a chill poker night to distract me from the shitstorm that is my life these days. “Jon hasn’t had anything official come across his desk. But yeah, we’ve heard the rumors, too.”
The expressions around the table range from Beckett’s mild amusement to Nate’s shock to Pitt’s annoyance.
“And what does your girlfriend have to say about it?” Pitty asks when I don’t offer any more information.
After a long pause, in which they all stare at me, he smacks the table.
“Oh shit. Is that what was going on this weekend? Did you two break up over this? Is that why you suddenly decided that you needed your own row and your own room? Everyone was saying it was because you didn’t want to tire yourself out. ”
Nate looks at me, his jaw hanging low. “You changed up your fucking routine? Do you know how unlucky that can be?”
Choosing to ignore Nate, I tell Pitt, “It’s not that dramatic.” Or maybe it’s more dramatic than that.
“I need more information,” Pitt declares. “Is she trading you because you broke up? Fuck that’s vindictive. Probably illegal, too.”
“It’s definitely not that. We aren’t on the same page anymore. It’s not that big of a deal.” I shrug, trying to show just how not big of a deal it is.
“Nope.” Pitt shakes his head. “Now I know it’s a huge fucking deal. What happened?”
Beckett stands from the table. “I’m going to go get a snack. But”—he looks at the three other men there—“maybe you should bring these guys up to speed on this whole shitshow you’ve gotten yourself entangled in.”
I consider it. I know my relationship with Charlotte needs to stay a secret, but I trust these men. My team may have been the people who pulled me back from the edge of losing myself, but these guys, they’re the ones who helped me build a solid foundation that my life now sits on.
So, I tell them. About the fake dating, Charlotte’s dad, and moving in together. And then I tell them about how it started to feel real. Like we were actually dating, actually living together.