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’d really been hoping the article would escape my parents, but now I was thinking Dad or Mum (or both) might have a Google alert on our family.
“They might not have been able to say it was you for sure, but I know it was you.”
“Braden.” Mum sighed heavily. “You said you weren’t going to say anything.”
“I can’t help it. We’re a family who tell each other things.” He turned from her to the camera. “Beth, you know you can tell us anything.”
I groaned, my cheeks turning hot as I covered my face with my hands. “Actually, Dad, there are some things a girl cannot talk to her dad about.”
Dad was quiet.
Feeling guilty, I finally removed my hands to look at him. He seemed… disappointed. I didn’t know if it was in me or at the idea of me keeping things from him.
“It’s casual. Me and Callan. And I don’t want to talk about that with you. Not in a bad way. I love you, Dad. I will talk to you about anything but that.”
Mum rubbed a soothing hand over his shoulder, and Dad gave me a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You take care of yourself,” he commanded gruffly.
“I always do. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“I love you both.” Mum waved to the camera. “We’ve got a boat tour to get to, baby. We’ll talk soon.”
“Enjoy yourselves! Bye.”
As soon as we hung up, I sank back in my couch. “Well, that was awkward.”
When Callan texted later that day to ask if we were hanging out tonight, I had to remind him I was on my period even though I’d told him this morning. It was a Friday evening. Baird and John were probably heading out somewhere. Callan should go with them.
We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, after all.
He didn’t owe me anything.
And honestly, I still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent. I was in the midst of an anxiety hangover and desperately filling my afternoon with work. There was a possibility I was driving my team crazy because I kept sending them texts and thoughts and adding to their to-do lists.
It was a surprise when Callan texted a response to my reminder.
I know, but I’m cooking tonight and I’d rather cook for two. Fancy coming upstairs?
He wanted to spend time with me out of the bedroom?
And he could cook?
Between my weird mood and the fear of blurring the lines between us, I almost told him no. Instead, I found myself telling him I’d be there in an hour.
I didn’t want to go dressed up, but I changed out of the joggers I’d cut into shorts and threw on baggy jeans and a cropped T-shirt. An email came in from Iain Erstwhile’s assistant as I knocked on Callan’s door.
She had to cancel my meeting with Iain and reschedule it for when he was back in Edinburgh.
Callan opened the door while my face was in my screen and my fingers were flying over it. “Hi,” I said without looking at him as I stepped into the apartment. “Sorry, emailing a potential client.”
“No problem.”
I finished as we entered his living space and finally looked at him. His hair was slightly wet from the shower, and he was in a T-shirt and jeans, his feet bare as he strolled into the kitchen where there was an array of ingredients and the smell of spice in the air.
“What are you making?” I asked as I slid onto a stool at his island.
Callan stirred a pot at the stove and glanced over his shoulder at me. “A healthy version of chicken tikka masala.”
My belly grumbled in anticipation. “Sounds delicious.”
A beep from my phone had me snatching it up. Erstwhile’s assistant confirmed the new meeting time, and I typed out a thank-you response.
When I looked up, Callan was frowning at the phone in my hand, but he turned away without saying anything.
“How was your day?” I asked. “How did training go?”
“The gaffer was hard on us.”
They’d lost leg 1 and leg 2 of their game against a Greek team in the European tournament thingie. Leg 2 had been yesterday. Rather than be depressed about it, Callan had poured all of his frustrations into me last night, and I wasn’t complaining about the resultant orgasms.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. We deserved it. We’ll have to prove ourselves against Glencairn on Sunday. If we come at least third in the Pro this year, we get the chance at Europe again. And I’m gunning for it. I’m ready to wipe the floor with anyone that comes between us and the Pro League.”
“Have I told you lately how sexy it is when you get all competitive?” I teased.
He shot me a grin, but my phone cut off whatever it was he was going to say.
“Sorry.” I winced, reaching for it. “It’s Cara.” I picked up. “Hullo.”