Chapter 1
Caleb had always thought mocktails had cheesy names, but the ones on this London bar’s menu definitely took the cake.
“Can I have the, uh—Notting Hill Nectar, please?” he called to the bartender over the music.
She was short, and Caleb wasn’t quite sure how she was reaching the bottles on the top shelves, but with a quick glance and a nod, she pulled a glass from the rack and got to work.
Back in Youngstown, if you asked for a mocktail, you’d get a death glare and a frosty Pepsi shoved into your hand like you were a kid. Here, they had a whole damn menu dedicated to “spiritless cocktails.”
Maybe London would be alright.
He set the menu back on the bar and turned toward the table of soccer players.
Football players, he corrected himself.
Some days, he still couldn’t believe he worked for Chelsea F.C. For the fucking Premier Women’s League.
One minute, he was living in Chicago as the assistant athletic trainer for the university. Next, one of his athletes was being transferred to the Premier League, and he got a call from Chelsea to pack his bags.
Unreal.
A long arm wrapped around his shoulder. “To the new AT!” Dillion Hawthorne, star forward on Chelsea, shouted, squeezing him with one arm while raising her drink with the other.
Before Caleb could correct her—assistant athletic trainer—the rest of the table joined in.
“To the new AT!”
“Thank you, thank you,” he said, giving a small nod.
“We’re chuffed to have you! The last AT was a fucking prick,” Dillion added.
She was tall, nearly his height, with dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. Considering her reputation as a smack-talker on the pitch, Hawthorne was surprisingly friendly and welcoming. All the women were, actually.
She shouted something else to her teammate, but Caleb couldn’t make it out. Apparently, alcohol made her Geordie accent even worse.
“Alright, Hawthorne, why don’t we find you a seat?” Caleb steadied her with a firm grip on her waist—the woman was literally all muscle—and steered her to the table with her teammates. She grunted as he eased her into the booth and propped her against the cushioned back.
He took the seat across from her, intentionally leaving some space between him and the players.
Unfortunately for Caleb, he was horrible with names and felt bad that he couldn’t remember everyone’s. Then again, it had only been three days.
Less than a week, and he already liked this team more than any men’s team he’d worked for.
“Y’alright there, Caleb?” one of the girls asked. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring deeply into his drink.
“Yeah, I’m great. Still kind of jetlagged, I think.”
“Do you miss it? The States, I mean. I’d sure miss my family.”
A tight ball of dread curled behind Caleb’s ribs as he smeared some condensation around on the rim of his Notting Hill Nectar.
“I miss my sister a lot.”
It was true; he missed Tay a ton. The rest of his family, he didn’t miss one bit.
“Where are you living?” a player with bright red hair and freckles chimed in. Sally—he was ninety percent sure that was her name.
“Here in Soho at the moment,” he replied. “But I got a short-term rental. I didn’t really know what I was doing when I moved, so I figured I would check out the area for a bit.” Caleb sipped his drink. Goddam, it was sweet. But at least the glass was pretty. “So if you have any recommendations…”
“I live in Soho, too! Over on Bond Street.” Sally said with a grin. “I love it. Lived here for almost three years now.”
“That’s because there’s like a million gay clubs,” a player with dark brown hair chimed in, sipping her beer.
“Soho is our gay capital of London. It’s a fun time, but probably not where you’ll find yourself a wifey.
” Her eyes trailed down Caleb’s body and back up, before turning to her teammate.
“Except you, Sal. You will absolutely find yourself a wifey.”
Sally snorted into her cocktail. “Hasn’t happened yet.” She leaned across the table toward Caleb, waving a hand at the brunette. “Ignore Angie. Soho is awesome, even if you’re not gay.”
Caleb nodded and took another sugary sip.
Why do you think I chose it?
Something about his appearance always made everyone assume that he was straight. His sister said it was because he dressed like a washed-up professional basketball player.
It didn’t matter much to him what people thought.
He had no issues picking up men. Back home, there weren’t very many gay clubs to frequent, not that he probably would anyway, but there were dating apps, and those worked just fine.
With the move and all, though, he was in a bit of a dry spell, and getting laid tonight didn’t sound like a terrible idea—
“Excuse me?” A woman approached the table shyly, wearing a Chelsea sweatshirt. “Are you Dillion Hawthorne?”
