Page 34 of Her Game Plan

“Callan who?”

Kim snorts a laugh. “Right.”

As the rest of the group migrates into the dining room behind us, I keep an eye on Callan as he talks with my dad, never putting Marlee down, acting like he naturally fits in. Figuring he can hold his own against my father, I snag my drink before finding Kim posted up behind her chair. No one sits until Mom does.

“So, you and Callan, huh? What’s the story there?” Kim tries again, and I’m not sure whether I’m reading too much into it or not, but I swear she puts an extra emphasis on the word story.

Relentless, this one. Though she is a lawyer.

I sigh. “If you must know…” I start, and then I launch into the full fabricated story that Callan and I perfected about the Jaxon Steele concert, going on a few dates in secret, and all of that leading to us moving in together. “You remember Addie, right?” I ask. “Well, she needed a place to stay, and Callan asked me to move in. It all seemed so serendipitous.”

Here’s what you need to know about people who are happily married: they want all the other people in their lives to be happily married, too. Which means, as long as you throw out words like “serendipitous,” they want to believe you found something inherently special.

“Oh!” Kim exclaims, launching into a story about when she first “knew” with Chris. I watch Callan as he says something to Marlee before placing her on the floor, her curls bouncing wildly as she takes off, most likely headed to the space my parents redecorated into a playroom when she turned one. Without seeming to lose his place in the conversation, Callan turns back to my dad and brother, saying something that has them both nodding thoughtfully.

I can’t help but stare, and I find myself watching how his strong throat moves while he’s talking, the way his face is so animated. I’m not interested in his face, of course, I’m trying to see what he’s saying that has my dad and brother so enthralled. Not because Callan isn’t interesting, but because I don’t think I ever saw that look on their faces when I was dating Jace. Sure, they’d talk to him. Ask about his music. Listen politely as he talked about where he was drawing his inspiration from or his upcoming tour schedule. But they weren’t ever anything but politely interested. A ball of something—probably annoyance—builds in my stomach, and I try to calm it into submission. It’s not their fault they simply have more in common with the man I’m fake dating than the one I was actually dating. And they don’t know it’s fake.

“Oh my, you do have it bad,” Kim chirps, drawing my attention to her.

“What? No, I don’t.” I realize that’s probably not what people say about their real dates, so I quickly try to cover. “I mean, I have it the normal amount. The amount someone is supposed to like someone they have been dating and live with, but aren’t married to.”

I didn’t nail that.

Kim raises her eyebrow, her hand dropping to her hip to massage a spot there.

“Baby-growing pains?” I ask, attempting to distract her from my rambling answer. I’ve dated men before. Why am I not sure what the appropriate amount to like someone is? Maybe because my relationship with Jace was anything but typical. Maybe because these feelings I have for Callan are a bit too hard to put into the appropriate box.

She groans in answer, moving to rub a spot on her lower back. “Ugh. Yes. It’s like my body knows what to do this time, so it’s moving straight to huge, not even pretending to hold on to its previous shape.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Sounds terrible.”

Shrugging, she replies, “It’s worth it. You’ll see. With the right guy.”

Mom finally makes her way to the table, sitting down at one end while Dad sits at the other. It’s old school and ridiculous, and I don’t know this for a fact, but I think that might be why they do it. I wouldn’t put it past Mom to enjoy fucking with their guests a little.

As Chris walks around the table to sit next to Kim, I make my way over to where Callan is standing next to the bar, clearly waiting for someone to give him directions as to where he’s supposed to go.

“You can sit by me, Callan,” Mom offers, tapping my usual place. Okay, guess I’m sitting by Dad tonight. Which is fine.

As soon as the food is served, Dad points at me. “How are things going with the Stallions, Charlotte? Hugo tells me you’re at the training center every day. That’s not your job.”

I start to twirl my earring before remembering Dad hates it when I do that. So I pop my knuckles instead, making sure to muffle the noise under my napkin. “I know, but I want to make sure I learn everything. I know how to set up a stage, I feel like I should know what’s going on during practice.”

Dad considers it before somewhat begrudgingly giving me his blessing to continue as long as I stay out of the way.

Knowing his micromanaging ways won’t be content until I give him more, I dive into a rundown of the week, what I’ve been doing, my plans, making sure I don’t throw Chris under the bus by mentioning our combined effort behind the scenes to get a new sponsor lined up. Or the hours of phone calls Chris and I have had to make sure we’re both successful in these new roles. Sure, we don’t want to lose out on the family business, but we definitely don’t want to see the businesses we’ve worked so hard on go under just because our dad made one bad decision about the future of his company.

He doesn’t turn his attention to Chris on his other side once, never asking him about the work he’s been doing at Langford Entertainment. Not questioning whether he finalized the lineup for the summer, or if he’s put any thought into whether the arena could house a professional women’s basketball team when new expansion spots open up. No. Dad is entirely focused on me and the football team. Finally, he takes a break from grilling me to refill his drink.

“—lives in a retirement home,” Callan is saying to my mom. “Sunshine Hills. It’s not too far from the training center. I typically visit her a couple of times a week.”

I turn away from my father, very interested in this conversation. I’ve asked Callan about his family, casually, of course, a couple of times since our first dinner together when he brushed me off, but he’s so good at deflecting that I’ve come to the conclusion he’s been doing it for a long time. He must avoid those questions with everyone. Which should make me feel better, but for some reason, it doesn’t.

“Well, she sounds fantastic. Do your parents live in the area as well?” Mom asks.

I try not to look too invested in the answer, wondering whether Mom will get more out of him about his parents than I did.

“They don’t.”