Page 36 of Her Game Plan

“I didn’t mean that.” I consider what she’s doing with the team. What she’s trying to do with the accountability of its leadership. And it makes sense. Even if it’s very untraditional. It’s quiet for a moment before I say, “Have you secretly been hiding a deep football knowledge? How do you know what’s going on without hearing the play calls?”

She looks down at her clipboard, her eyes scanning faster than anyone could read. Then she looks at the sky. “I’m figuring it out. I can read plays, you know. You follow the—”

“Here.” I shove my helmet over her head.

“Callan!” she hisses. “Why is your helmet on my head?”

I look down at her and then realize, shit, only one helmet can be live at a time. And since I’ve been pulled from the game, that means…I offer her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Princess. I was trying to show you what it sounds like when you can hear the plays. I forgot mine was off.”

Her pout is adorable behind the face mask. “It kind of smells in here.”

“It does not!”

She wrinkles her nose, and I can’t help the way my chest tightens at the sight. “It does.”

***

“Jon,” I answer the call from my agent as I wait for Charlotte to finish up with the press. Unsurprisingly, the reporters have far more questions for her than they did for me after my two minutes of play.

“Devine, you’re trending,” Jon reports. “And I feel like a heads-up would’ve been fucking nice.”

What? I didn’t do anything today that should warrant me trending. Played but not too much. Just the way fans like it during preseason games.

“How is that possible? I played one series, and it was good but not exceptional.”

“I’m sending it through now.” There’s some tapping on Jon’s end, and then my phone vibrates with an incoming text.

Still leaning against this wall I’ve chosen to wait by, I click the link Jon sent. And there, on the Colorado News’ social media page, is a picture of me, smiling at Charlotte as she wears my helmet. The caption reads, “Stallions’ Owner’s Daughter Draws Sideline Attention.”

The comments are what you’d expect. People confused as to why she was on the sidelines at all. Rampant speculation about us being together. The usual bullshit comments about me. Similar but different bullshit about her being a princess.

“Your team says you moved in together? What the actual fuck, Callan?” Jon asks. “I need to know this shit.”

I use my fingers to make the picture larger, zooming in on the way her eyes are sparkling as they meet mine. My chest does something funny at the genuine happiness the photographer caught on our faces. “Are you upset about the picture or about the fact that I didn’t clue you in?”

“Both!” Jon’s quiet for a beat. “Well, that I wasn’t looped in when I should’ve been. But, now that I’ve had a minute to process, this might be the best decision you’ve ever made.”

“Why’s that?” My gaze sweeps the empty area yet again, doing everything I can to make sure I don’t miss Charlotte. Because I’m her ride home.

No other reason.

“I wasn’t going to bring it up because it’s all speculation at this point, but I’ve been hearing murmurs that the Stallions might be interested in trading you.” My stomach drops to the floor. No. I can’t be traded again. Can’t make Nan move, and can’t leave her behind.

Jon’s still talking, completely unaware of the panic surging through me. “… wanting a younger guy who won’t take up so much of their salary cap. But no way they’re letting you go if you’re living with the owner’s daughter.”

That might be true. If it was real. Too bad I’m fake dating the team’s owner.

Chapter 15

Charlotte

“I really am sorry for making you come to this,” I yell to Callan from outside his door. “I know you’re exhausted after the game.”

The Stallions have won all three of their preseason games, which makes it an ideal time to attend a charity gala with a number of business owners and CEOs who might be potential sponsors for the team. Unfortunately, Callan rushed in from the stadium ten minutes ago, and we have to leave within the next ten minutes if we have any hope of making it before everyone is seated at their tables. And since there are four potential sponsors Chris and I identified who are not at our table, I need to be there. Soon.

Having Callan on my arm is going to make the whole night go much easier. Not because he makes me feel relaxed and happy. It’s the great start of the Stallions’ season that has been doing that. But because people love him.

“It’s really okay,” Callan responds, our conversation muffled by the door. “I barely played again today, anyway.”