“Ye’ that’s me!” Dillion slurred with a smile.
“Oh my God.” The woman’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, I’m a huge Chelsea fan. I know this is so annoying, but I just had to say hello.”
“Hullo!” Dillion said loudly, knocking over a drink.
Sally quickly stood from the booth and held out her hand. “Hi there. What’s your name?”
“Uh, Ellie.”
Caleb watched as Sally smoothly introduced herself to the fan and her friends, angling her body just enough to place herself in front of Dillion.
He’d worked with enough high-profile athletes to recognize the move.
Sally was their unofficial fan-handler, managing the inevitable swarm of fans and shielding Dillion from anything that might end up on social media.
There was always one.
After pointing out all the players at the table, who offered polite nods, Sally dragged Caleb up from the table to help manage the crowd now forming around the athletes. Selfies were taken, and shirts were autographed.
He found himself trying to understand all the British accents and lingo, shaking hands with a bunch of fans, and answering about one million questions.
Is it amazing, working with all these incredible ladies?
Do you play football, too?
You’re American!?
As he tried his best to answer, Caleb felt the prickling sensation of a pair of eyes on the back of his neck. His hackles raised, and, when he turned, he caught a man staring at him from a few yards away.
The man didn’t look threatening, just… shocked.
He looked to be about thirty, around Caleb’s age, with curly brown hair and a thin pair of glasses framing bright green eyes.
Startlingly green, actually, and Caleb found himself staring a second longer than he probably should have.
The collar of the man’s shirt was flipped up on one side, and he had a bike helmet tucked under his arm.
When Caleb caught him staring, the man quickly looked away.
For fear of being rude or looking like a dick in front of his new team, Caleb approached him and stuck out his hand. “Hi. Caleb Reed.”
“American,” the man blurted, eyes immediately widening, like he hadn’t meant to let that slip. “I mean you, erm, you’re American.”
He reached out and shook Caleb’s hand.
Caleb smiled. “What gave me away?”
“Your accent,” the stranger replied seriously.
Caleb raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Yes, I know. I was kidding.” They were still shaking hands awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you…?” The corner of his lip twitched as he waited for this strange man to introduce himself.
“Oh, James. Jamie. Me.” He let go of Caleb’s hand and stuffed it into his navy pants. “I go by Jamie.”
Oof, this was awkward.
Caleb glanced at the crowd surrounding the athletes. “Are you a Chelsea fan?”
“Yeah, of course.” His bike helmet scratched the fabric of his shirt as he adjusted it under his arm. “But not as much as the group I’m here with. Sorry they’re fussing over the girls and all that. They’re mad about the team.”
Caleb frowned. “Mad?”
Jamie tilted his head in confusion. “Mad… like, obsessed?”
“Oh.”
“Sorry. English lingo, I reckon.” A long finger pushed his glasses up his nose, and it made Caleb’s heart do a weird little tumble. “How long have you been in England? Haven’t picked up on our vernacular yet, have you?”
Caleb cleared his throat. “Only a few days. I’m starting to learn that fans around here are a bit crazy.” He glanced at the fans swarming the team before turning back to Jamie. “It’s not like that for soccer in America.”
Jamie flashed an amused smile at the word soccer. His teeth were exceptionally white, and now that Caleb stood closer, he noticed the cut line of his jaw. Oh, he was fucking cute.
Caleb was a sucker for a hot nerd.
Jamie cleared his throat. “Well, if I know this group, they’ll be getting autographs for the next hour. So I should probably settle in with a drink.” He shifted his weight from side to side.
“May I join you?” Caleb asked. “I need a break from the chaos.”
“Yes!” Jamie said enthusiastically before schooling his features. “Yeah, uh, of course.”
“Where are you from?” Caleb asked when Jamie reappeared with a beer and sat across from him. He hung his bike helmet off the side of his chair. “I mean, I can tell you’re English, but I’m learning that there are, like, fifty different types of English accents.”
“I’m from Marlow, out in Bucks.”
Caleb must’ve looked as lost as he felt, because Jamie added, “Buckinghamshire. About forty minutes west of here.”
