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)
The teasing note in his tone softened the blow of his words. To be fair, he had seemed different since we’d agreed to our plan. He didn’t seem as irritated with me now. Maybe he’d let go of our past, finally. I hoped so.
“I’m seeing my parents on Sunday,” I said, changing the subject and giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ll talk to Dad then.”
A car horn beeped loudly, smothering my words. Callan leaned his head toward mine and slowed our strides. “Say again?”
His aftershave drifted over me, and I itched to touch the bristle of his stubble. Was he as aware of me as I was of him? I raised up on my tiptoes, brushing my lips deliberately against his ear as I repeated my words.
Callan sucked in a breath, his fingers clenching around mine. He pulled back abruptly and nodded, staring straight ahead. “Good.”
He was definitely aware. That shouldn’t have made me feel as triumphant as it did, considering this was all fake.
Wanting to keep things light between us, I asked him again about football because Callan seemed more amenable to conversation whenever it was about the sport he loved.
“Will you miss it when you retire?” I asked after he told me about the team at Caledonia United being his family.
Callan met my gaze. “Aye. Sometimes it’s hard to really think about it.”
“But you’re clearly planning for your future without it. The real estate portfolio. This idea for the hotel and spa?”
“Baird and I know we’ll need a career to fall back on. We’ve only got about another ten years of football left in us.”
I couldn’t imagine working so hard, pouring all my passion into a career, knowing it had such an early end date. In fact, I realized I admired Callan all the more for it.
As we strolled down the path that ran along the cobbled road of India Place, we fell into silence. Not once did Callan let go of my hand. Even as we turned down the street and onto the footpath that led along the Water of Leith. The treelined waterway was shadier. Dog walkers on their evening stroll passed us, and I let myself imagine what it might be like if Callan was really my boyfriend. To take summer evening walks across town together, to grab dinner out, go for weekend breaks, travel across the world with a partner in tow. Have someone to come home to, to vent to, to relax with, to cuddle with, to rip each other’s clothes off whenever the mood struck.
How nice it would be to stop looking for “the one” because I’d found him.
I snuck a peek at Callan, at his strong, handsome profile. People looked at him as we passed, and it wasn’t because he was famous. To be fair, he’d been correct earlier. Callan was mostly only well known among those who knew anything about football. Outside of it, I’d imagine he was fairly anonymous. He could travel to other parts of the UK or abroad and do so without most people ever recognizing him.
So I was pretty certain people looked at him because it was difficult not to.
That’s how it had been for me in high school.
My skin flushed as I remembered our stolen kisses and how Callan was the boy who inspired my sexual awakening. I definitely needed to leave that fact out when I told Dad about him. I snorted inwardly at the thought, even as a pang of regret hit me.
How many times over the past seven years had I allowed myself to admit that I’d wished Callan Keen had been my first? First love and first time. Instead, my first time was with a guy called Euan Schaffer. It had been in his bedroom on our two-month anniversary when I was seventeen. His parents were out for the night, and we’d taken advantage of it. It was awkward and weird and he’d enjoyed it way more than I did. We’d tried it a few more times after that, but it never got better. The only reason I kept trying was because everyone else seemed to insist sex could be great.
The best sex I’d had was a one-night stand with Cara’s big brother, Colin. It was her twenty-first, we all got fairly smashed, and Colin, a good-looking, thirty-year-old not long out of a relationship, had gone down on me in the bathroom. He wasn’t a natural, but he took direction extremely well. It was exciting. And so I’d gone home with him and spent the night. He’d continued to take direction well in his bed too.
Neither of us wanted anything more out of it. But I thought it a damn shame that the best sex I’d had was also the only casual sex I’d ever had. And that in the morning after, I’d gone from a multiple-orgasm high to awkward and weird and vulnerable.