Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I wiped at the last of my misplaced mascara. “You are such a child. With an ugly sofa.”
“Wow. What an insult. How will I ever recover?” he deadpanned.
“Okay … how the hell do you two know each other?” John demanded.
“And hate each other?” Baird frowned at his friend. “She’s sick. And nice. And did I mention she’s a smoke show?”
“Aye. She seems it. You realize quite quickly, however, that she’s not. For instance, if you two weren’t professional footballers, she probably wouldn’t give you the time of day.”
Hurt pierced me, and guilt. Because I understood why Callan might think that, even though it was far from true.
Baird seemed dubious.
“That’s me.” I glowered at Callan to cover my shame. “If you’re not rolling in it, I’m not interested.”
“Facts.” Callan nodded grimly.
“She was being sarcastic,” Baird pointed out. “Mate, you’ve got to get better at recognizing tone.”
“Will you just lift my sofa?”
“Aye, but you’re telling the gaffer if I suffer an injury.”
Weirdly deflated for reasons I didn’t quite understand, I turned around and walked away.
“Oi, Beth.”
At Baird’s call, I glanced over my shoulder. “Aye?”
“Thanks for the help, gorgeous.” He winked at me.
His kindness soothed Callan’s animosity somewhat. “Anytime. I mean, for you. Not for cat piss over there.”
John and Baird both burst into laughter, and I could hear them ribbing Callan all the way up the next stairwell.
I didn’t look at Callan again. It was so strange to think I might bump into him regularly now. Eight years had passed between us. We were only kids then. For a moment, however, it felt like no time had passed at all. Perhaps for Callan, time didn’t matter. His guarded hostility seemed to be proof of that.
CHAPTER TWO
CALLAN
Iclicked the remote to open the automatic blinds. There was one button that opened them all at the same time. The blinds whirred as they lifted and I wandered into my walk-in closet.
“For some reason, I never imagined footballers getting up this early.”
I glanced to my right at the woman sauntering out of my bathroom, looking a little better than she had when she’d sauntered in. She’d left mascara streaks on my pillowcase that wouldn’t come off as easily as they’d come off her temple. I grunted in response as I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. My training bag was in the hall, all ready to go. When my alarm went off ninety minutes ago, my one-night stand had grumbled and refused to get out of bed.
The pretty brunette eyed me as I sat down on an ottoman in the middle of the walk-in to pull on one of my many pairs of trainers. Never in my wildest imagination would I have thought that I, the bloke who’d tried to make one pair of trainers last a whole year through school and playing football, would have more shoes than I knew what to do with.
The brunette whistled. “You have a shit ton of clothes. How many trainers is that?”
I eyed the large shoe rack. One of the reasons I bought this flat was the walk-in because it gave me a place to look after my things properly. When you went from having not very much to having a lot, you knew it was important to take care of everything, to appreciate every item.
“A few,” I murmured. Standing up, I grabbed a pair of sunglasses out of my accessories drawer. Then I moved toward her and she braced herself against the wall to let me pass.
“You don’t say much, do you?”
“Just trying to get to training,” I said pointedly.
“Oh. Right.” She hurried into the high heels she’d kicked off last night. “Have you seen my handbag?”
“Entrance.” I gestured with my head for her to follow me out of the large primary suite, down the hall my bedroom shared with two guest rooms and a large bathroom, and out into the open-plan living area.
The light streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows was another reason I’d bought the flat. A balcony wrapped around two sides of the apartment, overlooking the small park behind Loverose Lane and New Town beyond. Most flats in this area were period properties, but I’d wanted something modern. It would have been easier to get a flat closer to the football ground out in Carrick Knowe, but like Baird and John, I preferred being in the city center. It did mean, however, I needed to leave an hour before practice to make what should have been a twenty-minute journey. But at this time of the morning, city traffic was a nightmare.
“Wow, I never really had a proper look at the place, but your flat is hot,” the brunette offered as I gently nudged her toward the door. “Did the couch belong to a grandparent or something, though?”
I grimaced. “Nah. It’s just comfy.”
As she grabbed her bag off the floor, she peered past me into the living room with a dubious expression.