Caleb took another sip of his drink. “Sorry, I clearly don’t really know much about England yet. Haven’t made it out of the city, but everyone keeps saying the countryside’s beautiful.”
Jamie licked some foam from his top lip. As he drank, his curls kept falling into his face and, every few minutes, he’d swipe one away with two fingers. Caleb noticed his hands were big for how slim he was, and the veins in his forearms shifted as he lifted his beer and set it back down.
Hot, muscular nerd.
“I know the area quite well,” Jamie said. “If you have, erm, questions or anything.”
Time to figure out if this was platonic flirting or if Caleb was about to have a hot date for the night.
“I’ll have to take you up on that, Jamie,” Caleb replied, letting his voice go a bit deeper.
The blush that spread along Jamie’s smooth, freckled cheeks told him everything he needed to know.
They made normal, if not a little awkward, small talk; Jamie asked about working for Chelsea, and Caleb learned that Jamie worked at the British Library. He looked like someone who worked at the British Library.
The tips of Jamie’s finger traced the edge of his beer glass, giving away his nerves.
Deciding he was determined to make Jamie loosen up a bit, Caleb leaned into asking about his job at the library.
As predicted, Jamie started chatting away in his crisp accent, talking about how he’d gotten into working there, the over one hundred seventy million items on their shelves, and some of the exhibits they had coming up.
It was adorable.
“Sorry,” he said after a while, cheeks turning pink. “I think I’m talking a lot.”
“I like listening to you talk. It’s cute.”
A little smile formed on Jamie’s face, but he ducked his face to try and hide it. “Do you, erm, read?”
“A bit here and there.” Caleb shrugged.
Alright, it’s high time to make a move.
“I prefer to listen to hot men talk about books rather than actually read.”
Jamie choked on his drink and then wiped his mouth, eyes wide. Boy, he was fun to play with. Now Caleb’s mission was to get him somewhere they could maybe play a bit more.
“Right. Erm, good. Great.”
Caleb glanced over to the ladies, noticing that the crowd had started to thin out around the athletes, and most of them were packing up to head out. Probably to a club or another bar.
When he turned back, Jamie’s eyes were locked on Caleb’s chest, jaw slack. The air between them had been sizzling for about thirty minutes now, and it was pretty obvious where this was going.
“What are you doing tonight?” Caleb asked.
“Me?” Jamie looked up, surprised. He glanced around the bar. “Well, this.”
“I meant after… this.” Caleb leaned closer and slid his foot forward under the table. He tapped it against Jamie’s shoe a few times. “Because I’d like to see you. Outside of this bar, Jamie.”
The other man inhaled, and the flush on his cheeks crept down his throat. Suddenly, Caleb was very fixated on seeing how far down that flush went on Jamie’s chest.
“Pub,” Jamie blurted out.
Caleb’s eyebrows knit together, and Jamie clarified.
“We call them pubs here. Not bars.”
Caleb snorted. “Right.”
“I don’t have any other plans,” Jamie said quickly. “My friends will probably go to a club, but I’ll just bike home.”
“Risky,” Caleb said with a nod to his beer. “Drinking and biking,”
Jamie swiveled the bottle to show the label. “It’s non-alcoholic.”
“Ah, right.” Caleb’s lips pulled at the corner. “Can I get your number? Or do you not have phones here?”
“No,” Jamie said, his eyes flicking down to Caleb’s lips and back up. “No, we do. I have a mobile.” Jamie fumbled in his pocket for a small flip phone. Caleb hadn’t seen one of those in a hot minute. “I have a number, and I—”
One of the fans pranced over from the crowd—Ellie, if memory served—and plopped herself next to Jamie. She leaned drunkenly into him.
“I can’t believe it, but we are going to Darlings with the girls from Chelsea. Wanna come, J?”
“Oh, well, I’m not sure,” Jamie said, glancing at Caleb in silent question. “I actually might call it a night soon.”
Caleb smirked at the way Jamie ended his sentence like a question.
“Me too.” Caleb winked.
“Oh! Okay.” The woman seemed to catch on, elbowing Jamie. “Well, I’ll see you at home then. Take care.”
She bounced away with her friends, and Caleb made a silent promise to her that he would take very, very good care of her friend.